Cooking during the great Bangladeshi summer

After the sun set, colours floated around the sky, before fading away. This served as my signal to make my way to the kitchen, which I took over when mother went to rest with high fever. It was still light outside when I trudged around the house, waiting for help that would not come.

It was not my first time, cooking. However, this was my first time cooking during the height of Bangladesh's summer.

I had no idea about the harshness of Bangladeshi summers until I entered the kitchen on the first day. The Dhaka heat was nothing new as I have been living in the capital for years. I went on frequent strolls through the streets while splashing water on my face during the hottest summer days.

However, the kitchen is a completely different story.

I entered the kitchen that day to prepare khichuri, which I had never made before. I could prepare the most complex vegetarian dishes with the silkiest cashew, tomato and yoghurt gravy, but I had never attempted the straightforward khichuri. The recipe is basic, but the fact that this dish must be prepared every single day at our household makes it seem pretty burdensome.

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Why We Cook

Up until that point, cooking had always been my greatest gesture of self-love. However, there I was, combining the moog dal and moshur dal while washing them as if they had just been dug out from under the ground. The warm water from the tap made me wonder how long it would take to bring the dal to a boil if I just left it in the sink.

The khichuri I prepared that day was delicious, or so was my mother's "biased" assessment. The heroes of the dish were chopped tomatoes and coriander leaves. However, soon I had lost interest in the food and was instead preoccupied with thoughts of a cold shower.

Even if the great Bangladeshi summer continues unabated throughout monsoon and autumn, the kitchen, with its open doorway, appears to be merciful on a rainy day. On those days, I spend more time in the kitchen but get little cooking done. When it rains, Bangladeshis like piyaju with a hot cup of milk tea. Rain has been successfully romanticised by the movies. 

Even then, the kitchen still remains hot and intimidating. It is still draining to grind dal, trim onions, and fry them in hot oil. Movies omit that scene and instead portray the characters in love enjoying the rain and fried goodness.

At the end of the day, I am nothing but my sweat, making khichuri, and waiting for December.

Shadya Naher Sheyam attempts to live life like Ashima from The Namesake. Talk to her about Mira Nair films at sadianaharsiam@gmail.com