[Editorial Note:  The Picnic was such a hit that two of our Communications Team members provided two different perspectives on the day.  This one is by Amit Dutt.  Another one by Roshan Choudhury is also available online]

DItes woke up to an overcast morning this last Sunday, January 13th.  The reference, dear reader, is not to any menacing cloud that hung over the city; quite the contrary: a crisp clear sky, as it emerged from the regulation canopy of smog that envelops the city every morning, along with just the right chill, greeted  them. The allusion, sadly, is to pall of gloom at the demise of Joyce O’Brien the evening before. DI will sorely miss that winsome smile  and the matronly figure as she roly-polied her way to her cushion at the Main Bar virtually every evening.  May the Almighty grant the everlasting peace the lady so richly deserves and  fortitude to the bereaved in this their dark hour. It is, at once, a measure of the resilience of the club authorities as well as of the afflicted family that it was resolved, without ado, that the picnic would go on.

Members started assembling at the parking lot from 7 of the clock. One coach arrived in time, the other – what had prompted the driver to execute an empty run all the way to Dunlop at the northern fringe of the city and back, remains a mystery – showed up an hour later. All piled in. That very important commodity, drinks, second only to food – more of the latter later with the attention to detail that it amply merited – along with small bergs were stowed away in the holds and the buses trundled out of the gates. An hour and twenty five kilometres  later the members were at Kamala Gardens, the venue. The rut leading from the road being too narrow for the juggernauts to negotiate, the members had to walk the 50 yards to the gate.

What greeted them was a soothing balm for eyes afflicted with the distress that is commonly referred to as sore. Bright rongon hedges, crimson coleus and white and pink chrysanthemums lines the paths, one leading straight to a hip-roofed pavilion, the other to the right past a span-roofed bungalow housing a couple of en suite  rooms, the walkways enclosing an expanse of green. A rectangular pond,  hemmed  by doranda shrubs, dracaena, crotons and more rongons punctuated by tall areca  palms, coconut and Abyssinian banana trees comprises the far end. A walkway encircling the water-body affords perambulations free from the fear (quite an alliteration, what, never mind if it is sheer coincidence?) of ingesting the pollution asphyxiating the big smoke. Tables with garden umbrellas to keep away the sun,  dotted the place.  Shataranchis spread out on the ground afforded sitting and reclining areas for those not afflicted with geriatric ailments of the arthritic and spondylitic varieties in their several agonising manifestations.

The children, as is their wont, immediately spilled all over the field. The parents had a trying time shepherding them to the tables laid out with breakfast.  Karaishutir kachuri, alur dum and jalebis were lapped up with a ravenousness that the attribute voracious, in all fairness, could accord scant justice to. Hot tea under the mellow sun provided a fitting end. Kids gambolled back to their games and adults, mostly men, trooped dutifully down to the bar that had by then been set up at the gazebo. The stewards, bar men and waiters, in consonance with their mufti of jeans and polo shirts, and in striking contrast to their almost Jeeves-ishly impassive poker-face commonly seen at the club, were a chirpy lot.   The fair sex – it would take up the better part of a paragraph to establish here that the suffix, er, constituting the comparative of adjectives and in popular use is, at best, a misleading misnomer – generally restricted themselves to soft drinks and more cha. A few slaked their thirst with the ubiquitous beer.

So armed, the grown-ups joined the youngsters in the team games,  very ably conducted by young Christabel.  By the time I arrived – never an early riser, I had but to forego the fun of travelling together in the bus and to join the revellers later – the Lemon-and-Spoon and Tunnel Ball races had been over. The Tug-of-war was about to commence. Observing some charming ladies participating, I volunteered – with an enthusiasm I am not too certain Aditi could detect, or chose deliberately to ignore -- in the fond hope that I would have them falling over me , or I over them depending on the outcome of the war, either way a win-win situation. Alas, that was not to be: kids below six and fossils above sixty were advised to quit. No amount of reasoning that I am still on the sunny side of seventy -- one appears to be getting into the habit of breaking into alliterations! -- and just as spry could convince a resolute Christabel. Dazzling Diamonds tugged away the honours. The beer-guzzling relay found everyone eager to join. Andrew Noel, seeing he had an icicle’s chance in hell to drink down a podium finish, sat down, a picture of relaxation, and enjoyed his bottle, ruing there were no snacks to go with the ale. Not at that moment, that is. Subham later claimed that with that free pint, he – Subham, not Noel -- had killed a total of twelve, no less. Phenomenal, one is inclined to conclude with awe.

