BackgroundBada/Bura (बङा) translates to 'big' in English. Bara meat is a common term here, referring to meat from the larger animals. Goat is considered 'छोटा' (small meat). If you're smart enough, you can decipher, then, that 'Bara Kabab' (बङा कबाब)or 'Bare ke Kabab' (बङे के कबाब) refer to kabab preparation using these animals - beef to be more specific. Its buffaloes mostly, at least in this part of the country.
In the Hindu world, beef is a strict no-no; while in the Muslim world pork has the same reservations. The Christian world can go for anything they like. Being Hindu-dominated, India does not glorify cow meat, same goes for its availability. But it IS sold and prepared, often right under your nose! This far, by word of mouth, I had only known about the beef business in and around Old Delhi, a place which I've frequented in the past few years. There is a strong Muslim population to consume it, so it makes sense. I approached my friend Osama once, and he confirmed that fact, alongwith revealing that even camel meat is available on the days of Id. He went on to explain of other animals that go under the butcher's knife. The bigger the animal he names, the greater the astonishment.
TodayI've never cared about that while in Lucknow. I've been visiting some of the oldest of mughlai joints, and they serve out the most delicious of kababs that people from all regions and religions savour. I assume its chicken. I learn that it's not, it's mutton. Okay.
My day began late today. But began happily, joining some friends for football. After the game we headed to Mahanagar to have some kababs. Me and my oldest of friends, Shashank, on his scooter. We turn right from the roundabout and take the road parallel to the flyover. After about 100 meteres, Shashank brakes and asks me to get down. I look around, and after getting over the absence of hygiene, I notice the absence of any restaurants as well. I wonder if Shashank has one of those meagre eateries in mind. He does. Rains have formed puddles, and we have to watch our step to reach inside that place. There is no way to define it, as the only thing that would assuredly be there in the next hour is the wall to our right, which belongs to some shop or house on the other side. Rest is just thatch and bamboo. The place looks even more dilapidated than before - demolition drive, we're told. Meat preparations are stacked at the entrance, and a long row of wooden benches and tables follows. There's a seating for 6 on each table, 5 or 6 tables in all. A small boy sleeps at one of the cleaner of the tables and we ask him to move away. He, apparently, is a waiter and takes our order alongside getting back to his senses. He informs another boy and the boy lights up the stove and starts with our order. Everything is pre-cooked, just needs to be warmed up. The whole place is being run by kids as they are the only working staff around. In a few minutes our order is served - a couple of plates of kababs and roti. Three kababs per plate, deep cooked in an oil of dubious origins. I leave behind these questions of health and hygiene to luck, prepared to die for a plate of kababs. As we start with the kababs, a few more customers walk in and occupy the tables around.
One person, in particular seems an interesting character. He is a close replica of the Parliament minster Shahnawaz Hussain, sans the moustache. He embodies the classical Lucknowi look - a spotless white kurta pyjama, last remains of a paan dribbling out from his mouth, a wide smile that reminds me of a bollywood character, and a natural 'tehzeeb' visible in his manners. He is joined by another man. The all-kids eatery is finally taken over by a man. I stop looking around and get back to the kababs.
I finish first, its delicious. Shashank also does through, but with his share of rotis. He seems more of a roti/bread-eater and me the meat-eater. We ask for more, but, alas, there is just one more kabab left. We finish up fast and head out. Shashank washes his hands with a jug of supposedly drinking water, while I ask for the bill. By the time the man at the counter is done with calculating our plunder, Shashank is done with washing his hands and replace me at the counter while I wash mine. Shashank pays out of his pockets and still looks a happy man. This is an aberration from the typical character of a friends' group. I wonder why.
ConflictI've heard of my friends debating over their meat-eating habits when they leave India. Some have come to learn of their brothers or college seniors ignoring the restrictions in their respective religions, to go all out and try every kind of meat they come across. A few of my friends have disclosed that they won't shy away either, same as with their experiments in the bed (once out there) - the foriegn lands are a no-barrier, no-conscience zone to them. They seem naive. And they await visas. A few others are happy with their favorite animals and would not like to venture further. They won't feel like having something for which they never developed a taste for in the first place. There is a friend who will be stubborn about having chicken, and a cousin who will scoff if anything other than a lamb preparation is produced before him. I don't long for any particular meat. And I surely want to expand my taste radius by trying out new varieties of meat - but strictly those which are reared for their meat and hide. Odd sensibilities, you might suppose, but I'm far from having a permanent stance on this as no matter how much I move about, I'll always come across chicken or mutton in this country. About beef, I will have reservations. Cattle gives us so much more besides. And they function much more besides, compared to the chicken (which would be the same with or without a head) or the goat (which only evokes emotion when young or with a man-beard). Moreover, beef would have to be consumed in secrecy, with me coming from a Hindu family where everybody grew up perfectly fine without it. Beef would have to be a greater secret than my craving for alcohol or cigarette (if I ever develop either). I'm heading towards ill health if I'm on cigarettes, but towards my peril and total damnation if (they find out) I'm on beef.
FinaleWhile leaving the hygenically-retard eatery, I curiously ask the man at the tawa/hotplate, who is in the middle of preparing another lot of kababs from raw mincemenat - "बकरे के हैं?" ("Is this goat/lamb?"). He nods his head in negation. That can only mean one thing. I hasten to Shashank to ask about the bill. Rs.18, he says emphatically. 18! Did he mean that the two of us got done with this quantity of kabas (and rotis) for the price of a single plate of Chhole-Bhature? This is not 1980. I just had beef, surely. Only beef sells this cheap. And the texture, the texture was different from any mutton I've had. It was softer, with visibly greater amount of lard. And being more tender/crumbly it was smaller in size.
Being clandestine is no way out. And I announce it to my family upon arrival. Chaos and heated arguments ensue. I'm told that I was born in a Hindu family, and should follow its inherent rules. I declare that rubbish, and talk of converting to Islam to play into the argument. "Go ahead, I'm told". Seeing that I'm stubborn to the religious angle, I'm given a list of health issues associated with red meat - some unique diseases that one can only contract through red meat. This seems more appropriate to deter me. But I don't see entire populations of beef eaters fallin dead anywhere. But they've had enough of my arguments. Play back the religion card, and turn a deaf ear to what this boy has to say - there is no reaching a logical conclusion now.
Schizer. Ma had got me chocolate donuts, which suddenly don't taste all that well - being in the middle of being condemned.
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