Last of the shaukeen Kayasth men

How my father Rajeev Rishi, a bon vivant and amateur chef, gave us life lessons through his food and left an indelible mark on Avadhi cuisine

The day before he came down with a fever, my dad (72) sent me a bowl of satpaita, a typical winter preparation of split urad dal and methi greens, part of our family’s rich repertoire of Avadhi cuisine. “Who eats satpaita in summer? It is too heavy,” I retorted on the phone, when he called to ask if I wanted some. “We,” my dad said, using his royal Lucknowi “we” (instead of “I”), “felt like eating it,” and sent it across. I ate much of it with enthusiasm that afternoon, warm weather notwithstanding, and then stowed away some in the fridge. The next day, dad tested positive for Covid-19, as did my mother and brother, and the world changed irrevocably. For a few days after, however, I still believed all was well. That dad was only mildly ill. In fact, it was a delusion the entire family remained under till that last evening when he boarded the ambulance and went into the ICU unescorted — never to come back. The bowl of satpaita sits in my refrigerator; now a memory to be preserved. As a finely-worded obit emailed to me described him, my dad was a bon vivant, the last of a line of shaukeen Kayasth men, belonging to the liberal community of medieval scribes, known to patronise the arts and culture, and who liked to live life king size. Generous to a fault, fond of cooking and music, dad was happiest when sharing these passions. Before the pandemic made physical gatherings impossible, he and some relatives and friends had been regular with their musical baithaks held once a month, soirées organised in each other’s homes in which all participants would sing carefully-rehearsed songs, accompanists having been hired for the occasion. The baithaks would end inevitably in a lavish repast prepared by the host, and when my dad’s turn came, there would be demands for his bhuna meat or badam parsinde, recipes going back centuries that he had perfected.