Like all these little fish in the river……
Hausa was really perturbed by the whole process. She has made Black Forest Pudding a million times in her life but today it is not looking or tasting the same. She has a reputation for the cake in her Zonta and Rotary Club circles. People ask for the recipes all the time and she always has been very generous with it. However, they all say that they never taste like hers. Well, today she is facing the same predicament. Not only that, today the pudding has been requested by her mother to entertain her friends and cousins, and therefore will be under heavy scrutiny of all the aunties and khalas. Well, the cherries were perfect, so were the brown sugar and the combination or plain and self-rising flour, exactly 200 grams of butter, no more no less, her private stash of dark chocolates and Kirsch whipped cream lovingly sourced by herself and occasionally by her husband form their numerous trips abroad….well something has gone terribly wrong. After the required hour and forty five minutes of baking, she had put the skewer in for tasting and it was bitter and overly sweet. Must be the chocolate and the sugar. Oh well, she has to instruct Ammi to serve with heavy doses of plain whipped cream to make it palatable, but went ahead with the garnishing of the pudding with shaved chocolate swirls and cherries with stems on the top so that it looked like a cute little volcano with the bright red lavas erupting from the top. Her son Andalib always gets a kick from the décor, before diving into the pudding.
Earlier in the morning, she had been to Agora for her shopping. Aisles after aisles of delectable, mostly imported that has the likes of her new avenues of cooking and tasitng adventures. She hated the fact these items were no longer the exclusive domains of women like here, well traveled, thoroughly westernized, and a palate that has been painstakingly acquired with dining in all the fancy restaurants of home and especially abroad. At the same time, there was a certain delight and pleasure to be able to find Danish whipped cream and Japanese Sago noodles under the same roof so close to home. She needed some brown sugar for the recipe for the pudding, along with chocolates and cereals for the kids, detergents and cleaning solvents for the house, and wanted to get a kilo of the Thai dragon-fruit that are seasonal and just arrived.
Hausa was in the aisle that stocked shampoos and beauty products and specially those Sri-Lankan herbal items. She was always looking at them but the packaging was always very boring and unattractive for her. They probably would look out of place among the bottles of Este-Lauder and Shishedos, but there was no harm in looking. There were two women next to her, hawking the space in front of the baby products but were having an animated conversation of some sort. Apparently one of them just returned from the southern areas, visiting her in-laws, where there had been a storm of biblical magnitude. Oh yes, thought Hausa, she had scoured her closet for all the old salwar kameezes and the cotton saris that she no longer wore and, along with a check for twenty five thousand takas, had dropped them off on behalf or Rotary and thus cleared her conscience. The imagery from the devastation moved her immensely and she and her friends quickly called each other, collected a truckload of clothes and money and got them dispersed as soon as possible. There was also the picture of her husband with the Chief Advisor giving a chunk of money to the relief fund. Then of course the wedding season and the season of wild Bengal winter began and her calendar was booked choc-a-block with fittings, tailors, parlors, jewelers and the countless weddings, walimas, and engagements parties which always seem to be held at Radisson, Westin, Spectra, or Shenakunjo. She dreaded going to the ones in Sheraton or Sonargaon, because by the time the traffic has been dealt with and festivities began, she felt hitting the shower and untangle the artwork of her favorite stylist….and she definitely dressed down for any events in the community centres… Anyways, this women, Shoma was the name she had gathered, was mentioning her distant phupu-sashuree in the village who had lost her son and her grand-daughter. Apparently when faced with devastation there, it was Shoma who had broken down. The phupu-shashuree, apparently after having shed her share of tears for weeks on end had merely patted Shoma's head and produced a cup of tea and a some 'mooree' for them. Her husband, who definitely had a close connection with the family during his childhood was lamenting the loss of his cousin, not seen in almost fifteen years was regaling the childhood memories of running through the fields, chasing the water buffaloes into the ponds and stealing the neighbors mangoes together. Apparently the women had kept her stoic composure and finally told the two, "Baba, I have no more tears to shed. After the storm, we all cried like all these little fish in the river. Allah has taken what He wanted back and now our lives are going on as you see it.' Transfixed, Hausa kept fiddling with the bottles of lotions and what not till Shoma and her friend moved on. These simple village people….crying like little fish in the river. Fish don't cry, big or small, do they? Anyway, she found the brown sugar in the next aisle that was required for the pudding and checked out…..
