Recipe for a disaster
Arpita had just lost the recipe competition. She sat in the rocking chair, going back and forth in the dark room. “How am I going to face people again”, she was thinking.
Her husband was the General Manager of Sam North Jute Mill and it was ‘Bada Khana’, a day when employees of all the five Jute mills of the ‘Duff group of companies’ got together to celebrate the year end.
It was a British legacy that had survived the exit of the Sahebs. ‘Bada Khana’ had changed from New Year eve to 26th January but the fanfare, pomp and ceremony had been retained. The celebrations included the very tough tennis finals for men and the equally exciting recipe competition for women. They had races like the wheel barrow race, the three legged race and a tug of war competition which was open to men, women and children but for the men, it was winning the tennis competition that mattered most and it had always been the recipe competition that the women focussed on.
Arpita was confident about her victory and the other competitors, who were aware of her exceptional culinary skills, were content that they competed to be second best. But she lost.
The fat and ugly Mrs. Pareek from Victoria was guffawing and she had heard loud clapping as she had made a hasty exit from the club house. She knew that her loss gave the competitors immense joy.
She gave them the reason to be happy. She was a snob. She was proud of her background, the wealth and fame of her family, the fact that she could address Satyajit Ray and Jyoti Basu as ‘Kaku’ and most importantly that she was the wife of the General Manager. She played the role of the ‘Memsahib’ to perfection. They had always been at the receiving end of her jibes and taunts on their lack of skills and polish.
Arpita was thinking about her husband.
Jiten was out with the men celebrating their victory in the Tennis court. He would not get to know about her loss for many days later. After all none of the men would have the courage to speak against the General Manager’s wife. But he would surely find out and then what?
Jiten was hard working, honest and proud of his achievements. Her loss and its manner would be a matter of shame for him.
The couple had moved here just about a year ago and this was their first ‘Bada Khana’. Arpita was an expert cook and loved to show off her skills with rare desserts recipes (collected during her husband’s assignments in tea gardens in Assam and Munnar). The women gave her the sobriquet ‘Queen of the Ladle’.
She had waited for the ‘Bada Khana’ to stamp her authority.
She knew that she would win. She had played her cards properly and trusted Mrs. Robbins.
The Robbins, the only Anglo Indian family in the mill, an old couple, stayed opposite the Yagniks. Mrs. Robbins had been a nurse with the British Army and had met her husband, an engineer in the army when they were both posted in Burma during the Second World War. They had shifted to Kolkata after the war and decided to stay back when the British left India.
Arpita met Mrs. Robbins the day she gave her first party in her new house.
‘My dear, are you having a party tonight’, Mrs. Robbins had asked Arpita.
Arpita was embarrassed. She was told that the Robbins never accepted invitations. She had invited everyone else. ‘Yes’, she said, ‘why don’t you come as well’.
‘No, my child’, said Mrs. Robbins, ‘we are too old for such outings.’
‘Do you need help?’ she asked.
Since then Mrs. Robbins had always helped her plan the desserts for her party menu.
***
Arpita presented the ‘Crepe Suzette’ - A common dessert that promised something special. Arpita felt confident. The feelings seemed justified when Sister Margaret, the nun from France, who was a special invitee, went gaga over the whiff of ‘Cordon Rouge’ flambéed over the crepe and declared ‘For me this is the winner’.
‘Why does your recipe have no mention of bananas’? Ms. Sinha asked Arpita. She was reading the recipe after she tasted the crepe. Ms. Susan Sinha was the head chef of the ‘Orient’ in Kolkata and the other special invitee for the event.
Arpita snickered. ‘Bananas in Crepe Suzette’! She exclaimed. This raised a giggle – the other ladies too had never heard of bananas in Crepe Suzette.
‘Yes, it is the bananas that make the crepe yielding and easy to fold. Is this your recipe?’ Ms. Sinha persisted.
Arpita was flustered now. ‘It’s from an old book’, she said.
‘I have the recipe in my diary’, Ms. Sinha went again. ‘I have bananas in the pancakes all the time’ and the only other person I know who would do it is Mrs. Robbins, my mother. Are you sure it is not her recipe?’
Her perfidy uncovered, Arpita ran out of the club.
She wondered if ten would be enough. The sleeping pills lay on the table next to her. She had already taken the ninth when the doorbell rang.
‘Hello dear, are you in?’ she heard Mrs. Robbins call out. ‘I am sorry about what happened. I told them that I had put in the bananas without your knowledge when I was helping you.’
Arpita tried to get up from her chair but it was too late. The pills took over. Mrs. Robbins did not have the strength to break open the heavy wooden door.
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