RBR

It was already cloudy when we started early in the morning for a launch ride over the mighty Padma. The unpredictable weather was an impending threat, and our only concern was whether a Kalboishakhi will brew out of nowhere and throw a damper on our day out.

There is something about the red and white; it reminds me of Apu and Durga, or Devdas and Paro, and invariably in a Sarat or autumn setting.

And then COVID-19 happened, and everything came to a staggering halt.

Dr N A M Momenuzzaman, eminent cardiologist at United Hospital, might appear to be very austere and serious, but when you sit to chat with him, you will be proved wrong. The busy physician loves to play the flute, enjoys farming, and takes pleasure in holidaying with friends.

A slight discomfort in the chest, and I immediately imagine an impending heart attack, not thinking twice that it could easily be some other ailment.

Cosmopolitanism is all about accepting societal norms and cultures from many different countries and being open to different ideas and ways of doing things. From fashion to cuisine, it was been injected into our everyday lives, and truly enough that it has become a staple in our kitchen and experiments with all things food.

We saw our fathers and grandfathers reading newspapers while having their morning tea. Later, with us, we read the papers in the car on our way to work or during hurried breakfasts.

For how long will I be doing office work plopped in some randomcorner of the house, the rooftop garden or the balcony? For how long will I have meetings in zoom, sitting in my living room?

Plants brighten up our moods and help reduce stress and anxiety; the greens friends make us feel calmer and self-aligned.

So, all the painting, gardening, cooking, baking and other verbs ending in ‘ings’ that we did to keep ourselves happy and occupied during this lockdown have run dry. We are just tired of inventing ideas and taking up new hobbies to keep a check on our sanity; at least it holds true for me.

A part of my soul is dead, and the other half is dying a slow death. Amid such painful existence, how do I breathe every day and carry on with my duties each day? It’s a question I ask myself continuously.

Monsoon is the season of beauty in Bangladesh. Everything around you is fresh, rain soaked, and green; even the polluted Dhaka air feels fresh. Our streets, our cityscape, rooftop gardens, the plants in the balconies — all beaming at their brightest.

I named my herb patch Scarborough Fair, not because I have parsley, rosemary and thyme, but amusingly every time my husband sees me working on the herb bed, he sings this song. And somehow, I grew fond of the lyrics.

There are times when I am overworked or stressed, and for a relief, I picture myself on the sandy beach of Teknaf, waves crashing in and out, tickling my feet, or walking along the abandoned rail line in Lawachara National Park;

Normality as we knew it might never come back, and it would only be wise to accept this new normal and act accordingly.

But my Eid menu will be very simple — polao or beef tehari, Mughlai chicken korma or beef rezala, and gurer payesh and pantoa for desserts and Eid snacks.

The story of the humble jilapi starts with the Turkic invaders, even before the Mughals took over the subcontinent. A flour based twirled dessert, the jilapi is dunked in sugary syrup and devoured by the tens, and is the most sought-after sweets during iftar.

Similarly, watermelon with mildly salty feta cheese sprinkled with Vietnamese basil is a match made in heaven. Caesar salad, coleslaw, shrimp cocktail, crunchy vegetables wraps in rice paper rolls are all dainty comforting snacks for summer iftars.

Attending conferences, seminars, talks are always a big deal for most of us; we must not only be at our intellectual best, but also at our fashionable finest. After all, first impressions are the lasting ones, they say.