Zebun and Hausa have been friends since their school days. The friendship has endured over two decades in spite of the ups and downs that are part and parcel of any such long term alliances. Zebun's two sons, Shaehan and Shohan adore Hausa as if she is substitute mother of some sort. In fact her own son and daughter and those two act like siblings along with all the fights and affections and jealousies that come with it. Shaehan, the elder one, was asking for a particular brand of chocolate a week back and she had seen it at Agora and picked some up for him. He is also into fish. Their verandahs and spare rooms have aquariums that are teeming with fish of all shapes, sizes and colours. Hausa was somewhat fascinated by them but up to a moment. A few minutes of gazing and listening with rapt attention to Shaehan's latest statistics about new batch of eggs that had just hatched and then Zebun and her would catch up with the latest developments of their lives, shopping, acquisitions, and their respective husbands and children. This time, the weather being so pleasant, Zebun asked for tea in the upper floor balcony, which looked out to the garden below. Here was also a rather long fish tank with some small fish that were swimming in swarms. Something about it seemed to transfix her and she was staring at it for a few seconds when Zebun snapped at her, 'What happened to YOU all of a sudden, heh?'. Shaehan was crossing the verandah to go to the other side of the house where his mother has made them a game room stocked with the latest gizmo. She called him out, 'Shaehan, baba, don't remember seeing this tank before. What fish are those?'. Excited about her interest in the subject, his face lit up. "Oh auntie, this one has been here for ages. You just didn't notice. These are the local 'pootee'. In fact, auntie, the cook is always threatening to fish them out and serve it for lunch. Isn't it ridiculous?'. A quick smile and he was off.
Yes, the 'pootee' was very much part of the diet once. She never realized how pretty they were. A tiny body shimmering in silver, with small black dot close to the tail, just like those evil-eye spots on babies. They were swarms and swarms of them swimming back and forth in that huge tank. A bit of deflected light fell on the tank and it was like a shimmer and dazzle that was almost hypnotizing. The fish went back and forth over and over again and, in that hypnotic state of hers, they seemed like millions, multiplied into infinity. Just a fish tank and imagine this in the river……
She was holding the cup of Earl Grey in her right hand. But the hand started to shake and Zebun retorted right away, 'What the hell!!! You OK? What's bothering you??'. Hausa's eyes were swelling with tears and she could feel the uncountable emotions welling up inside. So….this is what the woman had meant. All those tears, Oh God.
Once home this unknown woman related to this also unknown Shoma had already began the process of permeating her mind, body and soul. How much tear do you need to shed before you dry up? Her mom called twice to remind her about the black forest pudding. Those imageries from TV began the process of haunting her. Even when she was pouring the brown sugar into the bowl, her mind became a jumble of images of those infinite sugar crystals and the millions of 'pootees' swarming in the water and the imagined face of that woman shedding copious amounts of tears all at once. A few of her own salty tears fell into the mixture as well. No wonder, she thought, the pudding didn't taste right. She wasn't paying attention and must have put too much of the brown sugar with chocolate. The pudding all of a sudden seemed totally un-important. She wanted to hold that woman tightly and cry with her. She wanted to find her right now, and all of a sudden she felt utterly and totally helpless. She sat down in the settee in her bedroom and started her version of shedding tears….. like all those little fish in the river……
Earlier in the morning, she had been to Agora for her shopping. Aisles after aisles of delectable, mostly imported that has the likes of her new avenues of cooking and tasitng adventures. She hated the fact these items were no longer the exclusive domains of women like here, well traveled, thoroughly westernized, and a palate that has been painstakingly acquired with dining in all the fancy restaurants of home and especially abroad. At the same time, there was a certain delight and pleasure to be able to find Danish whipped cream and Japanese Sago noodles under the same roof so close to home. She needed some brown sugar for the recipe for the pudding, along with chocolates and cereals for the kids, detergents and cleaning solvents for the house, and wanted to get a kilo of the Thai dragon-fruit that are seasonal and just arrived.
