Thanksgiving in India

Thanksgiving in America is about enjoying a big feast with family every year in late November. Like most holidays, its exact origins are murky, but it's generally tied to the peak of the autumn harvest and the survival of the early Pilgrims at Plymouth during a particularly harsh winter in 1621. Everyone, inlcuding the poor, should have abundant food that day and in return all are to feel some sentiment of thankfulness for the feast, whether to God, the company or state welfare.

The American Thanksgiving varies by family: some gatherings are traditional and large, with mom, dad, the kids, grandma and grandpa, and an assortment of aunts, uncles, and cousins gathered around a large table with an enormous roast turkey in the middle of the setting. Other gatherings are small and avant-garde, like my own family's growing up: me, Mom and usually Unca John sitting on a couch together enjoying Mom's home-cooked vegetarian feast with eggplant parmesan as the main dish.

I don't remember exactly where Nick and I were on November 27th this year, for our first Thanksgiving together as a married couple. We noticed at some point in the day that it was Thanksgiving back home - we may have been traveling by train that day or preparing for a long journey the next morning. We thought of family but couldn't really conjure up a Thanksgiving of our own in our environment. The context was missing. Thanksgiving Day is supposed to be cold outside, so the comforts of hot, rich food are appealing, and, though we were together, the warmth of family was absent. Outside was the normal bustle of an Indian day, the tourists and hawkers were out in the heat, the local mosque called prayers to Allah five times a day, and the smell of curry, chapati and chai wasn't exactly reminiscent of either turkey or eggplant parmesan.

Later, I think by some internal clock we noticed that we had missed Thanksgiving and wondered if we would find our own way to experience it in India, to make up for the lost holiday.

Per my earlier blog post, I did not like Agra very much. Nothing particularly bad happened there, it's just that I found the place to be unappealing and a touch hostile. I didn't feel as welcome there as I have in much of India, and my Taj Mahal experience was tainted as a result. We did happen to be in town at the right time, since entry to the Taj was free due to an important Muslim holiday starting that day.

It turns out that Muslims have a Thankgiving too. Eid, pronounced "eat," is a festival of sacrifice and in some respects it's much like the American holiday. Substitute sheep for chicken, up the moral tithe to a duty (it's a requirement to divide the food equally among the poor, the relatives and oneself), make the holiday last three days instead of one, spend time with family and friends, and you have Eid. To a vegetarian the partitioning of meat isn't particularly helpful or interesting, but the concept of distributing food to the entire community, in particular helping the poor, is noble, and the idea of spending time with the people you love for a grand feast is very familiar.

The guards at the Taj may have been sour, but the community of Muslims was vibrant on the morning of the first day of Eid. Thousands entered the Taj gates, but not as tourists: they were Muslims going to a special prayer in the mosque adjacent to the famous mausoleum. Since the window of free entry was early, only between 8 and 10 am, we skipped breakfast in order to take advantage of the holiday (we're not early risers you see). After touring the Taj Mahal, we set off to find a meal. Suddenly tired of white toast or cornflakes in lukewarm milk, I told Nick I wanted to find the "sumptuous breakfast buffet" recommended by Lonely Planet at a hotel restaurant called Bellevue.

We set off down Taj East Gate Road and found the luxury hotel firmly behind an iron gate with an armed guard and costumed host standing outside. The polite host, in full sparkling Raj-era outfit, explained that as a member of the Oberoi hotel chain, they were not letting anyone past the gate without a reservation made at least 2-3 days in advance. Smart given the bombings in Mumbai, but frustrating. The host did recommend we try the restaurant at ITC Mughal, another luxury hotel pick that they send many of their guests to for a change of pace.

We were warmly greeted at ITC by the receiving hosts and even the sharply dressed female guard searched for weapons in the most pleasant manner, saying with a huge smile, "Namaste. How are you?" We walked down a long verdant corridor to the main sliding doors and into a huge chandelliered lobby. A male host walked us all the way through the hotel and downstairs to the restaurant, Bagh-e-Bahar.

Again, ridiculously pleasant staff attended to our every need. The manager checked on us several times, one man came by exclusively to serve coffee, the female host encouraged us to check out the breakfast buffet, and a team of cooks make omelets to order. For 500 Rs per person ($10) the buffet was all-you-can-eat. It was roughly equivalent to buffets I've found at American luxury hotels, usually for $30-$40 per person, only better.

Nick looked at me in a state of near-shock and said "oh my god" several times. It was a nice but sudden change of pace from our outdated 70s era, musty hotel room stuck in an awkward and smelly alley. The napkins were cloth. The chairs were clean and padded. The lighting and smells were pleasant.

The food was out of this world. I wandered over to check out the buffet and promptly came back to the table, completely disoriented and not sure where to start. I saw 7 different kinds of juices and became overwhelmed. Nevermind the safe and edible mounds of fresh fruit, which I saw as my first real chance for fiber intake in a loooong time. I don't really need to explain why that bit was important and truly exciting in a way that it shouldn't have been.

Piled on my plate: fruit salad, including watermelon, pomegranate seeds, a date-like fruit, and papaya; freshly made whole-milk Indian yogurt in a clay cup; a bowl of oatmeal topped with cinnamon sugar, raisins, and almonds; a single hash-brown; a danish-like pastry (hard choice among the plethora of pastries, muffins, and fresh breads); a selection of imported cheeses and crakers (including cheddar and smoked gouda). I went hog-wild and combined the guava and watermelon juice 50/50 and welcomed a cup of fresh coffee. Nick almost passed out when he saw the smoked salmon.

That was just the first course, and unable to resist more, I went for seconds. This time, some fresh granola with honey, strawberry milk, and more coffee. The affable host insisted I try an "Indian specialty" and when the potato-stuffed paratha arrived I started to laugh giddily. They had served me two of them, about 10" diameter each, along with fresh curd (yogurt) and there was absolutely no way I was going to be able to finish, I was truly at the bursting point. I got through about 1/2 of one paratha and had to call it quits.

As we struggled, very slowly, to finish up the second course, Nick looked around carb-happy and noted, "this is our Thanksgiving, isn't it? How fitting that we end up having a feast like this on Eid."

So we found our own Thanksgiving on a whim in an oasis in the middle of Agra, and paralled the Muslims as they celebrated their own feast. We strolled the immaculate empty grounds afterwards to walk off the weight in our bellies. I noticed that no one was around ITC Mughal except for a few subtle guards and some grounds staff. The blue pool was empty, the paths were clear, and the gardens silent. I wondered if the Mumbai attacks had hurt luxury tourism so badly that this was the result and recalled that only two other tables were seated at breakfast (though we had arrived late in the morning). The hotel grounds were lovely but eerily quiet, and it felt like a massive but welcome splurge to treat ourselves to this ridiculous feast before we returned to the world of mediocre food available in the Taj Ganj neighborhood.

Fortunately, eating all that fruit paid off as well!