BIRYANI FOR IMRAN

The winter of 1979-80 will be remembered cricketwise for the star-studded Pakistani team that toured India when this country had nearly forgotten what Indo-Pak cricket looked like. There was the dashing Imran Khan, the laconic Wasim Raja, the flamboyant Zaheer Abbas, the vastly popular ’keeper Wasim Bari and of course Asif Iqbal whose swansong the tour would turn out to be. An early match was in Guwahati and transiting via Calcutta they got their first taste (literally) of this city. Just as boredom was beginning to afflict them in the VIP lounge at Dum Dum we picked them up in one of the then rare SUVs belonging to a consular friend and brought them home.

The spread: Royal Hotel biryani and burhani to die for, chaanp from Nizam’s and nalen gurer sandesh and juice-dripping rosogollas which they had only heard of. The legendary eaters like Imran and Sikander Bakht fielded all questions on cricket till the meal was over and Raja said breathlessly that the quality of the biryani could not be matched in Lahore.

From Guwahati to Mumbai with high expectations and Amitabh Bachchan’s champagne evening. Ghazals and kebabs with Yousufbhai (Dilip Kumar) in his sprawling Juhu palace of another era and the disarming hospitality of Parmeswar Godrej. But back in Calcutta in the closing days of January for the last Test match it was biryani, kathi kebabs and rezala, with the newly-discovered mishti doi. Now there was a difference. The visitors had met the glitterati of the city and every night of the six days (that was the ‘rest day’ era) there would be daawats and the city was in danger of running out of biryani!

SUNIL’S MISHTI DOI

And, yes, talking of mishti doi, our favourite guest Sunil Gavaskar, a genius of unwavering concentration, has never veered from this lasting love affair — the latest consummation having been at our residence one month ago. Yes, he also loves the mangsho-bhaat Bengali style (that is perhaps the only regret he has about skipping an Eden match in the stormy Eighties!).

As long as our contact with one of the great gentlemen of any sport continues, we will be thrilled to churn out mishti doi and kosha mangsho! He was touched to the core when we carried this Bong confection to Delhi to our son’s (Gautam) where a small party was held for him and Harsha Bhogle.

Today, when there is so much sensationalism about the relationships between cricketers and cinema stars, with the latter even weighing in with buying the former in the new cricketing league circus, I cannot but help remember the time of the mutual admiration that brought together two stars. Sunil has always held Aparna Sen in the highest esteem and Aparna, too, has always admired the Little Master. They both expressed this to me individually. So on one of his trips to Calcutta, when we decided to do the cricket-movie connect, and a tailor-made party evolved. Sunil and Aparna nattered on unselfconsciously. With no cameras to convey cheesecake shots the next day.

TIGER PRAWNS FOR KAPS

As for Kaps, Kapil might come from the land of makki di roti, sarson da saag and kaali daal, but he was never averse to the tiger prawns that we used to prepare. That was the meal set by us for the day he joined the 300 club of wickets. He did not know what to focus on — the painting of his done by Wasim Kapoor which we presented to him on the occasion or the huge cake and the bagda chingri.

LAMB CHOPS

The early eighties had been the scene of a huge party at home where Chris Cowdrey and Allan Lamb had been like teenagers at a college prom with all the stunning Tollywood ladies. Lamb had asked whether all Bengali women were so beautiful. When my husband (Kishore) met him a couple of years ago for his book interview, he had still not forgotten about that party and the mezze we had served. My son, not yet the cricket presenter he is today, had then asked the hard-hitting batsman whether he would like ‘Lamb Chops’. Allan never forgot that either and told me over a draft Foster’s that it was a better pun than Daily Mail writing “Lamb chopped” when he was dropped from the Test side! Today, when the English team is resisting their winter tour of India, we fondly recollect how Christmas in Calcutta never made them homesick.

THAI FOR THE PROTEAS

And then there were the South Africans, those wonderful administrators Joe Pamensky and Ali Bacher and the cricketers Clive Rice and Alan Donald whom we entertained during the ’91 short tour of India. It was drinks at Sunny Park first, and then dinner at the home of a friend who owned a Thai catering outfit. Imagine the meld — cricketers from Jo’burg, savouring Thai green curry, sticky rice, tom yum soup and spicy papaya salad at the house of a Sardar in New Alipore!

MIXED MENU

Over the years it has been a pleasure to rustle up Chinese food for Karsan Ghavri, chilli maachher jhol for Dilip Vengsarkar and more varied fare for Ravi Shastri, our close friend and my husband’s co-race horse owner (they raced Jewel of the East at the RCTC). These are special relationships, for when Gautam, still not in the cricketing limelight, got married, the surprise guest was Ravi who just breezed in, complete with a generous gift.

BREAD & BEER FOR THE WINDIES

How does one entertain the West Indians? Wes Hall, Michael Holding, Sir Garfield Sobers and Joel Garner decided to come home at midnight. Since the food had been polished off, what could we put out then? A mound of sliced bread and chunks of cheese and plenty of beer. The rest of our already-in-swing party tailenders just came to life then.

Talking of beer, it was the left-handed batsmen, the late David Hookes, who brought two cases of the Aussie Swan lager to us, delighted at being invited to a home party.

Parties, alas, today, are bereft of that personalised warmth, and have been replaced by dos in five-star hotels or in the homes of the rich and ravenous-for-publicity, where media bytes have become de rigeur. So, it is refreshing to see how, during their recent tour, the South Africans have made up their own Bring and Braaie party in Chennai, with the cricketers themselves cooking up a barbecue. Surely it is a sign of our times, when, bored of these clawing receptions and mammoth impersonal bashes, the cricketers are once again seen to be asking wistfully: “Where’s the party tonight?”