Everything's Fishy

Mr. Shubodh Ghosh, who was famously called Professor by everyone, a well-known and reputable citizen of Golfgreen, Kolkata, an extreme foodie, and a retired professor, was feeling disturbed these days. Oh no! Don't get this wrong, there's no financial or family problem. He has two sons who are both well settled, one in the USA and another one in Bangalore.

Then what was it? The rainy season had arrived early this year. And the heavy monsoon meant only one thing for the Bengalis of West Bengal- the famous hilsa fish. Fishes were available in the market, but what exactly he was missing was his mother's special hilsa curry. His wife, Meena Ghosh, was average in her cooking skills- that was the judgment given by the supreme court of the house, Mr. Ghosh. What if someone compares a fresher with the CEO of a company or a student directly with the principal? That was the level of unfairness Mrs. Ghosh had been silently tolerating all these years.

"Meena!" Professor called her while adjusting his wet spectacles and entering the kitchen.

"Wait!" Mrs. Ghosh took the bag from his hand, "You forgot your mask at home, didn't even say where are you going in the middle of lockdown? Seriously? You could have told me that you are planning to go to the market. There was this entire list I had. Did you look at the shelves? All the spice containers are almost empty, only I know how I am managing..."

Mrs. Ghosh was prepared with her entire rant. Her husband, who usually treated everyone around him as if they too were some college student, thought the better of it and kept silent. But then, scarcity of spices rang an alarm in his ears.

"Wait, what?" Professor interrupted, "There ain't any spices? Not even turmeric? There must be at least some curd or mustard paste? Without it, how will you cook my hilsa?" He was genuinely worried.

Mrs. Ghosh gaped at her husband first and then at the bag. She peeked into it and opened the plastic bag to find big pieces of hilsa fish.

"Hmm, your fish indeed. But why should I cook it? You don't like any of that mother-in-law's patented special recipe dishes when cooked by anybody else. That's what I had been hearing for the last 30 years." She frowned.

"Well, that's true. You are still not good at it." Before even realizing exactly what was Professor getting into, the words automatically echoed in the air.

But this time, Mrs. Ghosh was prepared with her reply, "Fine, I am not going to cook it. Either you cook it yourself or throw it in Ganga, where it was born. I don't care."

"Are you challenging me, wife?" Professor felt his ego being hurt.

"No, I am not challenging you. I am telling you that you can cook yourself if you want to eat this. I can't waste my energy for the 1023rd time in cooking hilsa your mother's way." She threw the bag on the kitchen slab and stormed away.

"Why not? What do you think I can't do it? I am gonna make it so good no one would believe." Professor yelled. But it was hardly two seconds after he had accepted the challenge that he remembered something. Not in his entire life has he ever entered into the kitchen. Even for his hourly ginger tea or for a glass of cold water, it was always, "Meena!!!! Tea...." Or, "Meena!!! Bring me water." orders on demand.

But male ego means something in this entire universe for ages, you know. A man always holds his pride in defeating others and defining others. He loves preaching rather than learning because they think they are born with finesse. And losing from a woman was out of the question. Challenge accepted by a man, that too a professor, can't be taken back. So the big fishy battle began!

Professor called his sons. Both of them kept on laughing an eternity before promising any help. The younger one even added all the fuel he had to the fire, "For heaven's sake daddy why your generation dwells on ego? In this era, you have to treat your wife equally, actually more than that. I would be a divorcee for sure if I acted this way." After listening to this unwanted lecture from his son, he disconnected.

Though, the elder one was still good enough to consider and filled his dad's inbox with all the links to hilsa recipes.

Mrs. Ghosh became a silent spectator. She too had prepared an entire list of taunts and sarcasm. Now was her time, she had thought. And her husband was ready with his armors, to begin with. Professor remembered his mother, doubting if she had been alive to that day, would she be proud of her son for taking up the challenge and entering into the kitchen or banged her head on the wall seeing his foolhardiness.

Professor spent the first half of the first day identifying spices and utensils. He had to open every jar to match the ingredients with the pic shown on the laptop. Naturally, it took a long time. Finally, by late afternoon, after bringing the entire utensil family out of the drawers and shelves and making the kitchen chimneys tired, he came out with something reddish-black on his plate, sat on the dining table, and started eating.

"What happened?" The maid came running when she found her owner coughing badly. Her owner was grumbling in anger, "I can't even chew this!" The maid, who knew the story, couldn't help herself and started laughing. Mrs. Ghosh yelled from the other room, "Somebody please tell the professor that you need to first fry the fish before eating it. Cooking gravy isn't enough."

Professor felt like he had lost his gun, and the enemy got an easy target to shoot him. None of the links he had randomly picked up and read mentioned this fact. The authors might have assumed that since it's a common bong trait to fry the fish before cooking it for the main dish, it was nowhere.

He decided to search for lifelines. Frying a fish came as an out of the syllabus question. Even the games like 'Who wants to be a millionaire' give lifelines.

"Hello, Bhaskar?" Mr. Ghosh called his old colleague.

"Shubodh? Hello professor! What a pleasant surprise? I thought with the commuting ban, the government also declared a calling ban, you know? Maybe that's why we are talking after ages? Hahaa..."

"I will conduct a special session where you can spill as much sarcasm you want to. But right now, I am in trouble, and you have to help me." Professor frowned.

