This is dedicated to two renowned institutions. One that has vanished from our lives, another that has also possibly done the same, but both, at one point of time, went hand in hand. The first is the Great Bengali Wedding Feast and the other is the Naam Kora Khaiyye (He with a reputation for eating).

The Great Bengali Wedding Feast was as much a matter of the most finely-tuned culinary skills, as it was a matter of prestige. There had to be excess; for food to run short was the ultimate disaster. Those who served you from the brass or bell metal buckets were persuasive to the point of being coercive. You had to spread both hands, palms downwards, over the banana leaf off which you ate and plead, ?Aar parchhi na?. Of course, both server and served knew that this was only a ploy for getting to the next round of goodies. And there were many rounds.

As you took your place, the inviting banana leaf would have a piece of lime, some salt and green chilli already on it. A typical first course could be fried aubergines, Dal (Chhola or Moong) and Kumror Chhokka (a preparation of red pumpkin, chick peas, potatoes and wax gourd). This is also the stage at which a vegetable curry ? cauliflower or enchor (green jackfruit) or Potoler Dolma (stuffed wax gourd) would be served.

Then came the fish and pulao. Depending on how elaborate the feast was, there could even be two or three preparations of fish. Rui (carp) Kaalia was a favourite, prawns (tiger prawns, of course) also went down very well. Then the mutton (never chicken), followed by a repeat of the fish and meat courses, the chutney and the papad and the sweets ? doi and mishti (sandesh and rasogolla or sandesh and pantua and sometimes also darbesh). Sweets were always made in the house of the host and those who prepared them moved in a few days before, as did the innumerable relatives and guests. It was more than a feast. It was an event.

No wonder, then, that there were Naam Kora Khaiyyes around. My uncle reminisced, ?There was me, there was Chitu, there was Ashok, and so-and-so, and so-and-so. Amader lokey bhoy peto (people were in awe of us).? I remember having more than a dozen pieces of fish and asking the guy who came around with the pantua bucket at the end to wait till I was through, all during a single meal.

Another uncle recalls that he served two particular individuals as a child during a wedding. One guest had to have an entire pot of doi to himself and the other had to be given his very own pot full of rasogolla. And both these redoubtable people had of course gone the whole hog, from course to course, including repeats, before the final and supreme act of indulgence. It has to be borne in mind, though, that if you were a Naam Korar Khaiyye worth your salt, you were not indiscriminate. Your feats depended entirely on the quality of the fare. And if you paid fitting tribute, it was a feather in the cap of those who created the food.

There were, of course, plenty of variations to the feast I have described. Sometimes rabri would figure among the sweets at the end; sometimes plain kheer. Sometimes a guest would have a Dal and chutney finale even after the sweets, just before paan.

But either way, such things are no more. Caterers have moved in and today Fried Rice, Chilli Chicken and ice cream rub shoulders with the more traditional items.

And, I do not know where the Naam Kora Khaiyyes have gone.