Unusual Experiences of a Not So Usual Family
“So do you eat fish?” That is the first question one asks when you tell them that you are a Bengali. The word fish is thus associated synonymously with a Bengali.
I moved to Vadodara for my Bachelor's degree in Arts. Spending two years in hostel made me aware of another stereotypical notion about a Bengali, i.e. being a ‘scholar’. I have heard it innumerable times during my studies “O tame to scholar chho. Badha Bengali e hoy chhe!” (Oh, you are a scholar. All Bengalis are). Many years hence and still someone or the other would make this remark, but by now I have learnt to live with it just like the fish association.
Two years after my arrival, my family joined in consisting of my parents and my younger brother, and with this started a rather futile search, a search for a home to rent. Why futile you ask? Well simple, as I told you earlier, the word Bengali is synonymous to fish and which Gujarati family (read Vegetarian Gujarati family for mostly all of them are) would let their house to a fish eating non-vegetarian family? The search was thus a ‘Mission Impossible!’
We somehow managed to get a house after dauntless struggle under a Brahmin Gujarati family (I mention ‘Brahmin’ because it shows how strict they were about non-vegetarian food) promising not to eat or bring non-veg into the house. Few days thus went by, but how long can you keep the fish away from the cat? My father, one of those Bengalis who cannot live without fish, was the first to squirm like a fish out of water. It began with bringing eggs secretly into the house and later disposing them off separately. We kept a vigil when the landlords were not around and would secretly dispose those off. If anyone saw us during such acts, they might have suspected us of espionage. Then came the entry of fish and other non-veg items. The cooking of fish was another secret act we partook in. While cooking it, all the windows and doors of our house were tightly shut so that the smell would not flow out. You would have thought we were engaged in cannibalism if you saw how we ate in secrecy during those times. One year later we shifted to a flat, giving us the freedom to eat whatever we wanted, ridding us off our acts of espionage and cannibalism.
The events of the house were just one of those classic experiences in the new city. Apart from that there were more such unique cases especially from the part of my father and mother. My father is one of those people who has an ingrained unnecessary community feeling that sometimes takes a rather comical effect. I accept, being a Bengali amongst Gujaratis might seem a bit different but it seemed he was the one feeling a minority complex. So whenever he would be walking on the road, or be sitting in a bus, or be in a mall, and hear someone speaking Bengali, his face lit up and he would approach that person, being the one to instigate a conversation. Later when he would return home, he would narrate this event in such a manner, it always seemed as if it was an act of bravery and worthy of commendation.
Strange are the ways of a father and mother. My mother unlike my father was not in search of Bengalis but something else, and that was, what each vegetable was called in Gujarati. Each day she would come to us and say with a wide brimming smile, “Do you know, potato is called ‘bataka’ here?” While another day it would be “they call onions ‘dungri’! What a strange name to give!”
And so days rolled by and so did months, and before we knew it, the time of festivity had arrived. What more does a Bengali look forward to in a year other than the Durga Puja. Durga Puja here is shared with Navratri festival, the nine nights of festivity. For this reason Durga Puja receives a very small space of celebration. There are only around eight to nine places where the idol of Durga is brought and worshiped and even in this handful of places most of the idols are very basic ones of a miniature scale. Thus for a Bengali it would be a deprivation of one long awaited event he/she looks forward to for a whole year. The Navratri is quite a feast for the eyes, as the whole city is adorned with lights. I enjoyed the Garba dances for the first few years, watching as well as dancing but after some years the excitement dims down and as a Bengali, the longing for Durga Puja and visiting one 'pandal' after another to see how each idol is decorated and the innovation that has gone with it sets in. Those are the times when I long to be in Kolkata.
By now, reading these experiences, you’re probably thinking that I hate living here, but that’s really not the case. The city has become a part of our lives, too hard to let go, too difficult to go back to the life before. And, by the way, if you think that a lot of my imagery revolves around fish, then please don’t mind, for I am still a Bengali at heart.
I moved to Vadodara for my Bachelor's degree in Arts. Spending two years in hostel made me aware of another stereotypical notion about a Bengali, i.e. being a ‘scholar’. I have heard it innumerable times during my studies “O tame to scholar chho. Badha Bengali e hoy chhe!” (Oh, you are a scholar. All Bengalis are). Many years hence and still someone or the other would make this remark, but by now I have learnt to live with it just like the fish association.
Two years after my arrival, my family joined in consisting of my parents and my younger brother, and with this started a rather futile search, a search for a home to rent. Why futile you ask? Well simple, as I told you earlier, the word Bengali is synonymous to fish and which Gujarati family (read Vegetarian Gujarati family for mostly all of them are) would let their house to a fish eating non-vegetarian family? The search was thus a ‘Mission Impossible!’
We somehow managed to get a house after dauntless struggle under a Brahmin Gujarati family (I mention ‘Brahmin’ because it shows how strict they were about non-vegetarian food) promising not to eat or bring non-veg into the house. Few days thus went by, but how long can you keep the fish away from the cat? My father, one of those Bengalis who cannot live without fish, was the first to squirm like a fish out of water. It began with bringing eggs secretly into the house and later disposing them off separately. We kept a vigil when the landlords were not around and would secretly dispose those off. If anyone saw us during such acts, they might have suspected us of espionage. Then came the entry of fish and other non-veg items. The cooking of fish was another secret act we partook in. While cooking it, all the windows and doors of our house were tightly shut so that the smell would not flow out. You would have thought we were engaged in cannibalism if you saw how we ate in secrecy during those times. One year later we shifted to a flat, giving us the freedom to eat whatever we wanted, ridding us off our acts of espionage and cannibalism.
The events of the house were just one of those classic experiences in the new city. Apart from that there were more such unique cases especially from the part of my father and mother. My father is one of those people who has an ingrained unnecessary community feeling that sometimes takes a rather comical effect. I accept, being a Bengali amongst Gujaratis might seem a bit different but it seemed he was the one feeling a minority complex. So whenever he would be walking on the road, or be sitting in a bus, or be in a mall, and hear someone speaking Bengali, his face lit up and he would approach that person, being the one to instigate a conversation. Later when he would return home, he would narrate this event in such a manner, it always seemed as if it was an act of bravery and worthy of commendation.
Strange are the ways of a father and mother. My mother unlike my father was not in search of Bengalis but something else, and that was, what each vegetable was called in Gujarati. Each day she would come to us and say with a wide brimming smile, “Do you know, potato is called ‘bataka’ here?” While another day it would be “they call onions ‘dungri’! What a strange name to give!”
And so days rolled by and so did months, and before we knew it, the time of festivity had arrived. What more does a Bengali look forward to in a year other than the Durga Puja. Durga Puja here is shared with Navratri festival, the nine nights of festivity. For this reason Durga Puja receives a very small space of celebration. There are only around eight to nine places where the idol of Durga is brought and worshiped and even in this handful of places most of the idols are very basic ones of a miniature scale. Thus for a Bengali it would be a deprivation of one long awaited event he/she looks forward to for a whole year. The Navratri is quite a feast for the eyes, as the whole city is adorned with lights. I enjoyed the Garba dances for the first few years, watching as well as dancing but after some years the excitement dims down and as a Bengali, the longing for Durga Puja and visiting one 'pandal' after another to see how each idol is decorated and the innovation that has gone with it sets in. Those are the times when I long to be in Kolkata.
By now, reading these experiences, you’re probably thinking that I hate living here, but that’s really not the case. The city has become a part of our lives, too hard to let go, too difficult to go back to the life before. And, by the way, if you think that a lot of my imagery revolves around fish, then please don’t mind, for I am still a Bengali at heart.