If pure love is that which sets your heart on fire, which makes you sit up late at night sleepless and panting, then I can say that what I feel for Bedouin Sher e Bengal is that only.
Pure heart-burning passion.
Over the years, I have had the privilege of visiting many places and sampling a wide variety of cuisines. But nothing, and I mean nothing, packs the emotional impact of a mouthful of food cooked in the kitchens of Bedouin. I don’t care if people say that the biriyani of Arsalan is better or that Shiraz is the best for Mughlai food. Maybe they are right. Who knows? It’s like all the sensuous writhings of a Sunny Leone count for nought, explicit as they are, on an emotional scale, in front of Raveena Tandon’s “Tip Tip Barsa Pani” just because the latter touches me in a more personal way.
So don’t even argue.
Because you see, when I put a morsel from Bedouin into my mouth, I am not just having “food”. I am connecting via a gustatory bridge to times and tastes gone by.
I won’t waste your time with history, of how there once used to be a place called Bedwin (yes I know) and how Bedouin opened as its properly-spelt competitor with an almost identical menu. I however will tell you about the times I used to walk by the store, on the way back from school or en route to tuitions when the delightful smell from the tava where chaap was being made (they kept it at the door) and the subtle notes of hot oil, would seduce me, like the song of the sirens. Though Bedouin was not expensive, (this was the 90s when restaurants still had to cater to the middle-class), money as a student was not readily available and neither was parental consent. One couldn’t simply have dinner like that. And so, I passed by Bedouin, with a few longing glances, dreaming of the day I would have money of my own and no permission to seek, when I would be free, free, free at last.
Little did I know that sugar, cholesterol, calories, and all their assorted minions were laughing quietly to themselves, making as they always do, plans of their own.
I guess people eat out more now than they used to. (I hear once a week) They say “Western culture”. But they say that for everything nowadays. It was not very often that we went to Bedouin, perhaps once every three months. Most times these visits were necessitated by the hired help not showing up, which while no doubt the cause of general household consternation, brought for me the proverbial silver lining, in the form of mutton biriyani (chicken if it was Thursday, that being the designated rest-day for goats), and if I had been a good boy, a side-order of reshmi chicken or sometimes, the even more luxuriant, reshmi chicken butter masala. And on the topic of being a good boy, the standard treat for acceptable results was at Bedouin too.
Once a year, Bedouin would have their biriyani promotions. A pack of biriyani for Rs 23. I know I am kind of sounding Babbarian here (Babbarain: the tendency to understate the price of food, in order to appear cool), but that’s really what they used to charge. Those evenings, Bedouin would be transformed into a cauldron of, sweat, heat, noise, sizzle, with the general feeling of disorientation being exacerbated by an auditory assault of random shouts (“Where is my biriyani?”, “I have been standing here for an hour and that man who came after me got his packet” and the “Dada, can you just move to the side, you are hogging the fan.” (There was one industrial strength standing fan in the waiting area for take-out) ) and the rapid scraping of the bottom of the steel handa by the harried employee, as he tried vainly to keep up with the white squares of paper piling up to the side.
My most pleasant memories of Bedouin are however when we used to dine there, Baba, Ma and me. That was a special occasion, usually when we had been out in the evening for Puja shopping or on some other mundane adventure, and it had gotten too late. Bedouin’s dine-in was upstairs, and you had to ascend a narrow, somewhat creaky set of stairs to get up there. But once you made the climb, your faith was rewarded. The air-conditioner was turned well-up and the sauf was generously sprinkled with sugar minicubes (unlike in some places that shall remain nameless). Since this was a family outing, I took the opportunity to over-order, knowing well, that the extra food would be “parceled”. For these occasions, I would order the sinfully sumptuous but competitively-priced Kabuli Naan and Bedouin’s signature dish, the Bedouin special Lababdar, which was as rich as Bill Gates and needed a PVC-lined intestine to digest properly, that is if you were brave enough to finish it off at one sitting.
Which I was.
It’s strange what I remember, so many years later, of those dinners. The rustle of shopping bags, Baba and Ma’s voice, the pleasant knot of hunger at the base of the stomach, and then the waiter coming with the plate of biriyani, a plateau of yellow-and-white, formed by turning upside down whatever it was that held it, and then finally the burning fullness of having eaten too much, and being barely able to raise myself up from the chair.
