Padma ilish shows the way for Delhi, Dhaka
Statecraft is as much about emotion as it is about cold negotiations, symbols matter as much as hard facts, and there is no alternative to popular goodwill.
A relationship between two countries is not just dependent on their two governments, but also their peoples. Nowhere is this adage more true than for India and Bangladesh, two countries held together by strands of memories of being one land, of people and families now separated, of common cuisines, cultures and complaints. Nothing is more core to this identity of shared legacy than the ilish — the hilsa that not only holds pride of place in myriad Bengali dishes but is also the most prominent aspect of people-to-people contact across the border.
Against this backdrop, Bangladesh’s decision to lift an embargo on the export of the hilsa to India, and approving the transport of a tranche of 3,000kg of fish to Kolkata is good news. Bilateral relations between the two countries have been somewhat strained since Sheikh Hasina was deposed by a student revolution and an interim government took over. But nothing caused more heartburn in Bengal than the news that the export of the famed “Padma ilish” had slowed to a trickle. The possibility that there would be no hilsa on the menu in homes and eateries — and therefore, no exhibition of the particularly Bengali art of deftly picking the skeleton with only a few finger flicks — during the Durga Puja was unimaginable. For a culture so wedded to food, Bengalis took the news particularly hard. The restoration of the hilsa supply puts the sheen back on the annual festival that has come to represent Bengal just as much as the silver-finned fish.
There are some (delicious) lessons lurking in this — statecraft is as much about emotion as it is about cold negotiations, symbols matter as much as hard facts, and there is no alternative to popular goodwill.
