Somewhere there they promised an age old existence of a
construction made to order with direct access to a human heart with a palatable
dish of choice. I grew up aspiring to tread that path and eventually received
professional training only to realize it deserves perseverance beyond
imagination to cook up smoking hot dishes or cold cuts, be it a star category
consortium or a roadside sack. Hence I decided to delight my friends and family
with occasional whimsical experimental specialties, both national and
international. To my surprise they turned out to be good at times and sucked
more often; however I never gave up. It was one of those times when I meet this
fellow through Facebook. His profile seemed to be that of a nerd one with witty
comments and never mentioned his interest in culinary skills apart from display
pictures with pork sausages or meatballs or a can of beer with gleaming eyes,
delighted indeed at the very sight of the morsel.
So a continued and prolonged conversation for a month or so during
which we were busy seeing different places or people, brought us to a deal
where we could plan a meal, a three course one and the market to supply us with
the resources happened to be near the place I reside. We zeroed down on Prawn
and Parshe, Bengali sentiment you see. Brecht was the poet I as reading those
days and followed and practiced the poem mentioned below,
“We were not friends to one another then
And yet for love love it did not seem to soon
And so we lay there in each other’s arms
Strangers to each other than the moon.
We’d likely fight about
the price of the fish
If we meet at a market stall today
We were not friends to one another then
Although in one another’s arms we lay.”
The reason to quote this text is its uncanny resemblance in
real life. Obviously you will not decide to make love to a nerd basis on his
bargaining power and ability to fast calculate the market price of fish
weighing somewhere about 300 gms. Okay, this memory purely constitutes my
ability to observe and remember and does not certify a keen interest level.
Having said that even if you think it does, I can’t help it.
A long stroll led us to the nest of this bachelor bird. His
house was neat except for empty alcohol bottles crowding the entire shelf of a
wall. He expressed his intention to sell them in the long run and befriend an
old monk with the revenue amount.
However we started with the food preparation with beheading
and dressing the prawns. Deveining prawns followed with a glass of Screwdriver
and all I remember after that was the hissing sound of the Parhe mach as I let
them roam free in the steaming hot mustard oil. Perhaps the weather was
pleasant, the screwdriver was queerly strong and the bed had an admiring
assurance of comfort; this mademoiselle finds herself waking up to an immediate
audience listening patiently to her blabber and completing all the household
chores.
About the food, though the complaint was related to usage of
salt and decapitated portions of poor fish, the magic of hunger seemed to be a solvent.
And what followed was we opened lips, closed, looked at each other and decided
we are sleepy and should sleep and assist in making the bed and darkening the
room. It was just six in the evening and we finished our delayed lunch or early
supper , still dizzy in head and not sure whether can step into the right
direction if start to walk. You cannot sleep alone in such a terrible state you
see; you will be dreaming all those horrid dreams and wake up in the middle
screaming. To avoid execution of an innocent dream, you need to assail for
comfort in each other’s arms. That’s what humans do until you recover your
senses.
Later on many an
evening, all alone in my room, I looked at myself for a long time in my glass.
And I ended by recalling myself as I was, before that evening. “ I am much
changed. Am I not?”
sumptuous! :)
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