Early in our courting days I remember telling my now husband that the relationship felt like it was too good to be true. We had met just a couple of times - everything seemed to feel right and things were falling into place. I found myself asking out aloud if there was a catch to this and there was something I hadn’t really found out yet. “Are you vegetarian? or Vegan? Or planning to turn into one anytime soon?” I asked.
He found my questions amusing and not fully understanding the grave nature of the line of questioning - the answers to which could immediately revoke his current green flag status - he responded with a characteristic, casual shrug of the shoulder and a, “I might..why?”
Photo Credit: Unsplash
Here’s A Flashback
I come from a Bengali household where I inherited my adventurous spirit, my temper and my love for travel and most importantly my love for food from both my parents. On most days what’s for lunch is my most favourite conversation to have with anyone. Even at the dinner table where the temperatures and tempers are both soaring because of our conflicted views on the political situation of the world, the voices soften to appreciate the mildness of flavours in my mom’s palak and chicken sausage curry that is cooked in a milk base.
It’s a recipe she had developed in a hurry. She had to pick me up from school, the spinach was almost done and she felt like the dish was still missing something. In went a cup of milk. That’s how my mother has always cooked. She doesn’t follow recipes - she just goes with her gut and uses whatever is readily available at home. The food she cooks is usually quickest to make as well - no grinding using mortar and pestle for her. If you give her a compliment, she usually responds by telling you how she doesn’t enjoy cooking.
When I got married, I also moved out of home for the first time. I was going to be running a household by myself. My partner on the other hand was someone who came with the ‘been there, done that’ swag. He had left his family home in Pune at a much younger age to study and then to work.
My induction into his large-extended, gregarious Sindhi family was almost as fun for someone to watch as his was to my crazy lot. Some of our family dinners now had specially prepared fish dishes which were part of the menu in my honour, I was told. Every time we visited a restaurant in the early days of marriage, some kind soul always made sure to ask me if I would like to order some seafood. To sum it up, my sister-in-law lovingly calls me ‘Chingri,' the Bengali word for prawn.
Photo: Unsplash
In Kolkata he was introduced to the fact that the Jamai (son-in-law) must have the large chunky potatoes and the boiled eggs in the delicious Mutton Biryani. How else would he feel adequately welcome? Maach Khaye Tho? (he eats fish no?) they would ask me and grin ear to ear when I politely nodded my head in affirmation.
Photo Credit: Wikimedia Common
Same Same But Different
He prefers his coffee and I’m a ‘cha’ girl. He loves his roasted papad and would eat it with every meal if he could while I stick to my aloo-bhaja (fried potatoes). I do like my fish but while most Bengalis would consider it blasphemous, my favourite fish is Pomfret and not the coveted Ilish. He likes his roti, I like my rice (that's also why my rotis look like they do). He eats meat once in a while, whereas in my parent’s home, eggs, chicken or meat are cooked almost every day.
Photo Credit: Wikimedia Commons
The differences are there. They would initially crop up once in a while in the most hilarious of ways. On one instance I tried to explain the concept of Doi Maach (a Bengali dish where fish is cooked in a tangy yoghurt gravy) to my mom-in-law who was quite bewildered with the idea of dairy and seafood being paired together. She also found it quite amusing that I wasn’t vegetarian on any day of the year. Not Ekadashi, not the month of Shravan, not even Navratri or Dussehra where in fact we went to the Pujo pandal to tuck into the fish fry and kheema stuffed porothas.
My mom-in-law is a fabulous and meticulous cook. In fact the first thing I learnt to cook from her is the tough-to-master, Sindhi Kadhi. When my husband tried it and responded with an, ‘Oh wow, that’s very close to mom’s,” I almost teared up and applied to get into MasterChef, in a frenzy.
Unlike my husband, who doesn’t eat quite a few of the traditional Sindhi delicacies, my mom-in-law and I bond over our love for karela, Vadi-Alu, Lola and achaar. Just like my dad, my father-in-law doesn’t cook much. What they have in common though is their trait of being fuss-free eaters.
Even though I grew up in an area in Mumbai that has a large Sindhi population and have always had friends who are Sindhi, over the years I found out that Sindhis and Bengalis have more in common than I knew. The Sindhi fish Palla for instance, which is considered quite the delicacy in the community, is the same as the Hilsa that Bengal is head over heels in love with. Just like Shitol Shoshti is observed in Bengal where only cold food is eaten, the Sindhis celebrate Thadri based on similar principles.
The True Test
Within three months of having moved in together, Covid 19 had us locked in together. While the popular notion was that this was romantic and meant having a rather long ‘honeymoon period,’ it is definitely the time when I realised how much I loved to cook. I cooked earlier too but it was more temperamental - like being on a spree and then a hiatus. During this time though, I realised that I seeked comfort in my cooking. When we lost one family member after another, mourned a close friend, worried about others who we weren’t sure would make it and even when we were unwell, I found myself drawn to the kitchen.
Photo Credit: Unsplash
An ingredient we found mutual admiration for was coconut milk. Over time it showed up in our curries, our soups and our noodle bowls. While our kitchen is now stocked with traditional cookware from both sets of parents and those we have collected on our own, the curries that simmer in them on most days are ones that I’d like to believe are an ‘acquired taste’ - ones we’ve acquired through experiments in the good times and the tough ones.