The wazwaan of yesteryears is no longer the same as we have it today
Reading Ghayur through his works, gives one an everlasting pleasure
The razzmatazz of the ‘ wazwaan ’ reminds us of our behavior as super- gnashers, super- chewers, super- gluttons etcetera. A pride of carnivorous ‘ naked apes’ herds itself together in foursomes to invade and devour the ‘ hunters’ feast’ at the ‘ prey temperatures’. Some love the meat, some love to pick- the- bone.
Others love gobbling handfuls of cooked rice. Strictly viewing the feast through a prey’s eye, the modern human hunt- less hunters sitting around the eye- boggling ‘ batta traam ’ and devouring the stodgy feast without respite look like ‘ savage’ killers.
Looked however within the human community itself, the change to hunting meant a change to mutual aid and friendly cooperation and therefore the very opposite to savagery. It also meant that feeding occasions became social events, rather than personal activities. In a hunting parlance, ‘ wazwaan feast’ is kind of food- sharing social event, dubbed though as an orgy of wastage of money and resources aimed at making vulgar/ awful status display.
When he sits down to a meal, the pseudo- hunter may not have caught and killed the prey that’s being served up for eating, but he’s at least filled in the hunting hours before the meal with a suitable substitute for the chase. Kashmiri diner learnt to feign it by flirting with the timings of serving the feast. For Johnny- come- lately and dilly dalliers that keep everyone waiting their scheme of showing up late is to shun the painful wait they’re otherwise to wade knee- deep in the desert of vast eternity.
The famished lot of early birds and Johnny- on- spot( s) gets drawn into an unending social event of debating the hunting performances, opportunities, weaknesses, strategies and tricks of the trade.
With the sudden brouhaha in the host’s camp the hungry souls in the tent breathe a sigh of relief. The much cherished sound of sylph like tin- coated copper naa’r ( jug) clinking with the saucer- shaped copper tasht ( wash- basin) is kind of trigger for necks to crane in a typical caveman’s ‘ gesture. A brigade of highly disciplined, energetic teens and twenty- something ( now- a- day’s uniform clad regiment of waiters outsourced) appears from somewhere for guests to wash hands. Another contingent of youngsters rolls down the milky Dastarkhawn . The herd of hungry carnivore is now ready to invade ( and devour) the ‘ hunters’ feast’, the hot ‘ batta traam ’, at the ‘ prey temperatures’. Mouths salivate; chops are licked at the thought of the delicious smell emanating from the ‘ batta traam . No better moment could be chosen to invade and assassinate an enemy. So riveted is his attention at this second, when surposh, the lid, is removed that even if the diner is deep in conversation at the moment his eyes still fixate the steaming dish, as if life depended upon seeing it now, at his first possible instant.
It’s a sight a cat seeing a mouse. He’s tempted to see in this reaction the ghost of an ancient hunter spotting his prey.
The hot ‘ batta traam ’ and the motley collection of culinary delights served during the wazwaan , rekindle the memories of the ‘ natural heat’ of the freshly killed prey and the ‘ body warmth’ of our first and most comforting foodstuff— milk from the breast.
Meat is the male food. It’s the hunter’s triumph. Vegetables are the female food. They’re the nest feeder’s triumph.
Historically it’s females who would gather vegetables. Hunters would start with meat and end with sweet.
The prize find of succulent methi , crisp tabakh maaz , appetizing sekh kebab , yummy chicken, desolate dani phoul ( mostly left uneaten) salivate mouths. The big eaters pig- out and even ravenously munch their way through the share of the fellow diners. Lazy bones are yet to taste rista , let alone roughen josh. They’re busy negotiating for their share of chicken and tabakh maaz . Some of the invitees peck at the boiled rice to lay hands on their share of dishes to stow them away into the polythene bags to later dine at home with their family members. When the Wazza scurries unceasingly across the gaps to serve one dish after another, the hapless lot of diners long for a respite. Unless one is a gourmand, a glutton, the diners soon keep themselves away from eating except to mark their presence.
We always tend to go histrionic about our disapproval of ‘ Wazwaan ’ that causes afflictions and sufferings to the common man. Guest control measures, both voluntary as well as involuntary, taken from time to time have never been success. The wazwaan of yesteryears is no longer the same as we have it today. Invitation cards, dishes served and the attendant paraphernalia used for the feast all underwent a sea change. For we little naked apes feel small and insignificant if not applauded or approved by the people, we happily drag ourselves into amassing riches ( legally or illegally), displaying fanciest homes and assets and wasting time, money and other resources on the wazwaan kind of extravaganza.
Tajamul Hussain hoosyn50@ gmail. com We always tend to go histrionic about our disapproval of ‘ Wazwaan’ that causes afflictions and sufferings to the common man.
