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Two weeks ago, while in Calcutta, lunch conversations took an ominous turn: the market was almost devoid of ilish, the Bengali name for hilsa fish. The fish bought in my honour—priced at a staggering Rs 2,000 for a kilo—lacked the distinct aroma that Bengalis revere. For us, hilsa’s scent isn’t just a smell; it’s a signature fragrance, one deeply tied to our monsoon rituals.
Monsoon is the prime ilish season, and for Bengalis, hilsa is as sacred as rajma is to Punjabis. This bony, oily fish is the one thing that East and West Bengal can agree on – that there is no other fish that compares to the hilsa. Yet this same fish nearly deepened the rift between the regions more than even India’s diplomatic ties with Bangladesh over Sheikh Hasina’s asylum.
The fish is cooked in multiple ways- with mustard, coconut, just fried, the tail and head prepared with cabbage, steamed in banana leaf parcels– and the fish roe is cherished and eaten separately. Poets have written paeans to it, and painters have depicted it in artwork, the Kalighat paintings are prime examples of this. Hilsa is always served at festivities and even sent as a gift to the bride and groom’s houses at weddings. I simply cannot over-emphasise the importance of this fish in the life of Bengalis.
Last week, however, as Durga Pujo approached, many wondered how the celebrations would unfold without hilsa. Bangladesh, which usually exports 3,000-5,000 tonnes of fish to India yearly, had tightened its grip on exports, citing diplomatic tensions related to Sheikh Hasina’s presence in India. Why this cruel blow this year-round? It was a tightening of the diplomatic screw for housing Hasina. Hilsa diplomacy has for long played a critical role in Bengal politics across the border.
Few people know that Bangladesh and India share one of the longest land borders in the world – a distance of over 4,096 kilometres. India is also one of Bangladesh’s key partners in trade, infrastructure, and commerce, and the two countries have managed to establish a relationship that promises stability to both. While Bangladesh has doubled its hilsa production in recent years, the subcontinent’s disregard for environmental preservation has resulted in lower yields, particularly during breeding seasons. Still, as Durga Pujo nears, the demand for hilsa soars, with prices matching the frenzy.
What makes hilsa so special? It’s a fish that lives in saline and freshwater, much like salmon. It begins its life in the sea but migrates to estuarine waters, where the rivers meet the Bay Of Bengal, eventually swimming upstream to India’s northern rivers. It grows up to two-and-a-half kilos in size. There is an ongoing debate over whether Ganga or Padma hilsa is superior. Honestly, most people can’t tell the difference, even though many claim to.
While other communities expect their children to have artistic skills, Bengalis place as much store on their children being able to eat hilsa without choking on its bones.
Last Sunday, the Bangladesh government gave West Bengal—and Bengalis across India—the best Durga Pujo gift possible: they announced that 3,000 tonnes of hilsa would indeed be exported to India. Thankfully, they didn’t ask for a return favour in the form of Sheikh Hasina. Of course, no diplomatic gesture is without strings attached, but for now, Bengalis can rejoice—hilsa will be on their plates this Durga Pujo.
Hilsa diplomacy was once a favoured tactic of Hasina herself. She sent hilsa to West Bengal Chief Minister Mamata Banerjee and even tried to settle a water dispute with India by gifting 30 kilos of hilsa to then-President Pranab Mukherjee. But this year, the new government in Bangladesh wasn’t playing along. According to a BBC report, Farida Akhter, an adviser to Bangladesh’s Ministry of Fisheries, declared, “A lot of fish is [still] going from Bangladesh to India [despite the ban]. This time, we will not allow hilsa to cross the border.” Of course, I had already smuggled in a two-kilo contraband ilish by then.
Whatever the reason for the change of heart, this reversal ensures that hilsa in all its forms—curry, fried, or paired with cabbage—will grace Bengali tables during this Durga Pujo. Speaking of which, the eggs of the hilsa, rich and meaty, are a delicacy in their own right. They’re often simply fried with turmeric and salt—heaven on a plate.
As for me, I couldn’t be happier. I’m sure my fellow Bengalis share the sentiment. If only someone thought to offer Sheikh Hasina a plate of Padma hilsa while she’s a guest here.
Even if they haven’t, here’s a simple, yet classic way to prepare hilsa. One important tip: don’t wash it too much. The fish’s natural oils, which coat its skin, add flavour. Purists don’t even scrape off all the blood. And remember, this oily fish releases its fat as it cooks—no need to add much else.
• 4-5 pieces of hilsa
• 1 teaspoon of turmeric
• ½ teaspoon chili powder
• Salt to taste
• 6 tablespoons of mustard oil
Procedure
• Rub the fish pieces generously with turmeric, chilli powder and salt.
• In a frying pan, heat the mustard oil till smoking hot.
• Gingerly lower the fish pieces into the pan; be careful because the fish will splutter the oil.
• Fry the fish over medium flame till fully cooked. The skin of the fish should be a little crisp.
• Be careful not to let the fish stick to the pan.
• Once fried, remove the fish from the pan and pour the hot oil into a serving bowl.
• To eat, pour the oil over steamed rice, add some salt, mix into the rice and eat with the fried fish pieces.