Food Fiction: Hook, line and sinker

I've been meaning to post the edited version of my short food fiction for a while now. Thanks Lo and CB...as you can see the changes suggested by you have been taken into consideration, including a big one viz. the title of the story. Prakash, thanks so much for the appreciation! I did manage to send it to one of the dailies here but looks like they have far juicier stuff on their plate for now. Talking about dailies, I'm impressed with the interest that Hindustan Times takes in food. Some well researched articles with unique content can be found in their online section: http://www.hindustantimes.com/ListingPage/ListingPage.aspx?Category=Food&SectionName=LifeStyleSectionPage&Photo=LifeStyle&BC=Food. So let me have your comments on the final version...

Professor Bandhopadhyay, popularly known as Bond in Kolkata’s Queen College campus, was unwaveringly strict about his students being in class on time and his meals being served on the table in time. A disciple of Classic Physics, he did not retire for the day before thanking Newton for his daily bread. Or was it his daily machh bhaja (fried fish)?

An aficionado of Bengali food, he had detrimentally influenced his wife’s culinary skills with dollops of criticism and pinches of appreciation, over the two decades of their marriage. The truth was he had never got over his mother’s cooking. Every morning on his way to college from home – a distance of eleven and a half minutes by foot recorded on his HMT watch – he would reminiscence the lavish feast his mother had prepared on the durga puja day of 1977. It was a special puja, as he had graduated first class with honours that year.

With pride his mother had prepared authentic bangla bhojon comprising crisp singara (samosas), oily alu postos (potato fried with poppy seeds), rich kosha mangsho (lamb preparation with thick gravy), yummy chingriri malaikari (jumbo prawns cooked in coconut curry) and his favourite chachchari (fried vegetables with pieces of fish). To top it all, she had prepared delectable mishti doi (sweet curd) and sandesh (tofu-like delicacy) for the last course. It was truly a day when Professor Bond was kobji dubiye khaowa (upto his wrist in food), just as he liked it.

Upon reaching the college gates Professor Bond would shake off this delicious reverie, sigh and feel his consolation prize – the tiffin at the bottom of the briefcase that his wife had tiresomely packed. He then looked forward in anticipation to the lunch break when he could devour the savouries in the tiffin.

In spite of being a self-confessed foodie, Professor Bond’s palate did not accommodate much beyond the traditional Bengali fare that he had grown up on. He had several complaints about the ‘bad habits’ of the Western culture; one of them being the fast food, which he believed made promising talent tardier in applying their minds. In fact, while walking by a sidewalk pizzeria every morning he would secretly note the students relishing the cheesy delights and plot to pick on them in class. Just to prove how greasy fast food can make them.

Recently, several of his Bengali colleagues had praised the Filet-of-Fish burger at the newly opened McDonald’s at Park Street. But he thought it was an insult for such rich meat to be sandwiched between two meager slices of bread. “And what would they know about fish anyway?” he would argue.

He also did not approve of the increasing coverage of international cuisines in the newspapers. The likes of pastas, risottos, antipastos seemed vapid to him and he would quickly turn the leisure page lest his wife took a peek; he feared that her experimentation in the kitchen may cause him to go hungry someday.

That day started off no different from the rest. During his walk to college in the morning, he made a mental note to schedule a “pop quiz” for Anuradha, Sudipta and Soma from his thermodynamics class. The trio had been caught merrily chatting over garlic bread and cheese at the pizzeria, blissfully unaware of the condescendence to follow.

The two morning classes went by at their usual humdrum pace. The class before lunch was called off due to a student body meet. For Professor Bond, that meant more time to relish the ware in his tiffin before the next class. He walked in to the staff room expectedly earlier than his lunch-mates Professor Mukherjee and Professor Ms. Raina, and gladly so. He disliked their annoying habit of mining into the contents of his tiffin. “When I don’t care, why should they?” he would tell his wife in the evenings. “And Ms. Raina seems to spend more time in front of the mirror than the stove…sandwiches, pasta and other unhealthy food everyday. How does her family survive?”

He reached out for his briefcase that lay with several others on the large center table in the staff room. That’s when it hit him: the strong smell of something spicy, something fishy, something fresh emanating from a briefcase near his. For a moment, he hoped that he had picked the wrong briefcase but saw his initials ‘AB’ inscribed on the one he held. He reluctantly walked back but stopped midway.”Why can’t I eat on the center table instead of the corner table today?” he thought. Besides, there was not a soul around and wouldn’t be for twenty minutes more. He paced towards the center table as if trying to catch a butterfly that would soon drift away. But he caught it – that enticing smell again which watered his mouth instantly.

He uncovered his tiffin and discovered macher jhol (fish curry) with bhat (rice) and dim bhaja (fried egg) by the side. Under normal circumstances he wouldn’t have complained, but that smell had overpowered his senses. He decided eat what lay in front of him, imagining that he was actually eating out of that hidden tiffin.

“But what am I missing out on? At least I have a right to know that”, he thought. But that would mean waiting to see the owner of the tiffin enjoy the delicacy in front of him. That would be too much to bear for Professor Bond.

Suddenly the spread of the 1977 durga puja appeared before his eyes and something snapped inside of him. That had to be his mother’s chachchari that was beckoning him so much. She, from the heavens above, had decided to treat him for the salary hike he got this year. She wanted to comfort her son with her cooking and had disguised it in the form of someone else’s tiffin. “Yes, that was it!” he thought.

With that thought, he lunged towards the briefcase and rummaged through it until his hands caught hold of the square tiffin box. He placed it on the table and opened it with a flourish. The mouth-watering smell filled up the room and his senses. He shut his eyes for two seconds in bliss and then attacked its contents.

Having left her class early as usual, Professor Raina walked in to the staff room ten minutes before lunch-time. She stopped before the center table and cried out in surprise “Eating tuna fish pizza from my dabba Professor Bandhopadhyay!?”