<p>Festival season seems to bring out aggressive hospitality, with hosts insisting on force-feeding guests. It reminded me of the soft tyranny of everyday upachara that mothers of an earlier generation had perfected into an art form.</p>.<p>My mother firmly believed that if you could comfortably eat two dosas, you could be coaxed into a third. The fourth would be slipped onto your plate after you were tricked into looking away for a moment.</p>.<p>Now, you’d think the fifth one would be impossible to sneak past your wary eyes. But the moms fell back on a mantra they taught you early in life: No wasting food. So, a midsize mountain of chutney would first land on your plate in an “accidental” avalanche, and then you’d have to make way for a “small” dosa to mop up the chutney. Any protest about portion control was brushed aside because, in their eyes, you were always too thin.</p>.Murugha Sharana’s case verdict today.<p>Guests, too, were often the victims of this kind of ambush. Sometimes, of course, a visitor’s disinclination was due not to a lack of appetite but to previous experience of tasting the host’s culinary experiments. These guests came armed with a steely will and a stern no, and the host was forced to yield, having met their match.</p>.<p>My mother, though generally an excellent cook, was not particularly known for her coffee. To make matters worse, she usually brought out full cups of coffee as opposed to the thimble-sized “second-dose” servings offered in many houses. Not one to acknowledge that her coffee was far from stellar, she was always surprised by the resolute refusals. Her lamentations of “oh, you never had coffee!” were met with a variety of well-prepared excuses, and it was comical to see her look on helplessly as yet another guest managed to get away without taking a sip of coffee.</p>.<p>My generation, having been at the receiving end of this enthusiastic upachara, is of course kinder. We usually take people at their word and stop when they say they’ve had enough. For an earlier generation, though, a “big hand” in serving was proof of a big heart, and holding back could be equivalent to holding back affection. So, when you’re feeding someone older, and you really stop after the second chapati because they asked you to, you might catch a faintly crestfallen expression that signals you missed the point.</p>.<p>Even if you’re not a practitioner of the forceful kind of hospitality, it does feel good when the right kind of guest arrives—the one who won’t mind a bit of loving fuss. You find yourself remembering all your mother’s little wiles and slip into her ways effortlessly. And before you realise it, you hear the words forming and that familiar tone of cajolery: “Have a small one now… you can always delay your dinner.”</p><p><em>Disclaimer: The views expressed above are the author's own. They do not necessarily reflect the views of DH.</em></p>
<p>Festival season seems to bring out aggressive hospitality, with hosts insisting on force-feeding guests. It reminded me of the soft tyranny of everyday upachara that mothers of an earlier generation had perfected into an art form.</p>.<p>My mother firmly believed that if you could comfortably eat two dosas, you could be coaxed into a third. The fourth would be slipped onto your plate after you were tricked into looking away for a moment.</p>.<p>Now, you’d think the fifth one would be impossible to sneak past your wary eyes. But the moms fell back on a mantra they taught you early in life: No wasting food. So, a midsize mountain of chutney would first land on your plate in an “accidental” avalanche, and then you’d have to make way for a “small” dosa to mop up the chutney. Any protest about portion control was brushed aside because, in their eyes, you were always too thin.</p>.Murugha Sharana’s case verdict today.<p>Guests, too, were often the victims of this kind of ambush. Sometimes, of course, a visitor’s disinclination was due not to a lack of appetite but to previous experience of tasting the host’s culinary experiments. These guests came armed with a steely will and a stern no, and the host was forced to yield, having met their match.</p>.<p>My mother, though generally an excellent cook, was not particularly known for her coffee. To make matters worse, she usually brought out full cups of coffee as opposed to the thimble-sized “second-dose” servings offered in many houses. Not one to acknowledge that her coffee was far from stellar, she was always surprised by the resolute refusals. Her lamentations of “oh, you never had coffee!” were met with a variety of well-prepared excuses, and it was comical to see her look on helplessly as yet another guest managed to get away without taking a sip of coffee.</p>.<p>My generation, having been at the receiving end of this enthusiastic upachara, is of course kinder. We usually take people at their word and stop when they say they’ve had enough. For an earlier generation, though, a “big hand” in serving was proof of a big heart, and holding back could be equivalent to holding back affection. So, when you’re feeding someone older, and you really stop after the second chapati because they asked you to, you might catch a faintly crestfallen expression that signals you missed the point.</p>.<p>Even if you’re not a practitioner of the forceful kind of hospitality, it does feel good when the right kind of guest arrives—the one who won’t mind a bit of loving fuss. You find yourself remembering all your mother’s little wiles and slip into her ways effortlessly. And before you realise it, you hear the words forming and that familiar tone of cajolery: “Have a small one now… you can always delay your dinner.”</p><p><em>Disclaimer: The views expressed above are the author's own. They do not necessarily reflect the views of DH.</em></p>
