Forty years ago, I fell in love.

 

Forty years ago, I was struck by the divine emotion. There were no thunderbolts or outbreaks of heavy breathing. Just a conviction that this was where the heart would reside.

I first saw her on a blisteringly wet day in May. As I got out of the airport, she was right in front of me. I don’t really believe in love at first sight, and she wasn’t exactly your ethereal beauty with tendrils of soft, silken hair but more of an earthy, dusky maiden with a tinge of weariness (that would disappear with the setting sun, I learnt later). And she was older to me. At that age, I didn’t really understand the implications of falling in love, let alone with an older being. But I wasn’t about to hesitate and let such dystopian considerations stop me from letting in the divine E.

She accompanied me as I drove along the wet road and I realised that she had a lot of hidden charms which were not evident at first sight. I was given a glimpse of tantalising vistas, dark yet inviting spaces fragrant with the scents of a life lived with full fervour, and the ephemeral sense of being led on to something bigger than self, where the soul could find repose. Which is what my fevered brain considered love to be.

 Even after all these years, I have not been able to find a coherent explanation of why I love Calcutta so much (it may be Kolkata on maps but it’s always Calcutta to me, just like Bombay). She is not as beautiful, clean and well laid out as Paris, she’s not as naughty as Amsterdam, she’s not redolent of Empire as much as London (well perhaps that’s not quite right but you know what I mean). Even the people are not entirely palatable. The only thing that can be said in her favour is that’s its easy to find fault with her. But over the years I have been repeatedly drawn, like a male bee to a Queen bee, to this crazy, volatile, barely functioning yet thriving megapolis. I have visited as a tourist, transited as a passenger and lived as a resident in her heaving bosom, and have always left wanting more and have returned to drink greedily at the fount. I think there are several reasons for this mad infatuation.

The first reason is the ladies of Calcutta. “Bengali Beauty” is an oft-bandied phrase that may not mean much to a non-Calcuttan (different from a non-Bengali, for Calcutta is not necessarily Bengal), but every 2^nd lady walking down the street, however mean and dingy it may be, can stop you in your tracks, with the same impact as walking into a lamp post. They can take your breath away even when they are cursing you. I am privileged to count a few Calcutta ladies in my circle of close friends, and they have always brought good cheer and rays of sunshine into an otherwise humdrum life. And lots of food.

The second point is the food. Since I love seafood and Chinese food, and am generally a laid-back food lover, Calcutta appeals to my epicurean sense (which some unkind people call gluttony). It offers provender of multiple origins in tiny shacks, glittering 5-star hotels and everything in between. We are talking about love here, so I won’t get into details of the exquisite rolls, noodles, fish curries, biryanis and parathas that I have scarfed down over the years. Suffice it to say that Calcutta will give you a Happy Belly. Always.

The third point is nostalgia. I will confess to being an Empire buff and have always felt a faint regret that Empire pulled out of its brightest crown jewel (as I heard someone describe India), of which Calcutta was the Centre. So, for me Calcutta was and is a means of connecting with a past that was rich, glorious and dilettantish, with a side of madness which used to afflict Empire builders so that they could go forth and conquer. My first visit to London reminded me so much of Calcutta I had to stagger into a passing tea shop and restore the tissues. Of course, the tea shop belonged to a Bengali from Calcutta. Today, that rich past is not even a shadow of its former self. It clings precariously to a diaphanous existence in the minds of people and to a sprawling diaspora which always gets teary-eyed at the mention of mishti doi (not one of my favourites by the way).

Finally (at least for this piece), is perhaps the sense, not always well-defined, of being slightly above the material. Yes, there are rich Calcuttans (not always Bengali), but in the city you will be hard put to find ostentatious displays of new wealth. The wealth in Calcutta is old, very old, and is not meant to be displayed to the average bipedal. The wealth is not always economic - it is very intellectual, it is very gastronomic, it is very cultural, it is very literary, and it is very much there. I find this very liberating, coming as I do from Bombay where your wallet size determines your social standing. Many of my close friends are from Calcutta and their disdain for the cushion of currency has always fascinated me. They are richer than I am in more ways than one.

There are many more reasons, and every day will push one or more as the most important reason. Because this is classic love – complex, ever changing, waxing and waning, yet always burning bright.