Hausa was in the aisle that stocked shampoos and beauty products and specially those Sri-Lankan herbal items. She was always looking at them but the packaging was always very boring and unattractive for her. They probably would look out of place among the bottles of Este-Lauder and Shishedos, but there was no harm in looking. There were two women next to her, hawking the space in front of the baby products but were having an animated conversation of some sort. Apparently one of them just returned from the southern areas, visiting her in-laws, where there had been a storm of biblical magnitude. Oh yes, thought Hausa, she had scoured her closet for all the old salwar kameezes and the cotton saris that she no longer wore and, along with a check for twenty five thousand takas, had dropped them off on behalf or Rotary and thus cleared her conscience. The imagery from the devastation moved her immensely and she and her friends quickly called each other, collected a truckload of clothes and money and got them dispersed as soon as possible. There was also the picture of her husband with the Chief Advisor giving a chunk of money to the relief fund. Then of course the wedding season and the season of wild Bengal winter began and her calendar was booked choc-a-block with fittings, tailors, parlors, jewelers and the countless weddings, walimas, and engagements parties which always seem to be held at Radisson, Westin, Spectra, or Shenakunjo. She dreaded going to the ones in Sheraton or Sonargaon, because by the time the traffic has been dealt with and festivities began, she felt hitting the shower and untangle the artwork of her favorite stylist….and she definitely dressed down for any events in the community centres… Anyways, this women, Shoma was the name she had gathered, was mentioning her distant phupu-sashuree in the village who had lost her son and her grand-daughter. Apparently when faced with devastation there, it was Shoma who had broken down. The phupu-shashuree, apparently after having shed her share of tears for weeks on end had merely patted Shoma's head and produced a cup of tea and a some 'mooree' for them. Her husband, who definitely had a close connection with the family during his childhood was lamenting the loss of his cousin, not seen in almost fifteen years was regaling the childhood memories of running through the fields, chasing the water buffaloes into the ponds and stealing the neighbors mangoes together. Apparently the women had kept her stoic composure and finally told the two, "Baba, I have no more tears to shed. After the storm, we all cried like all these little fish in the river. Allah has taken what He wanted back and now our lives are going on as you see it.' Transfixed, Hausa kept fiddling with the bottles of lotions and what not till Shoma and her friend moved on. These simple village people….crying like little fish in the river. Fish don't cry, big or small, do they? Anyway, she found the brown sugar in the next aisle that was required for the pudding and checked out…..
Zebun and Hausa have been friends since their school days. The friendship has endured over two decades in spite of the ups and downs that are part and parcel of any such long term alliances. Zebun's two sons, Shaehan and Shohan adore Hausa as if she is substitute mother of some sort. In fact her own son and daughter and those two act like siblings along with all the fights and affections and jealousies that come with it. Shaehan, the elder one, was asking for a particular brand of chocolate a week back and she had seen it at Agora and picked some up for him. He is also into fish. Their verandahs and spare rooms have aquariums that are teeming with fish of all shapes, sizes and colours. Hausa was somewhat fascinated by them but up to a moment. A few minutes of gazing and listening with rapt attention to Shaehan's latest statistics about new batch of eggs that had just hatched and then Zebun and her would catch up with the latest developments of their lives, shopping, acquisitions, and their respective husbands and children. This time, the weather being so pleasant, Zebun asked for tea in the upper floor balcony, which looked out to the garden below. Here was also a rather long fish tank with some small fish that were swimming in swarms. Something about it seemed to transfix her and she was staring at it for a few seconds when Zebun snapped at her, 'What happened to YOU all of a sudden, heh?'. Shaehan was crossing the verandah to go to the other side of the house where his mother has made them a game room stocked with the latest gizmo. She called him out, 'Shaehan, baba, don't remember seeing this tank before. What fish are those?'. Excited about her interest in the subject, his face lit up. "Oh auntie, this one has been here for ages. You just didn't notice. These are the local 'pootee'. In fact, auntie, the cook is always threatening to fish them out and serve it for lunch. Isn't it ridiculous?'. A quick smile and he was off.
Yes, the 'pootee' was very much part of the diet once. She never realized how pretty they were. A tiny body shimmering in silver, with small black dot close to the tail, just like those evil-eye spots on babies. They were swarms and swarms of them swimming back and forth in that huge tank. A bit of deflected light fell on the tank and it was like a shimmer and dazzle that was almost hypnotizing. The fish went back and forth over and over again and, in that hypnotic state of hers, they seemed like millions, multiplied into infinity. Just a fish tank and imagine this in the river……
She was holding the cup of Earl Grey in her right hand. But the hand started to shake and Zebun retorted right away, 'What the hell!!! You OK? What's bothering you??'. Hausa's eyes were swelling with tears and she could feel the uncountable emotions welling up inside. So….this is what the woman had meant. All those tears, Oh God.
Once home this unknown woman related to this also unknown Shoma had already began the process of permeating her mind, body and soul. How much tear do you need to shed before you dry up? Her mom called twice to remind her about the black forest pudding. Those imageries from TV began the process of haunting her. Even when she was pouring the brown sugar into the bowl, her mind became a jumble of images of those infinite sugar crystals and the millions of 'pootees' swarming in the water and the imagined face of that woman shedding copious amounts of tears all at once. A few of her own salty tears fell into the mixture as well. No wonder, she thought, the pudding didn't taste right. She wasn't paying attention and must have put too much of the brown sugar with chocolate. The pudding all of a sudden seemed totally un-important. She wanted to hold that woman tightly and cry with her. She wanted to find her right now, and all of a sudden she felt utterly and totally helpless. She sat down in the settee in her bedroom and started her version of shedding tears….. like all those little fish in the river……
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