Published on 12:00 AM, November 12, 2022

Hermit-Crab Fiction

The Greatest Irony of Lal Miah’s Life

NOTE: Lal Miah never liked jhalmuri; he doesn’t even like eating them, but he sells them all year round and this is, perhaps, my friend, the greatest irony of Lal Miah’s life.

Photo: Aritra Sanyal

JHALMURI (Puffed rice chaat)

Preparation time: 2 minutes

Serving: 1

Ingredients:

2 cups of muri (puffed rice). Lal Miah has two white cups, one of them has a broken handle.                                                                                                          

2 cups of chanachur. Chanachur costs him more than muri, so Lal Miah uses muri more than chanachur.                                                                                                                      

1 tsp of mustard oil. Lal Miah buys mustard oil from a local shop; he uses the oil both on his hair and in the jhalmuri.                                                                                                                     

1 or 2 onoins, chopped finely. 2 green chillies, chopped. Onions are costly, chillis are cheap; still he has to use more onions, fewer chillis.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

Salt (to taste), and 2 tsp coriander leaves, chopped; he brings them from home.

METHOD

Lal Miah mixes muri and chanchur in a bowl and thinks of Ghetur Ma whose husband recently left with another woman but Ghetur Ma doesn't seem to be sad or even slightly worried.

Lal Miah cuts onions and cries, but he is not sad and these are not tears; there is no great tragedy or solid heartbreaks in his life though he sometimes likes to imagine himeslf as a heartbroken lover.

Lal Miah cuts green chilis; the green trees rustle in the light breeze which reminds him of his village home where he has been wanting to go for two summers and one monsoon. 

Lal Miah pours one teaspoon of mustard oil and hopes it does not rain today; whether it's a light rain or a heavy shower, both are bothersome and he has to run abruptly, carrying the stand on his shoulder.

Lal Miah mixes all the ingredients and shakes; he heard from someone that there is a song called Shake, Shake, Shake, though he himself never listened to it.

SERVING: He folds papers and pours the mixture into it. He puts spices according to the taste of the customers. If he is in a good mood, he serves with a gennerous dollop of grin which always goes unnoticed.

THINK AHEAD: Lal Miah doesn't like selling jhalmuri and he is looking for another job. He, however, will keep the recipe and if Ghetur Ma becomes his lover, he will sometimes make her  jhalmuri.

Marzia Rahman  is a fiction writer and translator. Her translations have appeared in Six Seasons Review, Writing Places Anthology (UK), The Book of Dhaka, The Demoness, and When the Mango Tree Blossomed.