About 900 Tonnes of food is wasted on a wedding day in the marriage halls of Bangalore, alone.
Mrs. Sanjay Sharma, Page 3 socialite, wife of industrialist, 35
The food was horrible, but that was not the worst part. The location was worse. It was not even the high end ones that she was accustomed to. Some low class cow stable called Ramanashree on the outskirts of the city. She had chosen the BMW to make her grand entry, and had asked the driver specifically to run around and open the door. She wore the fresh low cut blouse, Manish Mehrotra of course, with a gold striped saree that tried to hide her overflowing belly. Platinum jewellery, Gucci handbag and shoes, and perfume that was custom made from a city vendor. The occasion was Mrs Pillais sons wedding, and she wouldn’t have come, if she had not known that Mrs. Desai and that horrible Miss Janet were attending it, giving them a chance to belittle her image. A socialite had to keep up her appearances, even though it meant slumming it out in places like this. Plus Mrs Pillai had promised that there would be a scribe from the local rag there so atleast there was a page 3 photo for her in it tomorrow.
The place was decorated in drab lighting and local flowers hanging like men who were condemned to hang. Around 15 tables were placed on a wide lawn, making it look like a place where the Smurfs from Cartoon Network would have a birthday party. People were breezing in and out , some she recognized, most she just smiled politely at. Mrs Desai, with excess make up, eyeing a young waiter ( rumour had it she was having an affair), Mrs Joshi who ate too much and was barely visible over her overstacked plate, and that disgusting bitch Miss Janet. Janet was a husband stealer and it was an open secret in her circle that Mr. Desai was giving her more than legal advice.She looked at the bride and groom, all smiles up on the big stage. She hoped that their fairy tale would come to an end with a scandalous affair, which would put Mrs Pillai in her place. She hated Mrs Pillai, actually she hated all of them. She still flashed her biggest smile at all of Them and all of them smiled back, each of them hating her more .
Coming back to the food, there was nothing much to write home about. About 25 different dishes, yawn… The usual chicken tikka and fish fingers, some baby corn fried, a couple of southern dishes she didn’t recognize, and the ever present Buffet consisting of Rice, Rasam, Roti, the works. The desserts were Jalebi ( too oily), Gajar ka Halwa( too sweet) and Butter scotch Ice cream.. Yeesh, If she had known, she would have asked Mrs Pillai to hire that amazing new Chef at La Riviera to do the cooking. He had done such a fabulous job at her own sons wedding about a year back. Spanish, Italian and Chinese cuisine. Mouth watering salads and momos, Croissants, English Toffees, just thinking of the menu made her mouth water. But here she was, a plate full of bondas and chicken , smiling her fake smile and nodding to the occasional dirty joke her friends made.
There was an open bar serving mocktails, and Mrs Sharma took on orange breezer, not to be left behind by the other ladies who were holding glasses. The men stared shamelessly through her blouse, hoping to get a peek ,and Mrs Sharma didn’t discourage them. There was some light music going on in the background, and Mrs Sharma decided past ten that it was time to scoot. Her plate was still full,and , not wanting to be mean, she ate half a carrot and Left the plate gently on the grass behind a tree. She wondered about her poodle back home, Miss Daisy, and let out a gentle laugh. Even she would hate this food. Hopping into the back of her BFW, she made a mental note.. Never attend low class affairs to keep up appearance, and even if she did, always carry an extra bag to carry food for her dog..
Muhammad Sulaim, Beggar, son of a Beggar, 51
The food was excellent , but that was not the best part. It was a high end place on the outskirts of the city called Ramanashree Resorts. He had never been in here before , and he could now finally imagine the scale of those palaces he had heard about in Arabian tales. He had walked for ten kilometres hearing about it, and the security guard had discreetely let him in through the rear gate. Someone had said there was free left over food being served here, and word like that spread fast among the beggars. He wore an oversized shirt, which he had owned for three years now and which had seen water on less than five occasions. It was torn up at many places, and he thought it was being held up by miracle. His stomach was sucked into his ribs as if by a vacuum cleaner, and his friends often joked he was a walking X Ray. If he had known, he would hae even informed his friends Mehmood and Guru, both old, both working the railway station this week. A beggar needed his food , though. Besides, he could always invite them next time, and then it would be a party indeed.
The place was lit up beautifully and the resort people had let the lights be, so that the stars in the sky seemed to cower under the lights. Beautiful flower garlands hung from the food stalls, dancing in the winds like white voluptuous dancers from Heaven. The tables were covered with white cloth, which was now stained in places. About 30 beggars , women and children, were walking around the tables, looking for trinkets that the guests could have left behind. Most had plates in their hands, stuffed to the brim. The hot plates of the buffet stood in a row, and beggars were patiently waiting in a l ine for the guard to empty the big vessels he would drag from the kitchen. Plates were hard to come by though, for the resort charged the guests by the plate, and only left the requisite amount on the lawn.Most of those holding the plates had fished it out of the dust bin where the guests had left them, and some of them cheekily washed it in the swimming pool. He had to get a plate fast, for the line was getting longer, and the last one usually got to scrub only the underside of the vessel. He was in luck, for behind a tree he found an almost full plate with a half eaten carrot. He grabbed it and ran to the line.
As he stood in the line, he saw the little girl perched on her mothers shoulder, who was standing in front of him, eyeing the jalebis on his plate lustfully. He smiled and gave two jalebis to the girl, who grabbed them with her grubby fingers and stuffed them into her small mouth. Atleast the sugar would keep her alive for another day, he thought. He didn’t have kids of his own, but there were two small urchins in the tent next to his, and he decided he needed the urchins to taste some jalebis too. So he packed the rest of the jalebis into a small cover in his gunny bag. He looked around and saw the names of the bride and groom written on the stage in English. He couldn’t read it, but whoever they were, he thanked them in his mind and wished them a happy married life. He saw many familiar faces and he smiled at all of them, wishing he could see them again sometime before they died of disease or starvation. All the others beggars smiled at the old man too, wishing the same.
Coming back to the food, there were exactly 23 dishes on his plate. HE didn’t know what any of them were called, but he ate all of them with relish. He had not had such a hearty meal in a long time. By the time he reached the front of the line, his plate was clean again, an d he began mentally choosing the dishes from the hotplate to wrap them carefully in old newspapers.These wrappings went into his gunny bag, where they stayed till he ate it all or it went stale. There was chicken and fish, he was sure, but he didn’t know which was which. He knew the rice , of course , and that was what he packed the most. He would share all of these dishes to Mehmood and Guru, and maybe others who decided to join him. Ther had was only a single pass of the hot plates allowed, and . by the end of it, he had almost stuffed his gunny bag to the limit. It was leaking in some places, and some beggars stared, but most just shuffled along, mesmerized by the sights they were seeing. As he limped back out the gate past one in the morning, he made a mental note to himself, First, to never miss these fancy weddings if he could help it, and second, to get a bigger bag to carry food for his neighbours kids..
