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Few things bring out the differences between Punjabis and Tamilians than buffet
meals. Tamilians see it like any other meal. They will load up on white rice first,
followed by daal and curds and anything that has little dots of mustard, coconut
or curry leaves.
For Punjabis, food triggers an emotional response, like say music. And the
array of dishes available in a buffet is akin to the Philharmonic orchestra. The
idea is you load as many calories as possible onto one plate, as most party
caterers charged based on the number of plates used. Also, like my mother
explained since childhood, never take a dish that is easily prepared at home or
whose ingredients are cheap. So, no yellow daal, boring gobi aloo or green salad.
The focus is on the chicken, dishes with dry fruits in them and exotic desserts.
‘You can take more than one plate here, mom,’ I said as she tossed three
servings of butter chicken for me.
‘Really? No extra charge?’ she said.
We returned to our table. ‘You are having rice?’ my mother said as she saw the
others’ plates.
They nodded as they ate with spoons. Their fingers itched to feel the squishy
texture of rice mixed with curd and daal. Ananya had made them curb their primal
instincts to prevent shocking my mother.
‘Chicken is too good. Did you try?’ my mother said and lifted up a piece to
offer them.
‘We are vegetarian,’ Ananya’s mother said coldly, even as the chicken leg
hung mid-air.
‘Oh,’ mother said.
‘It’s OK, aunty, I will try it.’ Ananya said.
We ate in much silence with only our chewing making a sound.
‘Amma, something something,’ Ananya whispered in Tamil, egging her on to
talk.
‘Your husband didn’t come?’ Ananya’s mother said.