- #HGWORLD
- #HGCREATORS
- #HGEXPLORE
- #HGVOICES
- #HGSHOP
- CAREERS
- ABOUT US
- CONTACT US
If smelling is half the eating as the old Sanskrit saying goes, ‘shutki maachh’ or dried fish does not sound like the most appealing food. It smells when it’s dried, and it reeks when it’s cooked. Take a bite of ‘shutki maachh-er bora’ or dried fish fritters, or ‘shutki maachh-er bhorta’ or spicy, mashed dried fish with green chilli and red onions, however, and you will quickly convert to the cult of shutki supremacy. The savoury, umami-packed explosion of flavour and texture that these desiccated fish offer is no joke.
An acquired taste that is equally dreaded and cherished by Bengalis (depending on which side of the border you trace your lineage to), shutki maachh refers to any kind of salt-cured and sun-dried fish or seafood made, cooked, and consumed widely in coastal Bengal. To make shutki, fish such as loitya (bombil or Bombay duck), poonti (olive barb), mourola (mola carplet), or seafood like kucho chingri (shrimp) is first thoroughly cleaned and gutted to remove all contaminants, then cured with salt to remove all remaining moisture and prevent bacterial growth. Once the curing process is complete, the fish is sun-dried in the open until it reaches the desired level of desiccation and preservation. It can then be sautéed and pounded as a hot spicy mash to be had with steamed rice, combined with vegetables and stir-fried to make paanchmeshali sobji or fish and vegetable medley, or made into pickles. The many ways Bengalis — especially Bangladeshis — cook and consume shutki maachh are virtually uncountable.
A Food History Of Partition And Migration
More than simply an ingredient, the food culture surrounding the preparation and consumption of shutki maachh is a living archive of the fraught sociopolitical history of the Bengal region. It is a story of partition and migration; of famine and food security; of loss, resilience, and preservation. Originally confined among working class fishing clusters in coastal Bengal along the Bay of Bengal and the banks of the Brahmaputra river, shutki maachh slowly entered the Bengali culinary mainstream through waves of migration.
When the British colonial province of Bengal was first partitioned along communal fault lines in 1905, it triggered a mass migration of Bengali Hindu families from East Bengal to West Bengal. This division was further cemented with Independence and the subsequent Partition of India in 1947 which caused another mass exodus of Bengali Hindus to West Bengal in India and Bengali Muslims to the newly formed East Pakistan.
When people migrate from one place to another, they leave behind a lot of things: first and foremost among them, their land — their zameen. In the subcontinental context, this notion of zameen goes beyond the literal meaning of the word, ‘land’, and refers to a larger than life idea of one’s origins — it refers to bloodlines and entire lifetimes rooted to a place. When one loses their land, they not only lose the material possessions linked to that land, but also the sense of belonging and identity that is inseparably connected to one’s place of origin. In the absence of this anchor, they locate their identity in the intangible aspects of their heritage. Often, food becomes analogous to their identity.
The Bengali Hindus who emigrated to West Bengal through several waves of migration in 1905, 1947, 1965, and again in 1971 during the Bangladesh War of Liberation were no exception. They brought with them many culinary traditions, and the practice of making and eating shutki maachh was one of these many imports. In time, the pungent, preserved ingredient became an integral part of the Bangal (Bengali colloquialism for refugees from East Bengal/East Pakistan, present-day Bangladesh) identity.
Loved And Loathed — The Caste And Class Politics Of Food That Smells
India has rich and diverse food cultures that developed around preparing, cooking, and consuming dried and fermented fish. From the ‘pungent’ fermented fish of the North East to the bold, salty bombil of the Konkan; dried and fermented fish is made and cooked in myriad ways across the country. However, it is important that we acknowledge and address the caste and class politics of who eat and do not eat dried fish in this country.
Often, it is the working class and caste-oppressed communities of coastal India — and in case of Bengal, the Bangals — who practise and preserve the culinary traditions of making and eating dried fish. In the erstwhile East Bengal (and later East Pakistan, present-day Bangladesh), shutki was a prized ingredient appreciated by all class and caste groups of Bengali society. But that perception changed when the Bengali Hindus had to migrate to India and their identity was reduced to that of 'refugees'.
While the strong, pungent smell of drying fish offends many historically oppressor-caste Indians, the same smell represents cherished childhood memories as well as food and nutritional security to entire communities of fisherfolk, Adivasis, and Bengali refugees. Although many people still stigmatise it as a “poor man’s food”, dried fish is a good source of proteins, carbohydrates, lipids, and essential nutrients like iodine, zinc, copper, selenium, and calcium. When consumed as an accompaniment to a plate full of fresh or fermented rice or congee, it makes for a frugal, delicious, and complete meal. Yet, it is not as socially accepted and celebrated as it should be. For a long time, shutki survived only in the kitchens of these erstwhile refugees and their descendents. Even now, you won't find it on restaurant menus in Kolkata, except for a rare few like Kasturi — who specialise in Dhakai cuisine.
In a country as food insecure and nutritionally poor as India, isn’t it time we looked at dried fish like shutki maach as a viable and sustainable way to preserve and provide much-needed nutrition to those in need in times of unprecedented food scarcity?
Now that, is food for thought.
