A few years ago, I waited for an actor friend at her residence in New Delhi. She, however, was held up at a function at Jaypee Siddharth where she had gone to light the ceremonial lamp. A couple of unanswered calls later, she picked up the phone. I said, “ Aap wahan roshan chiragh kar rahin hain, hum yahan lau lagaye baithe hain .” She laughed and promised to hurry up. Her thoughts, her tasavvur came visiting once again this week as I sat at Jaypee Siddharth’s Paatra restaurant.
In front of me was a shama-dan placed between rose petals which in turn kissed little ripples of water. As the ghazal artist for the evening sang “Kabhi yun bhi to ho...dariya ka sahil ho, poore chand ki raat ho aur tum aao”, I thought of her once more, only to be jolted out of my reverie by my friend Aslam Khan, “ Kahan kho gaye, aap ?”.
He brought me back to the present in the nick of time, for waiting at the table was watermelon juice with the chef promising to get makai methi ka kabab. Now I am all for kindness towards plants, those helpless beings who cannot even moan out loud. However, before I could voice my choice, the deed was done and methi kabab was on our table. And am I glad I did not speak out before it came! This baby corn and fenugreek kabab was soft, tasty and, unlike many vegetarian kababs, it was not dry. Fairly crunchy, it set the mood for the evening.
In the background, the male ghazal artist was joined by his female counterpart, who for inexplicable reasons started singing “Aaj kal paunv zameen par nahin padte mere”, a beautifully worded song by Gulzar from the film Ghar . Her rendition though kept me firmly grounded. An uplifting moment was not far to seek. It came twice over.
The little spurt was provided by haldi chilli tawa fish, fish fillet preparation with turmeric, coriander and the good old green chilli. The fish was delectable without a coating of gram; adding a few drops of coriander chutney took it to another level. It was a level much easier to attain for the following kashiboo which was a mutton kabab with a layering of onion stem. One of the chefs told me it owes its origin to Lahore. I was inclined to buy his story until another claimed it is very much their own. I buy his story. The kabab was simply outstanding, thicker than any kabab I have had this year, the meat well minced and spices added with abandon. It made sure that the glass of water on the table did not go unattended. I toyed with the idea of asking for a second helping of the kabab. However, the promptness of the service ruined my plans, for on my plate in a jiffy was aatishi murga with a simmering sound — its smoke — the chicken coming straight from the charcoal bhatti. It was fine from the outside, the fire having failed to singe the meat covering the bone. I tried hard to relish this whole chicken preparation, which is low on spices and marinated overnight. I lost the battle.
Soon though, phaldari chaat with pineapple, pears and apple made its appearance. Yet again, I wanted to decline the offer. For the second time in the evening, I was relieved I didn’t as the bhuni chaat turned out to be quite delicious. I had actually kept a little morsel of kashiboo on my plate lest my taste get spoiled by this fruit preparation. I didn’t need to go back to it.
The starters were fulfilling by themselves and Aslam and I were not too keen to start the main course. Maybe we wanted to take in another song from the duo, who were now in good form with “Chalo dildar chalo,” a Pakeezah number which lends itself to lesser talents with ease.
The main course, comprising Amritsari tawa meat, dhaba murgh backed up by dal fry and dal makhni, duly arrived. A surprise lay in store. The non-vegetarian preparations were decent without being outstanding. The dals scored handsomely. The good old makhni being a tad tangy, dal fry — a combination of arhar and masoor being — excellent. Tempered with cumin and chilli, they won my favour over meat. Aslam played the old boy, relishing his meat, ignoring his lentils.
Soon though we had a sweet meeting point. The main course over, we both chose phirni. It came in a sakora with a nice warq topping. It was not unreasonably sweet. I liked mine; my co-diner polished off two sakoras meanwhile. The plates clean and clear, as if we were ready to start from scratch. A sure sign that the food had passed muster.
That’s fine, but what about the friend who had come here a few summers before me? She remains part of my tasavvur , my imagination; incandescent as the lamp at Paatra, fresh as the petals which lay in obeisance to it.
