I regret that I never interviewed Rishi Kapoor. Or got to know him better. But I have two memories of the veteran actor. They are more funny than fond. And both have to do with food and dining at the Taj Mahal Hotel in Mumbai.
Rishi was a foodie. No, actually he was a gourmet. He knew his food, he had a discerning palate, and he did not suffer fools when it came to expressing his views on food and drink. I know because I had two delightful meals with him (and Neetu Kapoor) at the Taj. He was a rollicking companion at the table. Quite bawdy. But if it weren’t for Rishi, those dinners would not be memorable, even though one was prepared by England’s pride – the great Gordon Ramsay.
First time we dined together, my friend Hemant Oberoi, the presiding deity of the Taj kitchen, invited me to sample a menu of rustic Punjabi food he had curated that would have any Sardarji truck driver doing the Bhangra on the Grand Trunk Road. Hemant, who is a Sikh, suggested I might want to bring a friend along to test the authenticity of his food who was also a Sikh. I took an elegant Sikhni instead. Neetu (Singh) Kapoor graciously accepted my invitation to dine at the Taj one Saturday night on Hemant’s menu of countryside food from the Punjab. She being Sikhni knew what it was all about. I thought it made a good story and an even better picture. Unfortunately, Neetu brought Rishi along. And he was in a wicked and ebullient mood. He had consumed a couple of drinks before they set out from home. And before my eyes, even as Neetu and I went through Hemant’s menu course by course, Rishi finished a bottle of Black Label by himself. That was the end of the dinner. The restaurant where we were dining shut down at midnight. But our party was just beginning. And Rishi was its life and soul.
Demanding that we be moved to the Chambers, the Taj’s exclusive business club, Rishi asked for another bottle of Black Label and ordered Hemant to prepare his favourite dish – the classic French Duck a l’Orange. He then began singing in a loud and off-key voice. Seeing the look of sorrow on Hemant’s face as he slouched off to the kitchen, I knew the Taj’s executive chef was regretting his big idea for the evening. But there was further grief for Hemant. One of the private dining rooms of the Chambers was being used for a condolence meeting over dinner. The aggrieved family rushed out hearing the infernal racket Rishi was creating. I will never forget their surprise. Sweating profusely, his face flushed, Rishi was enjoying himself. Seeing the audience, he went a notch higher, but Neetu stepped in then and after making her apologies, she hurried a protesting Rishi out of the Chambers. I had had the time of my life!
The next time we met, it was at the Ballroom of the Taj, and an eclectic menu of Indian food had been prepared for a Celebrity Dinner by London’s legendary chef and restaurateur Gordon Ramsay. He was touring India, doing a televised show for Britain’s Channel 4, and I don’t know why Ramsay decided to treat a ballroom full of famous Indian faces, royalty and Bollywood among them, to a dinner of Indian food prepared by him. As luck would have it, Rishi and Neetu Kapoor were on my table. I knew there would be fireworks, and I waited for them. Ramsay’s meal was utter rubbish. He had got it all wrong. I wish he had quietly given us food that we were accustomed to seeing him prepare on his TV show Hell’s Kitchen. What was worse, was that he was unashamedly trying to convince us that this was the greatest Indian meal we would ever have. The distinguished but hungry diners listened to him expound his philosophies on Indian food politely. Then Rishi exploded. “What nonsense!” he shouted, his face red with outrage. There was pandemonium. Then an outbreak of voices. Over which I heard Rishi shouting, louder than anybody, “Hemant! Hemant!” And the great Hemant Oberoi sidled into the Taj kitchen to cook dinner for everyone. Last I saw of him, Gordon Ramsay was headed to the airport to catch a late night flight home.
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