Wine – check. Venue - check. Guest list – check. Hilsa - ?
“Dear friends, the get together scheduled for this Sunday is moved to next weekend due to the unavailability of ilish .” Sounds bizarre? But it’s true. Ask me, for I have received this apologetic text message. Numerous gatherings have often been planned around the availability of this diva of a fish. Better known as hilsa among the non-Bengalis, this member of the herring family has a massive fan following in West and East Bengal. Time and again there have been debates about whose ilish is better — the ones from Ganges or the ones from the Padma river in Bangladesh? My mother tells me every time her uncle who lived in Dhaka visited her family in Kolkata, among other gifts, he would grandly produce an ilish . A similar tradition continues. Family friends living in Chennai and sometimes even my father, on visits to Kolkata, come back with an ilish or two.
I am not really sure what it is about this fish that makes it so coveted despite its many bones and strong smell. It’s considered to be a mark of prestige. It’s part of the totto (wedding trousseau) of most Bengalis. Amidst jewellery, saris and finery, you’ll find it lying there, all silver, gleaming and neatly gift-wrapped. Sometimes it’s draped in a sari as well. Yes, we Bengalis take our maach very seriously. All auspicious occasions including annaprashon (a child’s first rice-eating ceremony), jamai shoshti (an annual ceremony where the sons-in-law are fussed over by the in-laws and fed an elaborate meal), poila boishakh (Bengali new year), Durga puja, Kali puja, wedding feasts...
The earliest memories that I have of my rendezvous with it is of my grandmother trying to feed me ilish maach bhaja , sneakily smuggled between mouthfuls of ghee rice. We didn’t start off on a good note. But now, I don’t mind it if it’s fried, or in the form of a cutlet or in a malai curry, bhaapa or in a tamarind gravy. I pass if it’s in any other form. “Ki? Tui ilish bhaalo baashish na?” (What? You don’t like it?) is the shocked response I get from my many fish-adoring relatives. It’s almost blasphemous to say ‘no’ to a serving.
Mention hilsa to Arpan Chatterjee, a professional who moved to Chennai last December, and his face lights up. “It is one of the tastiest of fishes and has a lasting flavour,” he says. But living in Chennai means he does not have access to his favourite dish. “I eagerly wait for hotels to organise Bengali food festivals so I can feast on them. On every visit to Kolkata, I treat myself to as much hilsa as I can. I have never been content with having just one in a meal, it’s always been three to four at one go and in various dishes,” says Arpan.
And that’s why restaurants like Bayleaf organise Hilsa festivals to brighten up the displaced fish lover’s day. “This is the first time we organised a hilsa festival. We went through forty kilos in the first three days and we had to order another 25 kilos from Kolkata. It was a success and it wasn’t just the Bengalis who enjoyed it,” says Aloka Gupta.
Even though it’s available almost throughout the year in Kolkata, September and October is the season for hilsa. It’s also most expensive during this period, almost like popular vacation spots during peak holiday season. A kilo costs around Rs.1,200. “It’s more expensive in Chennai and costs more than Rs. 800 even for the small fish,” says Aloka.
On the few occasions that I accompanied my uncles in Kolkata to the fish market, holding my nose and timidly looking away from some of the cut and bloody pieces piled in a basket, I was taught — the bigger the ilish , the better the taste and the lesser the bones. Once the fish is selected and weighed, a bit of good natured haggling follows and that’s when the fishmonger goes into hysterics and informs us about the fish dwindling in number in the seas.
But alarmed connoisseurs can breathe a sigh of relief. According to Dr. Sathianandan, Head, Fishery Resources Assessment Division at The Central Marine Fisheries Research Institute, Kochi: “The situation improved in 2013 with the West Bengal Government taking adequate measures. But for two years before that the number of this fish had drastically come down. This is because of environmental reasons and exploitation of resources. Last year, the all-India figures of hilsa totalled 41,000.”
For those motivated to try this fish; it’s an acquired taste. Either you like it or you don’t. The roe are a delicacy too. Bite into one and little grains dissolve in your mouth. And the flavour? Ah, what can I say about that? It has inspired literature. If a fellow Bengali is to be believed, “It gives caviar a run for its money.”
Picking out bones is a talent that Bengali kids master by the time they are 12. I am still honing that skill. For a novice like me swallowing a few of its thin white bones is inevitable. Also it’s not the easiest to digest. Yet I don’t give up on it, because ilish , you see, is like a sly temptress who eventually forces you to give in. In case you don’t, be sure your well-meaning Bengali friends and relatives will do the needful.