All this with the elevenses that were in overabundance and stretched well, well beyond the hour they had been named after. As if gandhoraj chicken, shammi kebab, fish finger, gold coin, cheese corn nuggets, mixed vegetable pakoras and French fries were not enough, morolla mach bhaja – crunchy -- was thrown in for good measure.

A mellow sun, a cool breeze and a verdant lawn; can cricket be far behind? Did we detect some able replacements for Pandya and Rahul, who had been so unceremoniously packed off from DU – Down Under, in case anyone is wondering – for their inappropriate observations on a television show in the not-too-distant past. Badminton was mostly restricted to the kids.

It was now the turn of the nightingales and the tenors to usher in some live songs. Tushar Chawla – he, with his not-inconsiderable girth, had earlier slumped spread-eagled on the ground, in what was felt by some of the by-now woozy guzzlers as a mild tremor, while anchoring the first tug of the rope in a convincing win – commenced  with a Hindi retro number to the accompaniment of  backing track.  Sister Pooja and Sumita Bhattacharya followed with their lilting sopranos and contraltos. Compere, Raju Raman, brought up the rear. RR broke into a sprightly jig , not once spilling the vodka he held deftly in one hand. To the amusement of the scattered audience. Melvin Pinto next took over with some English numbers. Trailed by Christabel, Brinelle and Stella (last names please).

Resident emcee, Leslie D’Gama, announced lunch. In a nod to local cuisine, the spread, like the breakfast, was Bengali. Gobinda-bhog chaler bhaat, moog dal, aloo bhaja, chhanar dalna, bhetki machher fry and mutton korma, especially the last two, had carnivores drooling. Vegetable cutlets, malai kofta and paneer butter masala left the vegetarians burping away in satisfaction. Baked sandesh and rosogolla brought up the desserts. Paan, the signature end to a Bangalee fare, ensured that none suffered from indigestion. Quite a few made a line, commonly attributed to the apian family, to commend Sankar Banerjee, the proprietor of Saqi Caterers. He had demonstrably won over many hearts. Oops, I mean stomachs. As had Debra Saldhana, who had overseen the entire process. Tirelessly. Ceaselessly.

Thus sated, none was in a condition -- and hence, mood -- for any post-lunch activity that entailed even the suggestion of physical exertion. Housie would be just right in the circumstance. And so it was. Aditi and I came tantalisingly close to a Rupees-two-hundred win twice – something that would have taken care of my beers -- only to see it pre-empted away by someone else.  President, Jayajit Biswas, was one of them. Did one get the whiff of rigging? What in cricketing parlance goes by the looked-askance term, match-fixing? Tanya and Mel, would you care to enlighten please? We were left with the  solatia of tea and Monaco biscuits. Prizes were distributed to the four teams which participated in the games earlier: Dazzling Diamonds dazzled with 34 points, DI Knights – all in black – were second with 28; Avengers and Team Won were tied at 26. All kids received gifts.

The shadows of the tall arecas were now fast lengthening, signalling the draw of stumps, to resort to  more cricketing jargon. It was unanimously, and enthusiastically, resolved that ashchhe bochhor abaar hobey at Kamala Gardens. With Saqi Caterers. Just the pup, spoilt with the love of  the kids the entire day, had a forlorn look as the little ones trooped out with their parents. To the waiting buses.

The Photo Album is available on Facebook at Annual Picnic 2019