"Where are you from?"
"Bangladesh."
"Don't Bangalis love eating fish all the time?"
"I hate fish."
Then again, I am an abnormality among my people. The majority of them are very aptly classified by the saying mache bhate bangali - fish and rice [distinguish a] Bangali - and I have witnessed its veracity. I have been jostled by crazy relatives en route to the dinner table because of fish eggs. I have heard my great-uncle speak of his technique to safely separate the bones from the fish in one's mouth and position them to one side so as to continuously consume fish. I know the proper techniques to save someone choking on a fish bone: Eat a banana or swallow a chunk of rice. I have seen grown men in my village jump into the lake and catch fish with their sarongs. (Only for fish will they bare their hairy thighs to the world.) Our affinity for fish is not simply a saying but a slogan that many of us fanatically uphold.
Naturally, my parents are no different.
A few weekends ago, my parents took me with them to the Korean grocery store to pick up exotic vegetables that Wal-Mart doesn't carry (and probably doesn't know exist), and fish. I don't mind going with them because I am intrigued by the store and the products I find as I stroll around. I am usually ready to try everything, including the things I can't read and have to decipher visually from the images on the package. It's a gamble because you never know the ingredients used, but I suppose that's what it means to live life on the edge. So far, the best finds from my excursion include an amazing chili sauce, mango tea and instant peanut noodles.
Our last stop was the seafood section, which is similar to an aquarium found at Sea World. There are some creatures there that could pass for aliens. While my parents pick fish, I usually look at these creatures intently wondering how people can eat them - or I harass the crabs (which everyone does, even old ladies).
As my parents selected fish, a woman - probably from another fish-loving country - recommended the spot fish. My Bangali mother couldn't resist trying it and so my dad, with a plastic bag over his hand, proceeded to choose one. Examining the ones that laid on top of the ice, my mother directed, "No, Rouf, not that one, it's too puny. The other one looks cloudy and that one looks like it's been dead forever. Go deeper into the ice to find a fresh one. Dig a bit more, the better ones are there." As my dad struggled to follow my mother's directions, I had a thought about the desire to do better.
Since we live in a comparative world, we often apply the phrase, "You can do better" to others and ourselves. I recently told my cousin in an honest, frustrated conversation about his girlfriend, that he could do better. He replied, "Come on, Tanzima. Technically, we can all always do better." He was right, but I pointed out his girlfriend was exceptionally neurotic. Of course, when you indicate the obvious to people, they refuse to accept it until they feel like it. So as time and everyone else did foresee, they are currently not dating.
But to return to his comment, how do we know if we should or need to do better? Do we not want to do better because we are so obsessed with attaining a certain person and object, that it doesn't matter what is better for us? Or because we are so accustomed to our present state that searching for the better would require us to take us action, pushing us from our easy, mundane and secure plateau?
At the same time, why do we want to do better? Do the circumstances no longer satisfy or are we thinking highly of ourselves in comparison? In this case, it is often a mix of both. The situation no longer satisfies because we realize that we have the potential and we don't have to settle for less. But sometimes, it's only because we are now different people.
Perhaps, I thought, as I watched my father select fish that met my mother's approval, the answer to the necessity of doing better is in the standards we create and judge others and ourselves by. My mother had standards for the fish (fresh, healthy, clear-eyed) while my cousin added a new standard (no neurotic women), all of which led to their eventual satisfaction and contentment.
So, having standards provides clarity as to what we need to do to attain the state we desire and how to do it. Just this realization should be enough to initiate action - and after that, if you do nothing, it's your choice. Similarly, it can confirm that at that moment, what we have, or the situation we are in, is perfect or fitting for us, and we should consider ourselves blessed that we don't need to change it. But when creating, discovering or figuring out your personal standards, it should never be about judging yourself and others but about assessing the situation and your needs.
While I mull over these ideas that stemmed from my cousin, his neurotic ex-girlfriend and a stack of chilled spot fish, maybe you will be on your way to knowing if you've attained the best.
Tanzima's column runs biweekly Fridays. She can be reached at t.chowdhury@cavalierdaily.com.
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