THE WORKING LUNCH

Following the demolition of the Babri Mosque on 6^th December 1992, there was an all-round outrage provoking a few incidents in the city. I had joined the city police only a month before this incident.  Around mid-day, I was directed by the Police Control Room, to proceed to a particular area where there were reports of apprehension of breach of peace as some agitated people were gathering and grouping there. I was absolutely new to the city police and it was too early in the day to know any of the local people or the officers and men whom I was to lead on the spot.

As I arrived, I found the Divisional Deputy Commissioner already present there with a contingent of a Para-military force along with our city police officers and men, wedged between two agitating groups at the crossing of one of the main arterial roads. It would be around mid-day.  There was palpable tension in the air. The street and surroundings were already a picture of a bandh like situation, with all the shopping establishments shut and no vehicles plying. Even before we could initiate quick measures to diffuse the tension, like talking to the local people around or the leaders of the mobs or roping in the political people present on the spot or making strategic deployment, a fusillade of brick-batting towatds us began. In the process a few of us received injuries and some vehicles were damaged.  The window panes of my official car were smashed by the flying bricks and stones and I recall that for many hours after this I was

patrolling in several adjoining police station areas in this car with open windows, on a cold December night with icy winds biting my face and freezing my bones. 

Well, amidst, a lot of shouting and crying, jostling and pushing, the injured including some civilians being quickly moved away, we saw a sergeant bleeding profusely having been slashed with some sharp weapon. Red blood on his white uniform presented a gory picture. Now, it is extremely difficult even for a disciplined force to stay calm and keep emotions under control at a sight such as this. He was immediately removed from the scene and taken to a hospital.  The officers and men were getting increasingly agitated and rearing to charge and holding them back was also proving to be a tough ask in the wake of brick-batting. In the midst of that chaos, confusion and tension, I heard someone calling me from behind: Saar, Ami ki khete jabo? (Can I go to eat my food?)

The famine of 1943 struck the Bengal  of  British India (present-day West Bengal, Odisha, Bihar and Bangladesh) during World War II,  following the Japanese occupation of Burma, the

world's largest exporter of rice in the inter-war period. Calcutta was normally supplied by Burma. After the Japanese occupation of Burma in March 1942, Bengal and the other parts of India had to find food elsewhere. This, however, was not the only reason. There were several other factors including the administrative and policy failures of the British Government that contributed to the famine that caused major economic and social disruption, ruining millions of families.

 That event has been captured vividly in several plays, novels, poems articles, editorials. Nabanna a Bengali play about the famine written by Bijon Bhattacharya was staged by Indian People's Theatre Association (IPTA) in 1944 under the direction of Sombhu Mitra and later in 1948, by Bohurupee under the direction of Kumar Roy. We now have a building with the same name housing the State Government Secretariat.

Asani Sanket by Bibhutibhushan Bandopadhyay was adapted into a film of the same name by Satyajit Ray . The other famous novels on the subject are: So Many Hungers!  by Bhabani Bhattacharya, and Aakaaler Sandhane by Amalendu Chakraborty ,cinematised  by  Mrinal Sen. Two editorials were published on the famine, on 14 and 16 October 1943, by Ian Stephens, the editor of The Statesman. He gave graphic accounts of the famine, and delivered a stinging critique of the inaction of the administration.  Ian Stephens also published a memoir about the Bengal famine, Monsoon Morning.

Food in Bengali culture has always been most evident either in the immediate present or savoured as a memory or anticipated as a future pleasure.  It is the medium for depicting the

emotional, ceremonial and ritual universe of a people. Through their festivals and rituals it displays a delightful engagement and not any more a reminder of a calamity. If you are ignorant of the order in which the food is eaten, you have not been initiated in the food etiquette. You would be educated in the correct order right away. Men pride themselves in knowing the exact ingredients of a dish by merely tasting a morsel of the food. It is not a feminine talent, rather the quality of a connoisseur. The previous night’s biyerbari (Wedding) dinner could be a subject matter of an elaborate and animated discussion across the table during office hours. Mother’s love is evaluated in terms of how many dishes she cooks for her children, and how tasty.

A trip to the morning market is considered no less than a pilgrimage by the true blue Bengalis. They know their vegetables, fishes, meat, sweets, doi etc. at a glance and know the subtle techniques of testing the goodness of various items. The brinjals (aubergine) have to feel buttery smooth to touch; the tails of the ladies fingers should break sharply for them to be fresh and juicy. Fishes with eggs are not tasty, mutton should be washed well before dicing it into small pieces, and never after it has been diced, the blackish prawns and tilapia (cichlid fish) are tastier than the red or white ones. You need to check the gills of the fish for the right buy.

Potato in machher jhol (fish curry) is wedged, in mutton curry is halved, in aloor dom small in size, in the potato curry for breakfast with luchi it should be cut inch long in to square dices.. Potatoes should be thoroughly peeled, but potols (pointed gourd) should be left roughly peeled. A true Bengali can actually eat fish as neatly as though the bones have been dried and bleached!

Many years ago, one late afternoon as a district officer while I was settling down for my lunch in office, one of my senior Deputy Superintendents, an elderly father figure to a young officer and soon to superannuate, rushed to my room and informed me about out-break of a serious trouble somewhere in my District, requiring my personal presence on the spot. I immediately pushed my food aside and was getting up to leave when with what looked like an authoritative wave of hand, he asked me to sit down. Taken aback, I sat down.

“Sir, whatever be the provocation, whatever the emergency, howsoever serious a situation might be, once you have sat down to eat your food, do not leave without finishing it. You never know when you will get your next meal.”

In the process of quickly stuffing my food in my mouth, I couldn't tell him that famine was history and that we no longer imported rice from Burma….