There appears to be a lot of variation in how people make rezala. Mine is definitely not authentic as I tend to improvise a lot while cooking this, which these days is regrettably rare. Back in the day, however, this had never failed. Go ahead, give it a shot.
Update: April 11 425pm BDT at the end
Theirs was the stuff of fairy tale romance. The son of a Supreme Court judge and a charismatic English professor, he was brought up to be a pukka gentleman. She came from the wrong side of the poorest of backwater towns, first in the family to make it to university, relying on nothing but her grit. They were white collar professionals, colleagues who fell in love in their late 20s. I was there—it happened in my living room actually. They moved in, and then moved overseas together for greater opportunities, for both. Careers progressed, and love deepened. About ten years ago, they got married in a picturesque island. Couple of years later they returned to a large wooden house with a big backyard to raise a little girl, and then a boy. Financially secure — they benefitted from the asset booms of that decade — it was a time for career change, to follow their hearts. She joined politics. He decided to pursue his passion for writing.
Then the fairy tale ended. While turning 40, she finds that politics is hard work, and merely willing isn’t enough. He is in deep blue funk, with writing going nowhere. Kids are alright, I guess. But the parents most definitely aren’t.
How about a more conventional couple? Both from straight forward middle class families. Met in their 20s through friends, and started seeing each other frequently, and then exclusively. He had an opportunity to move overseas for work. Marriage was the only way for them to be together, even though this meant an end to her career. A decade and three daughters later, she is mostly tired and bitter. Meanwhile, he wonders what might have been had they never met.
These are not isolated incidences. Whether in Desh or in the west, I see couples of my age and socioeconomic background, regardless of ethnicity or culture, in stale, unexciting marriages where no one is really at fault, where the fire of passion is buried in repressed memories and forced indifference. And these are the marriages that survive. Scarily, I joked recently with a friend that I am more likely now to attend a social shindig marking the end of someone’s marriage than a wedding!
What happens? In short, life. It’s hard to navigate the demands of modern life — finances needed for the standard of living we aspire to, but also the expectations of personal achievements we set ourselves, and then there is the social rat race that none of us are really immune from. All that before we throw in the curve ball of raising kids and the emotional and physical tolls that entail.
There is cricket in the subcontinent, and while it’s good see Bangladesh being competitive, nationalism often leaves me cold. There is, however, one part of life where I am, if not nationalist, quite parochial — the stronger sex. There is something about Bengali girls. As with many things, Satyajit Ray captures it brilliantly:
A Bengali girl once asked me why Uttam Kumar is so mean to Sharmila Tagore. I was surprised she hadn’t watched Nayak. I shouldn’t have been, as this is one of Ray’s lesser known gems. That’s a shame, because arguably it’s one of his best work.
Raj, the Desi guy in the sitcom Big Bang Theory, compliments his friend’s deductions in an episode as ….a regular Byomkesh Bakshi. Another friend quips — What’s that? An Indian Sherlock Holmes?, drawing Raj’s retort — Perhaps Holmes is an English Byomkesh Bakshi!
Of course, Holmes predates Bakshi by decades. And I have no idea how widely known Bakshi is outside of erstwhile Bengal. Or even among the Bengalis for that matter — growing up, I was certainly more familiar with Satyajit Ray’s Feluda than Sharadindu Bandyopadhyay’s satyanweshi (the seeker of the truth).
Perhaps this has changed with the recent films coming out of Kolkata and Bollywood?
I was 14 when a Dhanmondi girl first told me about Valentine’s Day — no, not asking me for a date, rather informing me about hers. In the quarter century since, in and out of relationships, the day has never really resonated with me. Call me unromantic? Not so fast. You see, I do love rom coms, particularly on the small screen.
And could there be a better show to showcase my case?
A trained economist turned historian, a liberal who has written on cricket, you can see why I might like Ramachandra Guha. When it comes to our corner of the subcontinent, Mr Guha particularly resonates with me because unlike so many other liberal-progressive Indians, he is unsentimental about partition. This allows him to observe Bangladesh (and Pakistan) with less blinkered eyes. This was evident in the two op eds he wrote after visiting Bangladesh late last year.
