22/08/2026
Travel Diaries : A nation's soul is defined by it's language of food. Bengal's geography, weather, relationships home and love expressed through the Macher Jhol. Its literal translation of a Fish Curry, would be an insensitive one, as it implies the spices must smother the taste and odours which is dramatically different from the quite minimal spices currying the flavours from the fish.
It starts with an early morning pilgrimage to the fish bazaar with the patriarch. A weekly ritual of a very heated argument with the generational fish monger which could literally define the success or failure of marriages. The latter will promise the fish is from his very own backyard pond and caught with his own two hands. A complicity between the men which will translate into a very critical conversation between the matriarch and the cook, back in hearth of the household.
The heat and sudden crisp chatter of the mustard oil, releasing paragraphs of appetising odours. Existential questions and preferences will follow on who would be eating simple Maach Bhaja (deep fried fish) , vs a Jhol (stewed) or the amount of Jhal (chilli) ... Should the spices be allowed to be Makhaa Makhaa (sticky coated in gravy) or Paathlaa (thinned out gently into a stew ).
The Pabda, Rui, Kaathla, Parsley, Pona, Ilish, etc all having their unique class system in taste, texture, availability cannot withstand the willpower and mastery of the matriarch. Each Baari (household) has its secret ingredients of the secret recipe.
More than the type of fish defining each dish, I believe it is the complex psychological pleasure game that it entails for the matriarch and each eater. Compassion, love, intrigue and the expert capacity to pick fish bones or not, all have a measured pinch and dollop to play.
The ultimate signature on this journey being, after repeated generous helpings, is the tongue smacking, finger licking moment before the soporific sigh.
One has truly reached home only after Maa's Macher Jhol.
