The first challenge before the organisers was to recreate the Thakurbari (Tagore mansion) ambience, but since their first choice, Shantiniketan or the ancestral Tagore home in Jorasanko, was not available, they finally zeroed in on the Shovabazar Rajbari, a decaying royal palace in the by-lanes of north Calcutta. For seven days, from June 4-10, its outer courtyard was converted into the dining space of the Tagore household. The Tagores had adopted an interesting east-west fusion, making their table and chairs higher than the traditional chowki-piri but lower than the conventional dining table and chairs, so that one could either eat sitting cross-legged or in the western way. This look was meticulously recreated for the food festival. The crockery was fine porcelain, of the kind the Tagores adopted after their trips abroad, and food was served by men and women dressed in elegant "dhuti-panjabi" and cream saris bordered in red, with the household keys dangling from the pallu, in the manner of the Tagore ladies.
Inside the old palace, the decor of Tagore's ancestral house was replicated—from the furniture and carpets to the artworks and tapestry. Live and recorded music—eastern and western, classical and folk, vocal and instrumental—played a part in recreating a bygone ambience. Guests, who included large numbers of the city's elite, milled around happily. They were also invited to create their own adda (conversation) sessions, just as they perhaps would, if they were dropping in at Jorasanko.
Against this painstakingly recreated backdrop at the 'Thakur Barir Khaoa Daoa' (Meals at the Tagores), as the event was called, one found oneself transported back in time. And by the time the meal was laid out, every dish had become food for thought as well. The organisers chose some 34 dishes, each with a story behind it that connects you to the history of that time. The 'steam deem' (deem meaning egg) is a kind of fusion stew that evolved in the Tagore household as each member, on returning from various trips abroad, would suggest the addition of yet another ingredient. Cold rice with prawns became a regular item on the menu because little Robi (Rabindranath as a boy) loved to have it in the afternoons. An array of family specialities was served in courses—'saat korai bhaja' (seven types of slow-roasted lentils), 'lau paata bhaja' (lauki leaves deep-fried in batter), 'aam ichorer torkari' (curry of raw mangoes and jackfruit), followed by typical Bengali fish and meat dishes like 'dudh maach' (fish cooked in milk) and 'mangshor jhol' (meat in gravy).
For dessert, amid a dazzling variety of sondesh, which were a speciality of the poet's wife Mrinalini Devi, came an unmistakably English bread pudding. And thereby, too, hangs a tale—Abanindranath, Tagore's nephew, was punished by his school teacher for correcting the latter's pronunciation of 'pudding'. He insisted he was right, saying, "We eat it at home everyday and I know you're pronouncing it wrong."
But before all the delicacies, came the starter—a glass of that same bitter, green-gold concoction, which the Tagores believed would whet the appetite. It worked like a magic potion...
