I’ve decided that I shouldn’t get depressed by the fact that
only a dozen or so only very few almost no one reads my blog, but keep on writing…maybe only because I love this. It keeps me happy :)
So don’t expect me to stop *mutters to self mutinously*
Now, being a Bengali, everyone expects me to be a ‘fishitarian’. And are then silenced on hearing that my dad is, in fact, vegetarian. Shocking, huh? But I’m very much a non-vegetarian and love fish to boot. So…uh….okay, what did I really want to talk about…oh yeah. The Experience of eating Hilsa fish. I don’t know how many people know of it. But trust me, if you’re trying to eat fish for the first time, try and stay away from hilsa. Unless of course if you’ve gone to some place like ‘Oh Calcutta’, where they serve ‘boneless’ hilsa. I shrieked and goggled the first time I saw that item on their menu. That’s solely because I have a really long love-hate relationship with this fish. Its bones are literally hair-like. So you need to be quite the expert to be able to successfully manipulate your way through a piece. Now I’m extremely lazy when it comes to picking out fish bones. Make no mistake, I’m quite good at it (who wouldn’t be after at least 12 years of solo practise?) but the energy you need to spend, staring at each piece, nimbly pulling out an elusive bone, is just not worth it. My dear mom, is hugely depressed that I do not like what is considered the ‘best fish’. But she has assured me, with a pained look, that its alright if I don’t want to have an affinity for hilsa. She’ll, with time, accept it. Basically, amongst Bengalis, not eating fish is like a taboo (my dad would tell you many tales) and refusing to eat hilsa is even more sacrilegious. My mom, in comparison, is taking this very well.
Oh the pains of being a social delinquent!
Or not. *snigger*
So anyway, that’s that.
I recently also solved a certain mystery, in between which I had suspicions as to whether I had Multiple Personality disorder. See, what happened was that I put a bag containing a kurta of mine, in my chest of drawers…at the very back of the middle drawer. Later, I couldn’t find it. So after raising a hue and cry and turning the house upside down (and driving my mom up the wall), I gave way to some errant thoughts like the one afore mentioned. Maybe I’d gotten up in the night and removed the bag? Maybe my other personality doesn’t like wearing Indian clothes? Maybe I should check the lower drawer? Yes, the last one seemed most obvious, right? So I stuck my arm in, at this weird angle, and voila! The bag had fallen right down onto the bottom of the chest of drawers. Hence I retrieved the (slightly) dusty bag and rejoiced.
Hallelujah and all…
Yes…that’s all worth mentioning :P