When Dal Makhni weds Litti Chokha

This saga began when I entered my Bihari household after marriage, with orange sindoor (vermillion) applied by my husband from the tip of the nose to the maang. The fun began later with ladies taking over—smearing me lavishly from my nose to the maang, through an orange-smeared forehead, or was it the other way around? It had no ending and no beginning. I reached home where I saw red—oops—orange! Beginning with a face wash, I ended with detergent to be presentable for our reception while ensuring that sindoor remained in the maang.

Bihari women adorn long sindhoor on the occassion of Chatt Puja. (Express photo)

The thick, warm aroma of spices woke me up the next morning. Hot, spicy mutton was waiting for me. It smelled and tasted good until the spices set my system on fire. I hesitantly requested exemption from such love! To compensate, I was fed delicious homemade Bihari sweets like thekua and paidakia (gujiya, to the uninitiated). While my Punjabi palate was getting used to experimentation, I encountered the salty chana sattu drink! I was gasping for breath. Sattu for Punjabis is barley sattu and a sweet drink.

thekua, a bihari sweet. (Wikipedia commons)

My second attempt at cooking also rebounded. My black chana and rice for dinner left my husband aghast. “Black chana is to be had only with parantha and only at breakfast,” he announced.

For a Sardarni, festivals mean indulgence. In Bihar, they mean abstinence—no non-vegetarian food and sometimes, no food at all! The icing on the cake was Teej—a tougher version of Karwa Chauth with more than 30 hours of fasting! I decided to observe a practice fast. My mother-in-law, God bless her, allowed me to have fruit, water, and cold coffee. I survived and even lost one kg! Happy and ready for Teej, I took leave and came to Chandigarh. My husband promptly went on tour. With mehndi on my hands and a scowl on my face, I fasted and did pooja for him, without him.

The next year, I fasted for him in Delhi, again without him. Seething with hunger and anger, I told him, “I am never going to fast for you again!” He smiled and said, “Who asked you to?” Thus ended my experiments with fasting. I have been exempted from fasting as no one wants a Sardarni to die of starvation. Partaking the prasad is my only participation. Luckily, I have a Himachali daughter-in-law who more than makes up in the fasting drill.

One last episode before I sign off—I wore the dholna (mangalsutra in Bihar) very proudly until the day it accidentally fell off my neck, with me howling and my husband convincing me that nothing would happen to him. In Sikh families, there is no concept of a mangalsutra, payal, and bichias, which have a special place in every Bihari heart and now in my bank locker.

As you can see, life is one roller coaster ride for this Sikhni and this Bihari—with miles and miles to go.

(The author is a retired Civil Servant and is currently an advocate practising in the Hon’ble High Court of Punjab and Haryana)