Then I went to the US for my studies, and even though I was now living on a diet of Junior Whoppers and ranch sauce (and do I regret that now), Bedouin was never far from my mind. Every time I went back to Calcutta, biriyani and kababs from Bedouin would be one of the first three (if not the first) meal that I would have on home-soil. (I still maintain this discipline). On one of these India trips, I came to know that Bedouin had shifted, and expanded. They were now housed in a three (or was it four) stories building on Rashbehari, opposite Basanti Devi college. They had separated their Chinese/Continental/Bengali and Mughlai sections in to different floors and made the “Sher” of “Sher-e-Bengal” more central to their brand. In that, they now have angry stuffed tigers sitting at the bottom of the stairs, telling prospective customers that they will be in for a roaring time.
Stepping into Bedouin (I only patronize the Mughlai section, which I believe is their core competency) now, is like entering a time-warp. The guard at the gate doing “salute” has not changed. Neither have the men taking orders behind the counter. A few more grey hairs maybe, but otherwise they even look the same. The food tastes the same. And remarkably, the prices have almost stayed the same, (as in extremely reasonable in comparison to everything else.) In an age where I find most change disquieting, it’s this timelessness about Bedouin that I find extremely comforting, like wearing an old friendly pair of jeans.
Why is this all so important?
Because you see, growing up, I never had a lot of friends. I didn’t go to drunken parties (had not touched alcohol before grad school in the US), I didn’t organize para pujos. Or go on Dil Chahta Hai like trips.
All I had were books, Bollywood, cricket.
And food.
Hence, most of my pleasant memories are around these things.
Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge. Sachin at Sharjah. Byomkesh Bakshi. Bedouin.
The next time I will go to India, it will be special. This time I will have my daughter with me, and I shall surely take her along, if for nothing else, but to say hello to the stuffed tigers. She will be too young to understand how amazing they are. Nor will she be able to enjoy the taste of the food.
I realize of course, not without a bit of sadness, that even as she grows older, she might never ever understand.
Because she will not have grown up here.
For her, Bedouin will be just another restaurant, just another crazy thing her old man says is awesome.
But if, years later, she ever wants to discover her roots, find out what is it that made her father the way he was, then she would be advised to come here to Bedouin, make her way up the stairs, order the full menu, and savor each bite.
And maybe, just maybe, she will feel the love.
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good read
Ma grew up in Kolkata, so the brother and I were introduced to Bedwin rolls from Gariahat at a very early age during our annual visits. We’re both in our 20s and have moved away, but even now, if we’re home in Delhi and any of us is going to Kolkata, it is mandated that Bedwin rolls will be picked up and brought back for the rest =)
Very nice post, thanks to share it.
very very touching….I read this blog a few times and was walking in the memory lane….you wrote this article for all of us…..
feel blessed to read this. thanks a lot
As a kindred spirit surviving on Mcchickens and veg tacos, i totally connect with the longing for bedouin. I remember each time we went to a tutorial on nandi street, i always use to get their special egg chicken rolls (with stuffed aloos) from here. Oh those were the good times.
Sharing this blog with my wife, though she grew up in bow bazar and is more of the Shiraz kind!
Great job Arnab da! Would love more such posts on these sweet nothings from our childhoods in Kolkata!
Neo 🙂 i frist read your comment and thought why the description is so known? and then i saw your name…small world
small world indeed!
Now you have gone and made me so hungry – yearning for a genuine biryani in the “gustatory” wasteland of the developed world! A very nostalgic piece – and I can almost taste the kebabs and smell the frying oil! those were the days indeed – look forward to more posts on the past – for really that is the only thing worth writing about.
“times and tastes gone by.” . too good a stroke 🙂
Puro nostalgic kore dile ..R new sections khuleche jantam na ..
“And so, I passed by Bedouin, with a few longing glances, dreaming of the day I would have money of my own and no permission to seek, when I would be free, free, free at last.” eta je kotobar feel korechi ki bolbo..
*Applauds*
Only a Calcuttan could write in such a manner – straight from the heart. It is surprising that having grown up in Cal and living very near to the location of Bedouin , I have never eaten there – must make it on my next trip for sure !!!
Ab rulayega kya?
^true! 🙂 Each one of us has a special place back home, away from these foreign shores, that brings everything back. And it is surprising how most of us have had similar childhoods…Books, Cricket, Bollywood (in any order you like)
The post made me crave for Biriyani and Chicken Roll!
