It is unfortunate but true that my understanding of Bengali hovers around the zero mark, notwithstanding whatever similarities linguists may claim between it and hindi/marathi. I was gently reminded of this on a recent visit to Oh! Calcutta, by the waiter who looked at me as if I were a curious-looking early life-form:
[ S: Can you tell me what a Bhapa Ilish is?
W: (Why do I get all the barbarian clods?) Sigh! It’s a Bengali fish preparation.
S: Yes I can imagine that, looking at its position in the ‘fish’ section, but how is it prepared?
W: (Jeez!) Its done in a traditional Ben-gal-i fashion.
S: Oh! ]
Condescending waiters apart, I loved my Bekti. (For some reason I had gone thinking it’s a tiny fish , but turned out to be, happily for me, pretty chunky.) I liked the hilsa. I loved the chutneys. And not that there is one, but if I had a daily quota of eating mustard, I would have exhausted a month’s due.

I also had, and liked, the railway mutton curry- Probably a case of good expectation management. In spite of its name lending it a romantic, olden-days ring, it has not enjoyed that great a reputation through the years. Gayatri Devi of Jaipur talks about it in her memoirs, when she traveled by train as a child: ‘We ate in the dining rooms, ordering what was called railway curry, designed to offend no palate… It therefore pleased nobody.’ And practical, too: basically, it is mild mutton rogan josh with vinegar, for long-haul journeys. This little addition, for some reason, makes the dish ‘Anglo-Indian’.

I’m prepared for next time though: On my next trip, I shall have a Bengali friend in tow, or a translational pocket-dictionary.