Festival time is also the time for indulging in gastronomic delights and, over the years, particular food items have come to be invariably associated with such celebrations. A Christmas lunch, for instance, is never complete without turkey, though the bird these days is in short supply, particularly in Calcutta. Similarly, a Chinese celebration sans roast pork is unimaginable. For Indians in the north, Diwali or Dussehra or any other occasion means buying laddoos by the dozen, in Bihar the Maner ka laddoo being particularly popular. Of the Delhi ka laddoo, the saying, of course, goes, “regrets he who has eaten it and also he who hasn’t.” Even then, like the turkey, the very mention of laddoos means celebration.
Bengalis are a different lot. During Durga Puja, they too eat to their fill, but eat what? Hundreds of wayside eateries come up during the four-day festival but what is mainly served, keeping in mind popular tastes, has nothing to do with the state. To be had round the clock are platefuls of yellow-coloured rice with a piece of hard meat and potato that goes by the name of biryani though it bears no resemblance, look- or taste-wise, to the fare offered in Lucknow or Hyderabad or with what is to be had in the handful of regular establishments which have, for ages, been serving this excellent pulao. In the southern suburbs of Calcutta, it is the ‘Bengali biryani’ that is lapped up with glee by the thousands of pandal-hoppers who roam the streets till the wee hours of the morning. And, there is, of course, the ‘chow’ which the Chinese have never heard of, just as the roll — mutton, chicken or egg — is a far cry from the kathi kebab of the famous establishment off S.N. Banerjee Road.
Dying art
Gone are the days of radhaballavi or dalpuri or kachuri with mohanbhog. For the present-day Bengali, those delicacies are outdated, it’s the roadside roll that is the ‘in’ thing. But what pleases hoi polloi cannot hold good for the upper strata, which would rather go for Thai or Mongolian or Italian fare. To attract them, major hotels and restaurants organize ‘special Bengali feasts’, complete with bati chachchari, muri ghanta and ilish paturi, which are billed as comprising an ‘exotic lunch’. On Bijaya Dashami, chandrapuli or labangalatika is no longer, or very rarely, made in Bengali homes as it is easier to buy these sweets from neighbourhood confectioners. Little wonder then that Bengali sweet-makers are losing interest — the evidence of which could be had when the once-famous payodhi or pink curd became a thing of the past.
The culinary art of the erstwhile East Bengal used to be hailed by all. Visitors to Bangladesh, however, always come back disappointed on this score. It is not the fault of the present-day Bangladeshi Muslims that they have no access to the art that was practised in the kitchens of upper-caste Hindus. They have no means of knowing how to make rohu Ganga-Yamuna or various vegetarian delicacies. The Hindus left after Partition, and gradually the art died as the practitioners sought to resettle themselves, often under conditions of abject penury. And in Dhaka, the order for a Bangladeshi breakfast brought dishes that one would have more expected in the land of the Prophet.
But, at least, they have an identity, foodwise. As do people in the rest of India. Even globalization has not made the Tamil move away from his idli-dosa, the Punjabi from his sarso da saag or the Assamese from his tenga. But foodwise, the Bengali is slowly but surely becoming rootless as he seeks to put on the garb of cosmopolitanism. Upwardly mobile urban parents take pride in announcing that their children prefer pizzas to Bengali cooking. Such a disease can only spread and the Argumentative Bengali may soon also be known as the Copycat Bengali.