Based on ‘ long, drink-filled, evenings’ of addas with his local interlocutors as well short trips to Manikganj and Tangail, he concludes the first piece as:
The present is scarcely trouble-free, the future is clouded and uncertain. That said, this Indian would like to raise one cheer, and perhaps even two, for the people of Bangladesh. They were once part of Pakistan; after separation, they have been somewhat more successful in thwarting Islamic fundamentalism. They were once part of the undivided province of Bengal; after separation, they have shown more entrepreneurial drive and constructive social activism than their counterparts to the west.
Little quibbles — for example, Bangladesh is not, nor has it ever been, an Islamic Republic — aside, I agree with Guha’s assessment. It is his second piece, however, that I found more interesting. Let’s remember that one of his hosts in the Dhaka Lit Fest is an Awami League MP, and his trip was — as things tend to be — quite carefully managed. I suspect the literati and the chatterati he interacted with have little enthusiasm for the non-existent opposition politics. And yet, he came away with this stinging indictment of the current order:
… the manner of her administration’s present functioning is dangerously reminiscent of her father’s most ignoble period, those early months of 1975 when he amended the Constitution to virtually outlaw dissent and consolidate power in himself.
Thus, Mr Guha raises his glass, but not three cheers for Bangladesh — politics is letting us down, and the current prime minister deserves the blame. Who could disagree with that assessment? Foreign correspondents were coming around to that view over four years ago.
And yet, is that the full picture? Perhaps the glass Mr Guha raises contains a cocktail that the
people of Bangladesh the establishment is willfully imbibing. Perhaps, Mrs Wajed’s autocratic ways are accepted because the alternative in our winner-take-all set up are perceived to be too risky for stability that underlines social and economic achievements he lauds?
Awrup Sanyal wants to whet your appetite about Richard Eaton’s seminal work. Let me complement him on the effort. I have noted Eaton in the past: a must read book on Bangladesh; and a book that has stayed with me. A full-fledged critical review of the Eaton thesis is well beyond my capability. This post really is a complement to Mr Sanyal’s.
… at least for now. Upon watching it again, I tentatively, and partially, echo Brad DeLong:
Recommended Star Wars Viewing Order:
- The Force Awakens
- A New Hope
- The Empire Strikes Back
And that is it. Everything else would simply be a letdown, and leave viewers disappointed.
Tentatively, because The Force Awakens leaves so many threads open that we cannot really judge it conclusively until the rest of the trilogy plays out. Partially, because the rest of the refined canon (including the much derided prequels) has relevant material. Both points, and more, will be elaborated in a long form piece soon. Over the fold is some theory about the movie’s central plot twist. (Spoiler alert).
A staple of political rhetoric in Bangladesh is to ensure affordability of rice, lentil, oil and salt. Throw in a kilogram of coarse rice, 250 grams of red lentil, 40 ml soya bean oil and 10 mg salt and we get a rather bland plate of khichuri. CEIC Asia database provides monthly retail prices of these essentials in Dhaka with a lag. Currently, the latest data point is August 2014. Still, using the bland recipe and prices (and smoothing the data by taking a 12-month moving average), we can get a sense of how the price of our plate of khichuri has evolved over time — for example, when BNP was turfed out in January 2007, such a plate cost around 35 taka, which rose to around 60 taka when the Awami League returned to power in January 2009, and was around 70 taka when its five year term expired.
Of course, to say anything sensible about prices, we need to have a sense of income. From the same source, we can get daily wage of a skilled factory worker. Her wages went from around130 taka a day in January 2007 to over 210 taka two years later to over 300 taka further five years on.
Putting the two together, we can get what I am going to call the Khichuri Index — plates of khichuri an average industrial worker can buy in Dhaka. The chart below shows how the index has evolved between January 2000 and August 2014 (the period I have data for).