Et tu, Brute – You too Brutus

If you go through the matrimonial columns in the newspapers as well on the internet the bride grooms invariably seek for fair tall and beautiful brides of equal status. The yearning for a  fair skin is a sub conscious itch solidly residing  in Indian mind set. This addiction to  ladies' fairness  had been in existence from time immemorial in our country.

 If a  girl in the family is fairer than the other sibling the comparative  analysis is an unending  process by relatives and even by the parents. And the jealousy among the cousins based on skin colour sometimes turns into a horrible  family feud.

This had happened in one of our friend's place in the late sixties. The bride viewing  was to happen in that house that day and the bride's parents were worried.

"Their elder daughters in law of the house are fair but our girl is dark." the mother of the girl lamented.

The girl was beautiful in her own way and had done a degree which was mandatory qualification for a bride prevailing at that period among the middle class families.

 One of the aunt who usually acted as a beautician for all the weddings in the family circles consoled the mother and told her not  to worry  about the  girl and that it was her responsibility  to make sure that our girl went to that house  as a happy bride.

The  groom's family arrived on time for the customary evening tiffin and coffee  and it was the bride who served the coffee after wishing every one and have  a sly look at the groom!

The bride being displayed, the question whether the groom liked the girl would be shot at the boy. But this day it was not happening. The elders of the boy's family were talking among themselves which never augured well.

The bride's side  waited with bated breath for a 'yes' from the  guests. After a long murmured discussion the boy's mother stood up and asked the girl's mother if she could have a word with her. She called the  mother and girl  aside into a room and  making sure that the door was locked told them  that they came for the girl after knowing about  their family but the problem was that the girl seemed to be having some skin condition and that she was very sorry to refuse  her. Instead of getting angry  at such a reproach on her daughter the mother of the girl fell on  the groom’s mother feet and started crying. 

" Please..... don' do it ....... get up please. " the boy's mother was embarrassed . 

"Amma I told you never to do such things. See where it has landed you now." Lifting her mother the girl started explaining  the whole story.

 "Auntie (to the groom’s mother) they wanted me to look as fair as your other daughters in law and would you believe that  a tin full of Ponds powder was not only applied on my face but on all other visible parts of the body and both my hands became the first victims" she laughed " Sorry auntie for this gimmick  and you can look for a fair bride . Forget about this  fancy show and we will not mistake you."

" But we didn't want a fair brides. We wanted a child from a good family to come into our house and if my other daughters in law are fair it happened  so"

" In that case  you please wait." The girl ran inside the toilet and had a thorough wash of the whitish powder and  with a bindi on her forehead she came out. Instantaneously her would be mother in law smiled and hugged her. Out from the room she majestically asked " When can we fix the marriage?" to the bewilderment of the gathering!!.

If this  was one part of the fairness story I would like to share with you another one. The marriage for another of my friend's daughter had been fixed and days before the marriage the girl was tempted and fell for an advertisement where  after a phase of four shades,  a black skinned  girl on the TV  metamorphosed into a fair looking one. The desire to be the fair caught hold of her fancy and that very night she having purchased the advertised costly beauty cream, and applied it generously on her face. The family got the fright of their life when they saw her swelled up face in the morning! She was rushed to a hospital and it took almost a fortnight to get back her normal decent face  and luckily it had  regained its original condition just before the wedding!

" You were looking good on the engagement day...... has something gone wrong in the interval?" was the husband's first question on their busy wedding day. In the process of making the bride fair and lovely the beautician had turned her into a red faced simian! The rouge on the cheek ........Is it ever needed for an Indian girl?!

A funny thing  happened roughly a decade ago. We were waiting in the church along with the priest and the wedding was behind schedule.  Usually it was the bride who was the root cause of delays for the whole show but to the amusement of the gathering the news was that the bridegroom was delayed in the beauty parlour! Whatever  had happened to the genre of bride grooms! we wondered.  Those were the days when they didn't bother much about their appearance and after an intensive card session with friends through the night they lazily got up for a bath and lo behold  got ready in a jiffy  for the great day!

But we didn't realise that it was the beginning of big  IT money  and the commercialisation hath indeed  extended its tentacles to  ensnare that  gullible innocent male ego! And our men too love to be fair and lovely!  

Et tu Brute?

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P.S. An information that you can share and enjoy in this regard with our friends. Genetically Dravidian  complexion was never fair. You may wonder that why some of them are fair. The kings of Tamil Nadu are the culprits. When they invaded North India and won the wars the higher officials like treasurer used to marry the petty princess and hence the mixed race. If we are not fair we are the originals!

This info was shared by late Dr. B.W.X. Ponnaiya a horticultural scientist par excellence who also had great passion in knowing about the caste and tribes of South India  and on his passing at the ripe old age of 90, he bequeathed his seven volumes "Castes and Tribes of South India" by Edgar Thurston. Now it sits my husband’s library.

My cheesy adventures

I am compelled to go back to my origin very often and this week is no exception. It was a time when Edanganni prospered with cattle of all sorts and  cows. Invariably  there would be plenty of new born amongst them in a season and whenever it happened the first milk from the cow supposed to be very nutritious  would be distributed to who so ever was present at the venue. Through enthusiastic word of mouth we the young gang  would be present there intensely watching  the birthing process. But after  witnessing the sodden shivery calf I would run off and hide myself into a depths of secrecy even before anyone could see me. once bitten twice shy I hated that  first milk, the curdled up creamy variety!

