Odour

Silence is my armour,

Compliance is my nature,

My reality’s with you

But, who am I?

 

I live for you

Meet your passion,

Never ask myself

Who am I?

 

My end feels near,

My body surrenders,

I still carry orders

Who am I?

 

I can’t go on,

And my duties undone,

Will you feel

That I’m gone?

 

Mr. Bakshi is extremely fastidious about his fish curry and rice. Every day two big chunks of quality fish with a handful of good quality Basmati rice are to be served both lunchtime and dinnertime. His culinary interest does not allow him to compromise with the quality of his fish and rice. And when these two adorn his plate everyday in the morning and in the evening, a heavenly smell emanating from them seduces his entire Bengali neighbourhood.

It seems quite likely considering Mr. Bakshi’s obsession with fresh fish that he himself goes on a pilgrimage to the local fish market every day. However, the reality is just the opposite. In spite of his frenzied attachment to the species of fish, he distances himself from the hullabaloo of the market. It is his wife, Smita who has been performing this duty religiously for the last twenty five years of her married life and she has been fairly successful in satisfying her extremely choosy husband. Getting up at five thirty in the morning, she finishes her household chores by six fifteen and takes her daily trip to the local fish market. She has to prepare machher jhol and bhat first and if there is enough time, maybe dal or one sabji, by eight before Mr. Bakshi leaves home for his office. In the beginning, Smita was a little apprehensive while going to the fish market. She was one of the very few female customers in the male-dominated world. Gradually she became familiar with the erstwhile alien world. She developed an eye for fresh fish and became such an expert that before anybody started to bargain, the best quality Rohu or Katla had already gone in her bag. She even learned how to clean the medium-size fish like Pabda or Tangra because Mr. Bakshi took pleasure in watching her do that. This way he also confirmed that his was the best fish in the market and that it belonged to a pedigree.

Today is a special day for all the Bengalese. It is Vijaya Dashami. After spending four days at home, Ma Durga leaves her father’s house for her husband’s on this day, leaving everybody in tears. With heavy heart the Bengali women bid farewell to ma by applying sindoor on her image as well as on other women. Although it is a day of sadness, it is celebrated as well by following certain rituals–a few exotic dishes, especially the most important fish curry which is not made during the puja, are cooked on this day. In Mr. Bakshi’s household, fish does not get any respite even on the puja days; however, he gets an extra flavour to add to his festive mood by having Sarsho Hilsa or Prawn Malaikari.

Like every year, this Durga Puja has not changed Smita’s daily routine a bit except that today she wakes up with an acute chest pain. She discards the possibility of indigestion, because she has not had any spicy food the previous night that might cause such a strong pain. Nevertheless, she takes two teaspoons of Aqua Ptychotis to get some relief, in case she was wrong. Desperately trying to be oblivious of her escalating pain, she drags herself to the market.

As a surprise to her fellow customers, she spends very little time in the market today and rushes back home. Bereft of all the detailing touches that the two main dishes demand in her household, they are finished in no time—fish a little overcooked while the rice not done to Mr. Bakshi’s satisfaction. The subtle flavour that Mr. Bakshi can die for is missing today from both the dishes. Smita can visualize the disappointment written on her husband’s face because she knows that for him, these two preparations are nothing but pieces of art. However, for one day she wants to shed off her garb of an artist. She lies down on her bed to relax. In the meanwhile, Mr. Bakshi has also woken up. Smita does not even get a chance to complain; she collapses.

Mr. Bakshi tries some home remedies to bring her back to consciousness but without success. Eventually he has to call up an ambulance. But as they say, the first hour is very critical in a heart attack, Smita does not survive this crucial hour, although the paramedics give her a few moments of consciousness before she succumbs to her eternal slumber. During those precious moments, Smita mutters something to Mr. Bakshi that sounds like–fish curry and rice are on the stove top. Please help yourself. Mr. Bakshi, however, is not in his right mind; even the sound of “fish curry” does not ring a bell. Once the ambulance reaches the hospital through the jams caused by the puja pandals, the doctor declares her dead. Mr. Bakshi returns home with his wife’s dead body.

Their only son who lives in Delhi flies home the same day. Relatives and friends throng their house. Since it is an extremely hot day and there is no need to wait for anyone, cremation is done in no time. At night, when everyone leaves, both the father and the son sit together, each contemplating his own loss he has suffered through this sudden demise. For the first time today, Mr. Bakshi feels empty. Twenty five years of association is a long one and his wife was a dutiful one.

“Balo Durga Mai ki jai”–the local boys are getting ready for the immersion of the idol. Although they are preparing for the bisarjan with a lot of fanfare, they will come back to the pandal feeling empty. Mr. Bakshi cannot help draw a parallel between the state of these boys and that of himself. While brooding over his tragedy, he gets a very strong, unpleasant, putrid smell. For twenty five years whosoever has come to his house, enjoys the aroma of fresh fish and basmati rice and he has always taken pride in it. Trying to locate the source of this foul smell, he arrives at the kitchen and discovers the fish curry and rice cooked on the stove top. He remembers his wife’s last words.

For the first time today, tears well up in his eyes. He realises, his curry days are over. Due to extreme humid conditions, both the dishes have turned rotten. Mr. Bakshi gets the smell of an unpleasant stench of a deceased and decomposed body. While throwing the food in the garbage can, he feels, he is throwing a part of his wife’s body. Perhaps, his obsession with fish has curtailed his wife’s life. She was too young to die. The guilt and remorse metamorphoses into anger; he is furious, not so much with himself as with those innocent, innocuous creatures that he had consumed and relished for the last twenty five years as if they were responsible for Smita’s untimely death. Although it is hard to imagine a life sans fish, he vows not to touch those culprit fish again in his life.

Smita’s shraaddha, the last rite for the peace of her soul is ceremoniously performed on the eleventh day, as it is customary among the Bengalese. These eleven days mark the austerity period the family and close friends of the deceased go through, and to respect the soul, only vegetables and fruits are consumed during this period. To end this period, on the thirteenth day, relatives and friends are usually treated with non-vegetarian food, especially with fish. However, on this day of matshamukh, fish is conspicuously absent from the menu, in Mr. Bakshi’s house.

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