Tuhfa Zaman Ali celebrated her 70th birthday on May 1, three days before Ramadan began. While she’s never had a birthday fall on Eid-al-fitr, she remembers how her eighth one missed the festival by a whisker, and her reaction thereafter. “On April 30, I had stayed up to spot the moon. At 10 o’clock, my elder sister told me to go to sleep, and that she’d wake me up on sighting the moon. But when I woke up and found the sun was up… I got so angry… My sister was sleeping next to me… I just started hitting her, and kept saying, ‘Why did Eid not come on my birthday?’”, laughs Ali, wife of Bangladeshi High Commissioner, Syed Muazzem Ali.
We’re at Ali’s cozy nook, the embassy quarters at Chanakyapuri, where the lady is on a nostalgia trip about Bangladeshi Ramadan celebrations. Although snug at her India abode, Bangladesh is forever in her heart, evident from how she nestles in its souvenirs – from paintings by Bangladeshi artists adorning her walls to kitschy miniatures of Bangladesh’s local transport arranged neatly on a console at the doorway.
‘Bengal’ in Bangladeshi iftar
Bangladesh and India’s shared histories reflect a turbulent past – the former amputated several times, first in 1905, then 1947 and finally in 1971 after the Liberation War to emerge as the independent nation it is today. Yet Bangladesh and West Bengal, still appear cut from the same socio-cultural fabric – their Bengali dialects, love for hilsa, textiles, Tagore, football, and even a Shahid Minar (Martyrs Monument) each. In a serendipitous move, the two nations unite in what Ali has worn for our meeting – a green floral sari (from Kolkata) draped over a green handloom cotton blouse and accessorised by an emerald-and-gold beaded necklace (both from Bangladesh).
Even their iftar spread leans on Bengali staples that Ali breaks her fast with: chicken samosas, gulab jamun and piyaju (lentil-and-onion fritters – a pakoda with a well-mashed inside). Her first morsel, though, is a date or a lemon/orange/watermelon sherbet to resurrect sugar levels, followed by varieties of gram preparations “as grams restore strength”, explains Ali, showing me recent photos of rustle ups she’s taken on her mobile phone: broken chickpeas with ginger shards, coriander and green chilies drizzled in lemon juice, and of chickpea, black gram and tomato bits dunked in spicy, tangy tamarind sauce. And of course, good ol’ beguni (eggplant fritters).
Ali informs how her otherwise hardcore pescatarian nation shifts their focus to chicken, mutton, beef and egg khao gully-specialties post the Maghreb and final prayer – homegrown delights that she misses. Like the Dhaka Haleem, which uses slightly different spices than the Indian haleem. “Caterers back home have people waiting in line for 3-4 hours for the haleem! I also love our Kacchi biryani [raw meat chunks and whole potatoes tossed with rice, then sealed and set on dum]. She also misses the “very soft khichdi” from lentils, rice and ginger that Northeast Bangladeshis prepare to break their fast with, or muri mixed with chanas in other parts. “One look at the table, and you know where the [host] family’s from.”
While the couple don’t mind Karim’s “greasy and spicy kebabs” – “Yes, we should not eat these fried things, but we do” – they’ve successfully resisted the urge to sample a raging Bangladeshi favourite served on handcarts in the streets of Chowk Bazaar. Old Dhaka. First try digesting the name and then picture it on a menu card – Boro Baper Polay Khay, Thonga Bhore Niye Jaye (This is the food for a rich man’s son, and he takes it home in a paper bag). Like the ‘bowl meal’ concept, it’s a heap-up of chickpeas and bits of chicken, eggs, meats, offal and potatoes, all sauteed in local spices and stuffed in take-away paper bags. “Very popular but also unhygienic.” Finally, mild breakfast items like milk, banana, bread and egg are consumed at Sehri to prevent acidity from over-bingeing.
Family first
But over elaborate buffets, Ali pines for fat family gatherings, where everyone would salivate for iftar time, as most of the dishes are not prepared through the year. On the 27th day every Ramadan, her aunts and cousin sisters gathered to apply henna to their hands and even nails, these sessions crawling well past bed time. Then began the actual fun to see whose henna’ed hands made it to the next Eid – two months and 10 days later.
“I could be wrong, but I’ve heard the prophet applied henna to his beard and hence this custom....” Ali also misses the blessings of her parents and in turn blessing her younger cousins with Eidi of 2-3 takas, “which amounted to nothing but the giving mattered.” And buying new clothes were such a big deal, mothers shopped new garments for their kids in utter secrecy and hid the purchased items from everyone. “So on Eid, the clothes were a surprise to everyone. I’d wear a new dress in the morning, one during lunch, one in the evening and one for dinner.”
As Eid falls in summer, Dhakai cotton is preferred over rich jamdanis and muslins, and long-sleeved blouses are currently in vogue. Famous malls at Dhaka’s Elephant Road, Pink City, Bashundhara City Shopping Complex, stay open post 11pm. Given 90 percent of Bangladesh’s 160 million population are Muslims (largely, Sunnis, followed by Shias and Aga Khanis), Ali remembers having a choc-a-bloc’ed Ramadan month with events and get-togethers, and coursing through entire cities decked in lights on Eid.
But over the years, growing in age and spirituality, Ali now chooses prayer, fasting and fidiya (donating a whole day’s meal when you skip or prematurely break the fast) over material delights. She broke her fast only during one pregnancy, holding on steadfastly even during the 1971 army crackdown and atrocities she saw just a few months into marriage.
Ali also witnessed the liberal use of zakat (Islamic ritual of donating an obligatory percentage of your wealth), on being privy to two illustrious public figures in her family – her husband, and her father, the assistant engineer who built Meghalaya’s Dawki bridge while recruited with the British-era Assam Engineering Service. The MPhil degree holder from Jawaharlal Nehru University, and her husband donate ration items to Delhi orphanages, saris and lungis to villagers and staff, iftar meals to the elderly and the poor. Similar contributions, she says, are made by other High Commission members, who, during Ramadan get to leave early to prepare for iftar as the office timings are rejigged as there’s no lunch break. “I’ve become more subdued. It’s a good feeling, doing something for yourself,” she signs off, eagerly awaiting Eid.