Now, I am a born Bong (slang for Bengali's born in the Eastern state of West Bengal in India). But the difference between me and my ancestors was the fact that I was raised in different parts of the country making me a cosmopolite (that is what I would like to believe about myself).
We spoke Bangla (the mother tongue) only at home and amongst friends, even if they, belonged to our own place of origin, English was the unifying factor. Anybody who was vernacular always got a raised eyebrow from us. While our parents kept looking for people of the same origin, we, the younger generation always looked away. We hated to be categorized in a group, “we are all Indians”, we loved to proclaim.
The endless talk of the elders about the latest fish they bought from a particular market, the gory details of choosing the right fish and the best way of preparation sickened me and my sister. Sometimes the discussions were so graphic that any vegetarian would die of a heart attack while I lost all appetite to eat afterwards.
The love affair with these fresh water creatures never ceases to end in a Bong household. So much so that my Baba (dad) proudly proclaimed and I quote, “a man’s character is determined by the quality of fish he buys.” On the contrary the same guy had to give his two daughters to guys who were non-bongs. Both never ever purchased fish in their lives. One is learning slowly under his tutelage while the other has given up eating…but then that’s another story.
Till date on Skype, my Baba never fails to ask the last time I ate fish, even if he might forget to ask how am I doing. Whenever I fall sick, his reaction is that I am not eating my fish.
Honestly, I did lose my cool more than once with his enquiries and wondered what the big deal was. Fresh water fishes were readily available in India where I stayed alone for some time away from parents. I was not immensely crazy about my fish curry-rice (macher jol-bhaat) and whenever I missed it, I cooked.
Lately with my new migration when my commuting has its own limitations, thanks to my sense-of-direction. I miss my fish more often than not. My vegetarian better half would never realise and it is difficult to explain because he is a non-Bong and doesn't know that fish is deeply embedded in my system of existence.
It has been more than two months of my no-fish diets and my cravings were getting desperate. I decided to take action and didn't even hesitate to do some Googling on finding a Bangladeshi shop near my place. When nothing came up, I went to the extent of pinging a newly met Bong couple who were forthcoming in giving some address. They were far from where I live and if I told my better-half about my real intention of making him drive so far, he would start preaching of the attributes of becoming a veggie, which I don’t contend but am not so strong-willed yet. So the Bong blood in me took the better of me and I made him take me there all the way with some other pretext.
The moment I laid my hands on those frozen packets of fishes, I was in nirvana. The shopkeeper became my long lost relative here with fish the unifying factor between us. We had some intense conversations over the wide varieties of fishes he stocked. My better-half looked surprised and all he could said was, “I don’t know what were so happy about? Much happier than when you see back home.” To which I didn't reply because in marriage it is better to avoid answering for sanity sake at times. My purpose was solved and now my fishes lay carefully ducked in my refrigerator and I haven’t had the chance to cook them yet. But the feeling that they are within my easy reach and I can cook my macher-jhol bhaat whenever I want is just so exhilarating.
Maybe, the years of being raised outside Bengal haven’t been able to take the Bong away from me, what say?
Do let me know if it has ever happened with you when the need to have the food you've grown-up with has overtaken all other sense of the world and you are ready to go the extra manipulative mile to have some?