Your article brought back so many nice memories. But you forgot to mention two points – the first one is that if we were in kolkata on your dad’s and my birthdays – even on our anniversaries, it was always you who decided on the menu and it was always always the biriyani and your fav dishes from Bedouin which you ordered in large quantity to make sure that there was left over! The other point was my experience of buying the biriyani during the annual day celebration at Bedouin – of course I understand why u gave this point a miss! 🙂
Ma
Arnab,
Your posts make life worth living for all those who have grown up in Calcutta (somehow Kolkata does not have the same ring) but are now living in other parts of the world.
Biryani and chaap from Bedouin, rolls from Bedwin, phuchkas and doodh Pepsi at Vivekananda Park, momos at Tutu’s Hut, these are a few of the incomparable things that were part of our growing up years.
Reading your posts about Calcutta takes me back in time.
Thanks a lot.
Straight from the heart ,sir! You make Kolkata alive to me even though , at present I am a resident here and you are not 🙂
Good old Nostalgia !! Any links to their menu or review with pictures, etc?
Good one.. Will make a point to visit Sher-e-Bengal next time I visit Kolkata..I feel Kolkata remains only metro place which has not changed the other metros have changed.
Nostology comes with senility — beware!
Awesome article!! Brings back memories of my childhood and carries me to a place where the pleasures in life were simpler (and cheaper!)
I have got memories of my own favorite haunts at quite a few places back here in Bangalore. Am in the process of taking my wife to these places one by one (at least the ones that still remain and have not been eaten up by another mall in the place where they stood).
Loved the entire post, got extremely nostalgic about my gastronomical experiences.
Especially loved the last part about your daughter…
So true it’s all about food memories and brought a drool to my mouth. There is this food map in our minds that traces a connection to our heart (and waistline). On my trips back to India the desire to revisit those old haunts remain strong as ever. And while some may have become fancy-shmancy, some don’t deliver the same kick to the taste buds, there are those places that still remain the same. And nothing beats a double dose of flavour and nostalgia.
Very Special, precious and wonderful blog.
Haha typical of South Point Byomkesh , Sachin & Bedouin
very well put dada…felt the love too
This is the place that used to be next to the Citibank ATM opposite the current Pantaloons, right ? Right before Ballygunge Phari bus stop ? I used to love this place and yes, especially the Reshmi chicken. When I was in Jadavpur,eating that terible mess food day in day out, every first saturday of the month my dad would visit me to give me my monthly allowance and take me to Bedouin for lunch. Else I could not afford it then ! Best meal of the month. Memories oh memories …..
A good post, congratulations.
Wow – Nostalogia can be so overpowering at times.
As always – fantastically written and tugging at the heart strings. As someone said – you can take a man out of Calcutta but you can never take Calcutta out of a man.
I left Calcutta 16 years ago and keep going back. That city has so many fond memories. Both Bedwin and Bedouin will remain in my memories along with a million other ‘small’ places serving Double Egg-double chicken roll, Jhaal muri, puchka, Chomchom, cha & jilebi etc etc. ALL these things are connected to those memories. ‘Times & Tastes gone by’. Gone but not forgotten – might I add.
And you might agree – Life was much simpler then. 🙂
Straight from heart. I think everyone has a Bedouin back home. I did that: took my son home to all the places I grew up with. He may not understand the importance but could relate to the absolute bliss he could see on his mother’s face. That will do for me. 🙂
Aah ..for the days of innocence..eating carbs ..rice and bread…unthinkable now..sad
Maybe once a year on vacation when we can forget the six pack quest…))))
jeez life is tough now
Been Out of Calcutta for 20 years now and out of India for a decade. Totally understand your sentiment when you mentioned your daughter not understanding her old man going gaga over something sublime to him and probably slime to her having lived her entire life out of India…I have a 10 yr old daughter who gives me flak each time we go back to Kolkata and I try to introduce her to a mughali porotha or a devilled egg or a double chicken egg roll or a combo of mutton kosha with rumali roti… the look in her eyes is like, “Baba, Are you from Mars?” Welcome to expat fatherhood, man !! LOL
Great post… In our minds and heart so many of us have never left Calcutta ….and never spelled it Kol….. Never mind.