Seven and a half years ago we ended our India trip with a Jain Family (Delhi chapter) outing to the best Dhosa restaurant in town, Sagar (the original in Defence Colony, not one of those cheap knock-offs in CP or your local mall). Not a people to buck tradition, we find ourselves back in the same spot for the final send off. Same restaurant, same floor (the top - because the family has a rep of being so loud that they won't let them mingle with the other customers on the first three floors), same tables, same menu.Pretty much everyone arrives on time and gathers on the fourth floor. (This seems a bit out of character, but if we've learned one thing in India it is to expect the unexpected.) Our children, -- who we haven't seen in a solid day, as they stayed with Bhavna and Rhea, while Geeta and I did last minute purchases, packed, made last minute phone calls to the myriad of relatives who expected to see us for a meal at some point during the trip, but didn't -- are indifferent to see us. They are more interested in playing with the cousins, a fun little game called "Rose Garden" in which one pinches and rubs and generally abuses the other's arm as the story of the planting of a garden is recited. Ahh, good fun.
I greet a few aunts and uncles who I've only seen very briefly during this trip. Sadly, there are considerably fewer than last time, as time is catching up with all of us. And Geeta's generation becomes the dominant force in the Jain family, Delhi chapter. I end up at a small table for four pinched into the inside, one might say trapped, but I won't. I'm seated with Gautam (which I pronounce Gotham, and for whom I've always felt Gotham City would be a great nickname, but alas it hasn't stuck) and with Baby's (aka Ritu's) brother. Baby's brother's nickname is Goo Goo. I don't think it's spelled that way, but I like it. Note that there's a cousin nicknamed Ca Ca, too. That's my favorite! But he's in Jammu and not able to be at Sagar.
So the point of being at Sagar, apart from seeing as much family in one sitting without having to visit every single person's house for a multi-course meal that nobody will be able to handle, is to order some South Indian fast food and indulge. The specialty is Kieran's favorite, Dhosa, a rice crepe that embodies delicious fried goodness. As much as it's been talked about letting loose because the next day we will be on a plane back to the States and who cares if you're sick on a plane, I keep thinking I don't want to be sick on a plane. And so I approach the evening with our motto from our Ladakh trip, Osvaldo's paraphrase of a Buddhist philosophy, "all in moderation." Not to mention, earlier in the day we were taken to lunch for a "let loose, you'll be on a plane tomorrow" snacky lunch of Punjabi favorites, including Geeta's favorite, fried hollow balls of dough with green murky water in them. Yum!
Dhosas, idli, and other South Indian specialties are ordered on a rolling basis. I pace myself, sampling but not binging on most everything. I draw the line at the sweet spaghetti noodle and kulfi ice cream dessert which I'm assured is much better than the one I was forced to sample a few hours earlier at lunch. I'm sure it was great, but I don't feel I've missed out. Goo goo's coffee arrives before the wiener-shaped Gulab Jamun. This, apparently, is an offense. The waiter doesn't look pleased being called out on this dessert faux pas.
Baby, Bhavna, Punya, and Shalu alternate pointing at me as if to say we could rescue from that corner you're trapped in, but it looks like you're having so much fun listening to dirty jokes in Hindi that we'll let you be. I try to appear engaged as much as possible. Over the years, I've perfected a look of interest and understanding as the Jains code-switch from Hindi/Punjabi to English to Punjabi/Hindi without missing a beat. I listen very hard for numbers and colors and fruit, the extent of my Hindi knowledge. When I hear "char" (four) spoken I nod. Hmm, char.
After the usual hub-bub about who's paying and how much, we file down below. There we stand outside the restaurant, not really believing that we're saying our final good byes and not really believing that we're standing in the middle of a narrow road that cars are trying to pass. The cars pass, brushing against our legs, side mirrors folded closed to say excuse me. Geeta feels sad, less sure about leaving than she had felt a few hours before.
Baby implores me to blog about the experience, certain there was more in my head than the mantra of moderation regarding eating too much fried food.
The next morning we set out at 5:45 AM through the empty Delhi streets to a brand new (and very sanitary) international airport, the beginnings of a 23 hour journey home.
-Ted