Forty years on, I will never fall out of love with Calcutta. I may not have always been faithful to her, but she doesn’t really care. She has far too many suitors to worry about the one. On my next visit, I will perhaps discover yet one more reason to stoke my love for her. Till then, শীঘ্রই আবার দেখা হবে.

Decade or deca(y)de? the choice is ours!

the dawn of 2020 promised many things - a new year, new decade of hopes and aspirations, exciting moments in the years to come and the general upbeat mood that humans develop at the drop of a hat! this was understandable since the previous decade had not been exactly a smooth ride, with recessionary outlooks waxing and waning, orange haired humans "winning" elections and an inexplicable rise in the price of wine!

but then the coronavirus and its associated malady covid-19 appeared, first as a dark halo on a part of china that not many people had heard of, and then across the world at a rate that made bush fires seem like a gentle amble in the bramble. people blamed the rapid spread on everything from globalisation to global warming to climate change to bats to pangolins to right wing or left wing conspiracies. at last count, over 3.75 million people had been infected and over 250,000 have died.

young and old, famous and ordinary, men and women, all have been affected and battered by this virus which is a little over 65 nm in size. which means that a hundred million of them could ruminate comfortably on a pinhead. a new word entered the lexicon - lockdown - which  sent dreams, hopes and aspirations crashing out of the window. masks, hitherto seen as halloween or comic book character accessories, became an essential wardrobe function. gloves, so beautifully and artfully portrayed by audrey hepburn in "breakfast at tiffanny's" became mere plastic or latex coverings. and a new hashtag appreared: #stayhome. since the virus is an infectious disease and needs a human to replicate, it appeared relatively easy to beat this beast - stay home and avoid crowds!

these five words have led to an economic, social and cultural meltdown because they have hit the very core of human interaction - the social contract that pushes man above the level of the animal.

many learned people and experts (how do you became a global autority on covid-19 in 3 months?) have pontificated, sometimes gloomily, sometimes optimistically, about the effects of this virus. works and phrases like "new natural", "post-covid world scenario" are doing the rounds everywhere. i will not add to the syntax and vocabulary here. the next months and years are a blank page. we just have no template / case study / user review to guide us on what will happen. 

but i want to show and tell a couple of "happy points" which, while they may not assuage and alleviate, may at least provide a spark of hope and a suggestion of the way forward for what could be a decade of new, agile and responsible society and business, or a deca"y"de of economies ripped asunder, global contractions, increased inward focus and gloomy outlooks. the choice will devolve upon us!

nature has started reclaiming the world. humans are realising, slowly, that too much of too much can be too much. paul simon said "slow down you're moving too fast". we need to take him seriously. people are reporting sightings of nature that had not been seen for years and decades! this is an indication that while the current situation is terrible, heart-rending and completely out of even "black swan predictions", a balanced cohabitation (the french mean this in a different context of course) and course correction could restore health and equanimity.

we will have to learn new ways of doing old things, we will discover new things and situations which didnt exist in a pre-covid reality, and we will adapt with the kind of breathtaking speed that makes us come out of any situation, battered, bruised but truimphant.

a sense of what should, and what shouldn't be, has to prevail. again, the choice is ours.

The "hilsa" approach to life

The hilsa fish (similar to a shard or herring) is a much loved fish in South Asia and some parts of the Middle East. It is by far the most sought after fish in Bangladesh and the eastern and north-eastern parts of India. Its soft, oily texture, mouth-watering flavour and nice mouthfeel make it a delicacy worth the title of “Macher Raja” (The King Of Fish). The story goes that Lenin liked the fish so much, he chose the Bengali name as his middle name (though he mangled the spelling), and that's why the comradeship is so strong in Bengal!

However, the path to hilsa-led gustatory satisfaction is thorny – the fish has many sharp and tough bones, which require the eater to pick his way through the dish, or risk injuring his mouth or, worse, swallowing a bone or two. But a willingness to persevere and to navigate through the mine-field of bones helps the eater to reach his goal – a nirvana of taste, a glorious end to a meal that will be remembered!

If you prefer boneless fish in your meal and avoid the hilsa, you will still reach The End (of the meal) but it will be a meal devoid of meaning, of flavour. Your belly may not forgive you.

You can have the hilsa deboned before eating – this is offered in some high-end restaurants, so naturally you have to fork out a few more pennies. You get the taste without the effort, which is no good.

