sojourn

Bangladesh, my homeland, is a land of rivers and these rivers bring nature’s bounty- fishes. Fish along with rice and lentil are the staple food for us hence the saying “maachey bhaatey bangali” (rice and fish makes a Bengali what he is). In other part of the world salmon may be the king of fish but here the undisputed lord remains the hilsha. In rural settings it is standard for a visiting son in law to bring fresh hilsha to his in-laws residence and much thought and judgment is spared in its due selection as it is common practice to ascertain the well being of the daughter by the size and quality of the fish judged during lunch. The entire process however disregards the skill of the individual who prepares the food - the mother.
A liberal broad minded westerner would raise his brow and ask in a voice as deep as the concern that confuses him- why does the mother cook and not the father? The answers for us would be as simple as- nothing can recreate the magic and love that a mother can infuse while the fish is scaled, spiced and duly cooked.
Down here we eat with our hands, rural setting or urban and irrespective of age we never shy away from asking our mother to feed us with her own. A biologist would say that for a neo natal infant unwavering psychological bonds are created between the mother and child during the period of lactation that are sustained over the period of growth of the child in question. In line with these thought I would say that the bonds are further effectuated when a twenty four year old architect that is me never feels ashamed to ask the best cook in the world to feed her son. The subtext in the line that proceeded is not the profession but the fact that I live with my parents. In fact most people in here do just that. We live with our parents for them to grow old and for us to nurture them when they need us the most and for us to feed them when they are too weak to use their own hands for the purpose.