The velvet touch

Soft. Smooth. Seductive. No, I am not tripping on alliterations. My 16 years of being on what is called the ‘desk’ of print publications has taught me to abhor its use in speech, writing and thought. But when there’s velvet in the picture — wrapped around a pair of fidgety eyes — ‘s’ words seize my brain.

While the velvet blocks the vision in the most disarming fashion, the touch of a hand — confident, but gentle — on my restless hand brings home the message that seeing is perhaps not everything. Hands locked, it is time for the next step. The next ‘s’. Silver.

The metal is at arm’s length, neatly arranged on the silk (another ‘s’, see!) that my hand is exploring. There is some china. Some crystal too. And the solid presence of silver. My fingers, now wrapped around my companion’s, traces the contours of the cutlery that was mine for the evening. Sitting a few centimetres from the heavy knife, which my partner helps me secure, is a piece of flesh — tender, searing. The silver cuts through the protein like a dream, and the first bite, dipped in a puddle of gravy, is ready for consumption. Hanging delicately from the end of the fork — I had begun to see through the mind’s eye, given that the velvet blindfold hadn’t budged an inch — the piece travels to my mouth, and melts inside. Almost simultaneously, the crystal at the table comes alive with the power of Bacchus. A bottle empties some of its contents into a long-stemmed goblet, and it goes down my throat to be united with the lamb I had ingested moments ago. The effect? S...urreal.

The velvet stays put for an hour, perhaps longer. And after the first few bites and sips, the helping hand keeps a distance — but is around reassuringly. It comes to the rescue every time I come close to knocking the wine glass over, or spilling sauce. Like that hint of cinnamon in a cup of luscious hot chocolate, the hand is there but almost not there. When the velvet comes off and the dim lights tease my eyes — a tad tired from the novel task of remaining shut while I am wide awake — I search eagerly for the owner of the hand. Sadly, no hand goes up when I ask to know who was my partner in the experience. I have to make do with the polite smiles from the liveried men in attendance. A round of soft applause, in keeping with the mood of the blindfolded dinner, conveys appreciation for the waitstaff.

As I rise from the table, I suspect that my restlessness has irked some of my fellow diners. They would have liked absolute silence to absorb the experience. What they got instead is a bundle of nerves, silly giggles and starts. But who can explain that touch — unfamiliar yet reassuring — can tease the brain into a sort of gymnastics! I leave with a sigh, a little upset that I can’t put a face to the hand that made the evening.

There are many hands that go into the making of a perfect break. And heads too. Put them together, and you have Narendra Bhawan in Bikaner. A palace that doesn’t intimidate by size or stateliness. This is where the last king of Bikaner — Maharaja Narendra Singh — lived, in the company of beloved bovine and canine family. And there are touches of the man — his travels, his personality, his hobbies — all over the place. Brocades and terrazzo tiles, chiffons and pearls, chandeliers and chaise lounges, piano and Penguin classics... elements of the regal go hand-in-hand with the eccentric. Adding life to the whole picture, apart from the peacocks and the pigeons, and the homely staff, are the experiences that you can sign up for.

‘Sundowners at the Pastures’, for instance, is an endless procession of cocktails and food deep in the desert of Bikaner. The ‘Museum Menu’ — a lunch in the imposing Laxmi Niwas Palace — is a short history of the Maharaja’s culinary favourites. This lunch, in my case, begins with a gin cocktail, and continues over wine and more wine. The quaffing is punctuated with dishes such as asparagus mousse, croquettes of duck meat, Plat de Bikaner (kebabs, laal maas and assortment of breads), and apple tartine and cheeses.

What emerges a favourite is a meal that combines two lasting loves — books and food. Narendra Bhawan’s ‘Literary Lunch’ is a seven-course affair that makes you read for your meal. You read an excerpt to the table, and then comes a dish inspired by the book you have just read from. Sylvia Plath, Herman Melville, Henry Molise, Nicole Mones, Virginia Woolf, Emile Zola and James Joyce are the names behind the menu.

Call it love for the last or Joyce, I settle for the excerpt from Ulysses : “… for Gerty was womanly wise and knew that a mere man liked that feeling of hominess. Her griddlecakes done to a golden-brown hue and queen Ann’s pudding of delightful creaminess had won golden opinions from all because she had a lucky hand also for lighting a fire, dredge in the fine self-raising flour and always stir in the same directions, then cream the milk and sugar and whisk well the whites of eggs though she didn’t like the eating part when there were many people that made her shy and often she wondered why you couldn’t eat something poetical like violets or roses…”

I hang on to the last words as roundels of white chocolate pudding, with candied rose petals and lime curd, arrive at the table. I break the walls of the dessert with the spoon and relish the sight of the wobbly white chocolate. There’s a clever mind at work in the kitchen. And a pair of deft hands.

(The writer was in Bikaner on the invitation of Narendra Bhavan, Bikaner)

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