The Fish Curry

By Antara Tirukkovalluri

Vimla Mausi has been working in my home as my house help since we moved to Mumbai three years ago. A lady in her late fifties, she hailed from a small village in Bihar. From our brief conversations between work, I learned that she first came to Mumbai a decade back to support her grieving daughter, who had just lost her husband. Vimla Mausi left behind her husband and son to be with her daughter and help her raise her three small children. Over time both of them took up jobs as cooks and house help to earn their living.

"Why didn't your husband accompany you?" I asked her one day.

"What do I say, Didi? My husband is a drunkard. He doesn’t earn anything! What will he do if he comes here? Every month I send money back home from my earnings for my son and daughter-in-law!” she said. Her reply left me astonished. Only a mother can go to such an extent for her children!

Vimla Mausi started her day at work at six in the morning and worked till late at night. She hardly took any leave except for the rare times she fell sick. Yearly she made it a point to visit her family back home during the Chhat Puja for only four days. So, one day, when she didn’t turn up to work, I was a bit worried. I called her number to find a wailing Vimla Mausi. “Didi, I won’t be able to come to work. I’m going to the village. My husband has passed away!”

I consoled her and asked her if she needed any financial help, which she politely refused. I told her not to worry about anything here and to return after she finished all the rituals.

After fifteen days, when she was back to work, I asked her whereabouts. She seemed fine, except that she was worried about her daughter-in-law, who was pregnant. Apparently, her son had turned out like his father. He hardly did anything worthwhile. I felt sorry for Vimla Mausi. Her responsibilities were still not over!

One day, a few months later, she came home beaming with joy. “Didi, my daughter-in-law has birthed a boy!” she said elatedly.

I was glad to see the old woman happy. I handed her some money and asked her to buy a new dress for her grandson. Coincidently I was making fish cutlets at that time. I placed a cutlet and some sweets I had on a plate and asked her to have it. Vimla Mausi’s expressions changed. “Didi, I cannot have this,” she replied softly.

Her reply surprised me. I knew she was fond of fish. Previously whenever I made any fish dishes, I made it a point to give her some.

I asked her slowly, “Why, what happened, Vimla Mausi? Are you fasting today?”

She replied without looking into my eyes. “Didi, after my husband’s death, I’m not supposed to touch fish!”

“Who said so, Vimla Mausi?” I was slowly getting annoyed.

“This is the custom, Didi. Everyone follows it,” she replied.

Her words transported me a couple of decades back to a time when I was in my late teens. The living room of my childhood home was beaming with people. My father, uncles, and aunts were tending to the guests. My grandmother was in the adjacent room with the women folk. It was the Myatsa Mukhi of my grandfather.

Myatsa Mukhi is a ritual followed in every Bengali household, which takes place a day after the shraddha ceremony. It is also called Niyam Bhanga, meaning the official breaking of the formalities that the family has been following since the demise of the dear one. On this day, family members and close relatives are fed various non-vegetarian food, mainly fish. In Bengal, fish is considered auspicious and is a symbol of prosperity. So, on the twelfth day, close relatives and friends are invited over to be a part of this occasion.

After the lunch was served and the guests were seated, there was a little commotion. Apparently, my father had instructed that her widowed mother should start the ceremony by being the first to eat rice with fish curry. This sent a frenzy across the entire room. How can a widow touch fish? The other people started questioning my father's wisdom. They began explaining to my father that this was against the rules of society. By breaking the rules, he was, in a way disrespecting the deceased person's soul. However, my father was adamant.

What he said after that not only made everyone quiet, it made me respect him more. Looking straight into the eyes of the guests, he replied, "Who made these rules? Not God himself, but we mortals have! And why are rules different for men and women? God forbid, if today, instead of my father, it was my mother, who had passed away, would you have set the same rules for my father? How can I ask my seventy-five-year-old mother, who has fed us all these years with nutritious and delicious food, not to eat fish just because society doesn’t approve of it? How can I, as a son, deprive her of her favourite food while I eat it in front of her? I cannot do that. I don’t believe in rules that demean women and won’t follow them!” The room was silent, which was broken by my aunt’s voice, “Ma! Come and join us for lunch!”

That day my grandmother had the fish curry, and she continued to have fish till the last day of her life. By doing what he did, my father displayed great progressive thinking and showed everyone that if we wanted change to come, we should begin from our home.

When Vimla Mausi refused to touch the fish, I realised that, unfortunately, nothing much has advanced in our thinking even after two decades. The rules that were set so many years ago in the name of customs are still followed today! Vimla Mausi’s husband was a drunkard and an irresponsible man who didn’t take any responsibility of his family. Vimla Mausi worked day and night to make ends meet. And here, she was expected to follow some mindless rule just because society wanted it! Did anyone ask Vimla Mausi if she was willing to do so? Given a choice, would she give up her favourite food for such a husband? I know my questions will remain unanswered. We need many men like my father to challenge the patriarchy and bring about changes in our mindset, and I am hopeful that, slowly, it will definitely happen.

By Antara Tirukkovalluri