My dad  was a very pious and sincere person used to be the guide for the cloistered Carmelite nuns whenever the need arose. He did it as a service to the Lord with no monetary benefit involved in the process.   As days passed the mutual  affection grew and the mother superior who was a Belgian lady used to share the goodies she got from her native place with our big family too. Those were the days when the Suez canal was open and any amount goods could reach India very quickly by ship. The giant sized slabs of chocolate bars, milk powder and bulgur wheat were indeed a treat for us who were used to ground nuts  and their ilk. The milk powder could licked from the hand as an evening Tiffin and with no refrigeration the chocolate slabs were gobbled up as quickly as they came. Once dad brought in a very strange item from the convent. It was a  rectangle shaped huge chunk wrapped in a white paper

"Was it butter?"

 "No it was too thick and brittle to be that ."

"Was it some sweet milk preparation?" We tasted it. It was salty and had a stench and a smell very similar to the first milk of Edanganni cow. The only difference being that they add jaggery at the village whereas  they have boiled it with salt. we knew it should be  a good stuff since it was from mother superior.  As we were wondering what to do with it we heard a call from the night beggar. At once we decided to present this unnamed item to him. Wrapping it in a paper we happily gave it to him. Ours being the house at the end of the street the beggar usually sat on the nearby canal to have his supper. That chap should also have been as curious as ourselves. (My elder brother followed him on the sly!) No sooner than he sat he eagerly opened the parcel; he smelt it; tasted it. He was in a dilemma . And then cursing all of us he threw the bundle right into the canal by which time my frightened brother had ran back home.

Cheese...... that was my undoing!!

We were in England. After dinner the lady of the house brought out a platter full of cheese that was greeted with   culinary  adulations   from the guests. "The best collection of cheese..." my husband salivated! 

"Why didn't they bring out nice cakes or muffins as Nigella did in the TV shows?" I wondered!

Years back my close friend , my darling daughter and I were on a tour of Italy.  It was an  era in India  when pizza, pasta, McDonalds, KFCs and other  foreign cuisine were unknown entities. We started our itinerary from Venice, sailed their Gondolas, the making of glass sculptures and buying the mandatory masks. It was indeed an enjoyable touristy routine till I saw  big red apples in a store !! As I was wondering what sort of hybrid variety that could be my friend  clarified that it was cheese. Accustomed to our miniscule Amul cheese this was  an unbelievable  size in my sight.  I accepted it's presence with a Laissez-faire (let the sleeping dog lie")  attitude not knowing the efficacy with which it was going to attack me!

It was dinner time. The ante pasta  was a brinjal (which they call aborigine ) soaking and fried in olive oil and it was delicious .  It was more like a Bengali feast for me where they start with a fried brijal (of course in mustard oil) as an auspicious beginning. May be these Italians  had some connection with our Bengalis in their previous life!  But that was not to be! The main course was a  steaming hot item in a white coloured sauce." mm...... pasta in a white sauce" My companions salivated.  As soon as it was served the server took  a  jar with a big hole from the table and started sprinkling copious amount  of some white powdery stuff (parmesan cheese I learnt later) over it . The general mood  was that of bonhomie with the best of wine  in crystals  And the man wished us  bon appetite and  left us to enjoy the meal. With my first  spoonful of Italian food  unto my  mouth and I was out of my senses! The Edanganni experience of once having the curdled milk filled my stomach and I wanted to spit it out..... I excused myself to run  towards the toilet. When I came back both my companions were worried.

"All of a sudden I developed a head ache."

I bluffed

"Mmm.. this migraine ......we don't know when it will attack you." my friend said  helpfully and was worried

But  the vigour with which I attacked my  gelato ( ice cream) made my companions to share  their portion which I shamelessly accepted. Their worries flew off.

From then on entering any food shop became an anathema to me. The stench of not only the big ones in toroidal shape in red wax covering but varied varieties and shapes of cheese  seemed to pervade the whole ambience.   As both my friends go inside the shops to enjoy the free samples of cheese I entertained myself in watching  the tall pines and the majestic cypress trees and with my vomiting spree! In my dictionary the very name 'food'  turned to loathing .The food was all cheesy!  Sitting down with the group for meals became a great effort and I  excused myself quite often. It was the gelato that turned out to be my redeemer and my subsistence for living!

Till the moment I got into my Air India  Maharaja  offering  me my own pulav and gravy the white giant assaulted me around  and gagged me!

My husband and I both usually never disagree over the channels we watch. Even if it was a science channel, which he dearly loves, I try my best to understand amidst my quaint naps.  But if ever he switched on a programme on cheese making  or anything to do with cheese I immediately excuse myself. I cannot digest the exalted heights the world has taken to this ...... cheese!

I think I belong to a very  odd generation. While people order around for pizza when they want a special treat my curd rice with pickle proves to be an ambrosia for me. The mucus like mozzarella cheese sitting on your pizza ...... never ever my cuppa!!

I thought I was a  loner... an extinct species  who hates the wonderful connoisseurs' dish till I found a dear companion, a relative of mine, (brother's son in law) a young chap who often travels abroad and hates cheese!

Just as I had finished my blog a  news item from Kerala in today's paper  excited me. The Kerala government had decided to levy a 'fat tax' of 14.5% on pizzas burgers, sandwiches and tacos in accordance with the advocacy of  WHO to promote healthy eating. Apart from pinching the purse of their parents, it is a  caution to them whose  children carry a pregnant stomach at the young age.

 'Go Local' let it be not just my policy but ours too!