This sounds similar to life – the path to nirvana (or bliss, happiness, satisfaction, whatever you want to call it) should not be smooth.  It should be filled with the sharp and tough bones of the travails, pains and difficulties that must be overcome to reach your ultimate goal. Only then will you savour the feeling of having fought the good fight and coming out victorious!

Similarly, you can take the Boneless Path - a steady, dull life without any obstacles. You will still reach the end, but the journey will be grey, ordinary and without beauty.

You can also get someone to debone your life, to remove real and perceived obstacles and to help you navigate the path to happiness. But this comes at a cost and gives no joy of achievement.

So would you rather plunge into the hilsa, avoid the hilsa, or get into deboned hilsa? Your answer will determine how you live your life!

Table For One - diet for economic and social wellbeing?

Like most normal, content men, I don't worry overmuch about my weight. It's there, it's not there, we don't really care. I like my food, and though I don't live to eat, my motto - "Eat whatever doesn't eat you" (or "Manducare Omnia" if in Rome)- could be looked upon by the Starving Set as latent gourmandism. I will leave it to them to fret about it.

Having lived alone for nearly 20 years, I did manage to pick up the basics of cooking. I make my own tea (thank you Lipton tea bags), my own coffee (thank you Nescafé red) and also rustle up a mean omelette. Maggi 2 minute noodles are of course par for the course, though I don't think I can recreate the combinations Victoria (my maid+cook in Nigeria, not the Queen) could come up with!

I also use the extensive produce offerings of supermarkets to concoct my own version of (con)fusion cuisine, always making sure to balance textures and flavours and avoiding idiotic combinations popularised by the likes of so called "nouvelle vague chefs", whose cooking is as vague as it can be and who should be advised to just eat, and leave cooking to those who can.

Being a solo eater, I have naturally dined in a fair amount of restaurants in various locations. From Paris to Lagos, London, Cotonou, Lomé, Accra, Kolkata, Gangtok, Hong Kong and Dubai, many have been the restaurants which have benefitted from my custom, either dine in or takeaway. The occasional Mcdo, KFC or Subway also features in this list.

Dubai, where I have pitched my tent since 14 years, has restaurants coming out of its keffiyeh, but I am not entirely sure how many openly cater to the solo eater. (unabashed plug: check out my dubai restaurant reviews on TripAdvisor:
 https://www.tripadvisor.com/Profile/xiexier).

These are all restaurants on the economy side of the scale since it was my own money - the few "luxury / fine dining" restaurants I have patronised has been as a guest of people who are oofier than I am. Besides, i am not a fan of luxury / fine dining. Much too overrated and the gimmickry draws your attention from the food (or lack thereof).

All these restaurants have provided me with good food, and I have always had a happy belly at the conclusion of the meal. I like to read while eating (nourishing both mind and belly) and there is nothing more stimulating than to be in your own company, with a good book and the anticipation of a good meal. I also love going to pubs for a pint (or 2 or 3), with a book.

There is a trend of thought that tends to shame solo eaters in restaurants, but since I have always loved my own company, that trend doesn't bother me.

I have been brought up not to waste food and finish everything on my plate. But i have always wondered at the large portions served by restaurants, usually enough for at least 2 eaters. And also at the lack of spaces for singles in many of the restaurants that have received my custom. Are they not geared up for a solo eater? Or are they not interested in singles? I am sure I can link my rather large size to the big portions served up in restaurants (doggy bags don't exist in my vocabulary). The so-called fast-food brands of course have meals for one, but when it comes to a full meal the options are relegated to single items or a smaller version of a regular meal (in which many of the dishes of the regular meal are left out).

This is an affront to the solitary eater (no apologies to Wordsworth)!

Yes the economics of margins and all that have a big role in the portion planning of restaurants, and is perhaps one of the reasons why restaurants prefer to serve up the whole octopus rather than just a tentacle or two to a solo eater. But there is a business opportunity here too. An experience designed for a solo eater could not only appeal to a very distinct and relatively with-it audience, but it could also rake in more dollar per serving, and help build good awareness in a distressingly overcrowded market.

And in the current scenario of recession, trade wars, etc. what better solace for the soul than a quick sneak out for a well-made steak and fries for one, with a tankard of fine ale and a book of stout binding!