"Shubodh, is everything okay? What happened? Is boudi fine?" Bhaskar got serious.

"She is hale and hearty as a horse. But I am drowning in the river with my hilsa."

"What are you talking about?" Bhaskar was still confused. Professor narrated the entire story in his old lecture style and waited for an answer.

Bhaskar, on the other hand, like everybody else, had complete laughter therapy. After making sure that he was over with the dose, he continued, "Well, you are in trouble, my friend. You have got two options!"

"What?" Professor was all ears.

"Go and apologize to her and say that you are a fool and ask her to cook you fish. Which will be a thousand times better than your uncooked one. Or second, you learn to cook with your limited fishes and spend your monsoon in reminiscences."

"What an idea! Wow!" Professor taunted, "Give the phone to your wife!"

Mrs. Bhaskar agreed to a video call and described pin to pie about fish recipes. Professor thought he had conquered it and went to his wife, "You can call your friends and neighbors. I am going to make the best hilsa dish you ever had."

Mrs. Ghosh was slightly impressed by the confidence. She picked up her phone and dialed a number. "Hello! Sujata?" She stared at her husband with narrowed eyes.

"Hi, Sujata! Can you come with your family to our house on Wednesday afternoon?"

"Tomorrow?" Came the response from the other side, "Yes, why not! But, all good?"

"Yes, yes, nothing to worry about. My husband's in a mood to give a special Hilsa treat to everyone. I thought of inviting you first for this grand lockdown special feast!" A wicked smile appeared on Mrs. Ghosh's lips.

Professor felt the floor slipping beneath his feet.

"Tomorrow????" He screamed, "Are you out of your mind?"

The maid, yet again, came running after her owner's voice rang in the house.

"Did you mention that you need preparatory holidays before appearing for the main exam? Or you need mock tests before the main one? No! And I don't think this professor has ever in his life entertained grace period to his students for being late or gave grace marks even after late submissions."

The maid heard everything and giggled. Professor turned his head in anger, and she fled.

He couldn't sleep that night. He texted his old friend Bhaskar telling the sudden twist in the plot.

"Oh God, professor, why can't you keep your pride in your pockets at least for once. Was it so necessary to brag? You could have given a secret surprise once you were done." Professor didn't reply. The phone beeped again after some time.

It was Bhaskar again. "I wish there were no COVID or lockdown. I also want to be a part of the grand Hilsa feast. " The note ended with emojis of face savoring food and heart in the eyes. Professor felt even more irritated and threw the phone, and it hit the bedside table with a bang.

The next day was the D-Day. Professor leaped out of his bed at 6 in the morning, and by 7, he was at the morning market.

With all his energy and excitement, he literally shouted in the not-so-crowded market, "Dada, give hilsa for curry!" The seller, never in his life did see any customer so excited on such a lazy morning. "Let me then weigh one kilo for you, make doi (yogurt) hilsa, shorshe (mustard) hilsa, hilsa curry, whatever you want!" The seller snapped at him, and Professor left with a half nervous and half sad face.

This was the toughest exam Professor ever had, even after knowing what questions would be asked and how to attempt them. After breakfast, he dived straight into the kitchen and started preparing. At some point, Professor went so clueless with whatever he was doing that suddenly the entire kitchen filled with smoke.

"Uncle, may I help?" The maid tried peeking into the kitchen. Professor tried to be hard and retorted, "No, I am fine."

"Umm, okay! By the way, people outside are staring at our kitchen. They are thinking there's a fire and about to call the fire brigade." Professor felt his body heated up with anger, and before he could speak further, his phone rang.

"Hello! Ghosh Babu?" One of his neighbors had called, "Are you all right? There's so much smoke coming out of the kitchen window, we thought someone's getting choked."

Without saying anything, Professor disconnected. The maid wasn't lying. He switched the kitchen chimney on and continued.

But sadly, when he finished, it was neither a curry nor a fried fish or anything. It was almost time for the guests to come. Like a lost warrior and failed student, he kept the bowl in front of his wife.

Mrs. Ghosh looked at her husband. She felt sorry for him for the first time in a while. She got up and ordered her husband, "You keep the guests engaged. I will now take care of this." Professor silently nodded, and she went into the kitchen.

Neighbors started to arrive. "Mr. Ghosh, when will we get to taste? I am getting so impatient. Haha!" One of them said.

"Yes, soon. Meena is getting the plates ready." Professor replied nervously.

Mrs. Ghosh and the maid came out of the kitchen and started arranging the plates. The maid announced to the guests, "The lunch is ready. Please come."

Everyone came out with a plate full of shorshe illish- the mustard hilsa. Professor was stunned. In such a short time, she cooked in such a large amount for everyone.

"Wow, Professor, so yummy! We stay just a few steps away from each other, and all these years, we never came to know that you are such a Masterchef! Meena, you are so lucky to have a super chef and multi-talented husband." Sujata complemented.

Professor turned red with shame. All his life, he had continuously cursed his wife's cooking. Yet, it was she that saved his reputation today. His ego had lost its meaning.

When people left, Professor tip-toed into the kitchen and stood silently in front of his wife. Wordless.

Mrs. Ghosh understood what it meant. She patted on her husband's shoulder, "Mention not, husband. That's why wives exist." She winked and continued with her work.