Satish's idea of fun was to invite friends over and share the wonderfully spicy and flavourful cuisines made by him; he never compromised when it came to enjoying meals with friends. He could always make something tastier than any of us possibly could. Cooking was none of our fortes. Except for Satish, no one excelled like a gourmet culinarian!
He produced raw mango pickles at home every year during the scorching summer, painstakingly preserving them in two large earthen jars that he knew would last for his family of three all year round. Whenever we, individually or together, visited him at his always-welcoming home, a home full of delectable, tangiest home-cooked cuisine prepared by our long-time friend, we'd constantly drool over what he would serve us next. Sunil, Armstrong, and I knew where to head for good food during Ganesh or Ugadi celebrations; it was as if we'd head straight to Ganesh’s—er—Satish's house.
Delish, Divine, and Dulcet
In the dhaba, the Butter Paneer Masala dish, usually served as the main course meal, would be hailed. Satish, the only vegetarian among eaters of meat like us and a skilled preparer of good homemade dishes like Pulihora (lemon rice), Bagara Rice, Lentil-Tomato Dal, and Veg Biryani, including Ugadi Pachidi and Payasam as liquid desserts, would generally drool over its lusciously smooth, mildly creamy sweet gravy. Good choice, though.
So everyone takes several spoonfuls of Butter Paneer Masala and rejoices in unison, complimenting the great taste the dish is known to transmit to the taste buds. We'd also choose the classic Kadai Paneer (cooked with capsicums and paprika in pure desi ghee; even the waiter would wax eloquent about it!) from the menu.
Other gravies and curries, such as Kadai Chicken or dreadfully hot but intensely tasty Ginger Chicken, would also be hailed, depending on one's mood. Sunil and Armstrong would take a swig from their tall glasses of cold beer and feel satisfied while Satish and I sipped our chilled colas and munched on the soft paneer cutlet. (Thank goodness, upselling or cross-selling business tactics don't get bandied about by the cordon bleu chefs in the highway dhabas, where such fantastic dishes get prepared, or you'd feel awkward choosing something you don't want. I bet no MasterChef can even come close to matching them!).
Hot made-to-order cuisines were placed one by one in the centre of the table, including Butter Chicken (which used to be my favourite once and still is), Chicken Roganjosh, Zeera Rice, and several bowls of side dishes with runny curd and Hyderabadi-style Salaan gravy, (served as accompaniments to the non-vegan entrees). And finally, a crock of green salad consisting of onion rings, chopped cucumbers, green bell capsicum rings, and a thinly sliced round of carrot discs enclosing green chillies and cut lemons nicely stacked in the centre of the large steel plate.
(Occasionally, we'd finish our meal with an ice cream dessert like butterscotch or strawberry laced with a pint of vanilla on the top of the scoops or just with a glass of Lassi. But we usually skipped desserts, not bothering much, because after eating so much, we wanted to get home as soon as possible.
Instead, we'd walk to the nearby corner and get Meetha Paan (made from betel leaves) in either the Kalkatta or Benaras varieties from a tiny paan shop, which is almost always open. Then after a few jokes and a little banter later and munching on the fruity, nutty, and aromatic paan as we rode our motorcycles slowly home from the interstate highway to the suburban township where we resided.
Those indulgent bachelor days have passed us by, long since disappeared into the seventh heaven of our memories which feel so far away now, never again to exist in our lives.)
A Nostalgic Look Back in Time
Being here at Zee Family Dhaba today, after many years, feels like a nostalgic look back in time: at the melancholy aftermath of our youth, when we enjoyed the sweet little misadventures, miseries, hardships, or even harboured secret crushes that our earlier lives so often brought.
The simple perspectives gave you equal parts hope and dread, ensuring that all your dreams slowly but surely came true were once the norm. Today, it's very different; nothing that this heart wants to desire.
I (still a hopeless teetotaller) propose a toast to the happy memories of our younger years, long since faded to an unsung, untold story: which will never get looked up in any browser of the world because not even a pixel exists out there, nor should it. Save this quaint little thing. And nor will anyone come to know it when our two biddoos swigged their beers and said out loud: Cheers! or Sayonara.
Who, tell me, cares about personal histories written on the fly these days? (While, perhaps, this small-town story of ours would be lovingly recalled and not simply skipped from the adolescent pages, not least by the four friends in this story, we must go on with the times and work towards the future.) Memories last for a lifetime; they may, like flowers, wilt a little, supplanting our imagination with radio silence, but they're so much dearer and more precious that they bring back to our minds and hearts the days when we were younger, bright and beautiful.
“There is nothing I would not do for those who are really my friends. I have no notion of loving people by halves, it is not my nature.” ― Jane AustenAn afterthought: Nothing from the present century interests me; not even a visit to a dhaba today will brighten (or make me forget) the aching remembrances of the great times we shared with close companions in the past.
Goodness! How the years go by in this world of unusual, rapid changes and strange happenings. Everything is so different now. The 1990s golden era, the heydays of our friendship, is long gone. It was a memorable era that still nourishes our lives, a unique gift that time bestowed on us.
We'll never see or hear from them again. We’ve to admit to ourselves this harsh reality: the need to prioritise while looking forward to a reachable future, comparable to the habit of carrying on in the colourful theatre of life, pursuing distant professions, discrediting old relations, angst-ridden interregnums, changing our long-held perspectives despite missing the good old days with each passing day.
We had to go to other separate destinations, as life frequently obliges, so no one other than us can relate to our time of the 1990s, which is now a personal history on its last legs.
(To be continued...)
By Arindam Moulick
Dedication: I dedicate this essay to Armstrong, Satish, and Sunil, who's sadly passed away - three of my dear friends, like peas in a pod, since our college days in the early 1990s. Our memories will always speak for our true friendship.
Click here -> 'Remembering: Going to The Dhabas with Friends, part 1' to read part 1 of this essay.
By Arindam Moulick
Dedication: I dedicate this essay to Armstrong, Satish, and Sunil, who's sadly passed away - three of my dear friends, like peas in a pod, since our college days in the early 1990s. Our memories will always speak for our true friendship.
Click here -> 'Remembering: Going to The Dhabas with Friends, part 1' to read part 1 of this essay.