The Enduring Love for Shutki Maach
Text and photographs by Indrani Ghose
Shutki maach is a beloved ingredient used widely by batis
When my marriage was arranged to a ghoti boy, my aunt teased: “Bechari aar shutki maach khete paabe na.” (Poor girl, she will not be able to eat dried fish anymore).
My ears pricked up — I wouldn’t be able to eat shutki? Seeing my raised eyebrows, she replied jokingly: “Your in-laws don’t eat shutki.”
“Ami manie nebo,” I replied confidently. I would win them over.
Ghoti and bati are linguistic categorisations for Bengalis who were the original residents of West Bengal and those from East Bengal (or modern-day Bangladesh) respectively. Despite geographical proximity, what distinguishes Bengalis on either side of the border are their food habits and cooking styles, besides slight differences in language and their love for different football teams.
Shutki maach is one among the many food habits fondly carried over to the Indian side of the border by batis and woven into local cuisine. However, compared to other dishes, not many ghotis have developed a fondness for this ingredient.
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What is shutki maach and why was I teased?
Shutki maach refers to varieties of dried freshwater or marine fish. The popular species of dried fish that are consumed in Bangladesh include loitya (commonly called Bombay duck), chhuri (or small-head hairtail), punti (or olive barb), and shrimps.
In the Indian states of West Bengal, Assam and Tripura, the most popular varieties of shutki eaten are loitya and bashpata shutki (or Bengal danio). Other species that are dried include poa (pama croaker), ilish (salted hilsa) and surma (seer fish), all of which are very expensive.
Entrepreneur Sneha Saikia, who hails from northeast India, explains: “Food habits [depend on] climatic conditions and availability of ingredients. For example, the area near the Brahmaputra River [in east India] is always flooding, so people living there preserve their food either by drying or fermenting.”
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When the province of Bengal was first partitioned by the British along communal lines in 1905, it spurred a mass migration of families from East Bengal to the Indian side of the border. This division was cemented after Indian independence and the subsequent Partition in 1947, causing another mass exodus of Muslims to East Pakistan and Hindus to West Bengal.
When the British lawyer Cyril Radcliffe was handed the task of demarcating the borders of India and Pakistan (including East Pakistan, which would later become Bangladesh), food was the last thing on his mind. After arriving in India on July 8, 1947, Radcliffe was given just five weeks to decide on a border.
He was asked to make his decision on the basis of areas with Hindu or Muslim majorities. He was also asked to take into account factors such as “natural boundaries, communications, watercourses and irrigation systems." But there was no mention of food.
When populations migrate, they usually bring their food habits along. So did the Bengalis of East Bengal, who came to be known as bangal. This was further distorted to bati, which translates to bowl in Bengali. As if in reciprocation, Bengalis from the west of the Bangladesh border were called ghoti, which translates to pot. The confluence of these two distinct cultures, ghoti and bati, continues to this day through marriage.
When marriage alliances are fixed between ghotis and batis, the question of who will give up what often comes up in jest.
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Why would anyone abhor this delicacy? Like the smell of shutki, this was a question that lingered for a long time. Shutki maach makes its presence felt as soon as it enters the kitchen. For some, the peculiar, pungent smell can be offensive. More prominent than belacan or the dried shrimp paste that is used in South East Asian cooking, shutki maach often bears the burden of prejudice because of the way it smells.
Shutki maach is traditionally prepared by sun-drying fish after it has been salt cured. Although fresh fish is an evergreen favourite among all classes of people, shutki maach is more popular among people from coastal areas.
Piles of dried fish are a common sight in coastal cities across India
Dr. Kiranmayi Bhushi, a social anthropologist, reflected on the reasons why shutki maach has limited popularity in India.
“The use of dried fish is common enough in the coastal regions, in Bengal and the northeast India,” she said. “But it's yet to find favour with India [at large]. Rarely is it served in restaurants, even as a token of acquired taste that hints at the rustic ‘other.’ Is it the smell that offends one’s senses because it is strong, or is it because it is seen as food of the poor, caste-oppressed? It might well acquire a cool quotient if it is acknowledged by a celebrity chef perhaps.”
Smell is an important element in the enjoyment of food. But as Dr. Dolly Kikon, Senior Lecturer in the Anthropology and Development Studies Program at the University of Melbourne, asks: whose sense of smell is more important?
“Most southeast Asian countries have a very developed sense of fermented food,” says Kikon. “Go to any business class lounge, or airlines like Cathay Pacific. They serve dry fish, ground dried fish and deep fried, dried fish, which you put on congee as garnish. Everyone is okay with that. But when it comes to India, the idea of preserving food culture goes to another level. Acceptance is not there.”
“Smelly foods are difficult to approach if they are not part of your eating culture,” explained food writer and chef, Priya Bala. “Dry fish certainly falls into that category. It also carries the burden of being ‘poor’ food. The smelliness and the fact that it is eaten by marginalized communities make it non-mainstream.”
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Some of my early memories of shutki maach involve the packets that we brought on train journeys to our home in Kerala all the way from my mom’s maternal home in West Bengal.
Even though shutki is not heavy, it is voluminous. In those good old days, plastic wrappers were not common. Old newspapers came to the rescue. Our precious parcels of shutki were usually cocooned in several layers of newspaper to keep their pungency under wraps. Sometimes we had to carry small, separate packs for other bangal friends. They would reciprocate when they returned after holidaying in Bengal. It was some kind of deal.
My mom would prepare different preparations till our stocks lasted. My favourite was the shutki maach bata, which is a spicy mash made of shutki, with a rich profusion of onions, garlic and dried red chilies. My eyes and nose would water, yet I wouldn’t let go of the plate until I licked it clean.
When the last of our shutki was prepared and served, my mom would jokingly say: “You will have to wait for the next vacation to have shutki maach again!”
Today, shutki maach can be easily procured at the click of a button. Most of it is packaged and delivered from Porbandar in Gujarat.
Though it is often ignored or even reviled by upper caste groups, coastal communities across India have their own versions of shutki maach. In south India, anchovies, tuna and other species are dried and stored for consumption. They are expensive, and sometimes cost more than fresh fish. In fact, the state of Kerala has dedicated markets for dried fish or unakka meen, as it is known in Malayalam.
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Different kinds of karuvaadu being sold by the roadside
Dried fish should not be confused with fermented fish. While shutki maach refers to salted and sun dried fish, shidol or fermented fish is stuffed into hollow bamboo stems, sealed and left to ferment in its own enzymes. Shidol is a fish-based speciality of Tripura, Assam, Arunachal Pradesh and Nagaland in northeast India.
In order to make shutki, the fish is either completely dried using a mechanised process or in direct sunlight. The drying process must begin before the fish starts to rot. Salt is added to remove all the blood and also to prevent bacterial growth.
With its long coastline, India offers ample job opportunities in the business of dried fish. Take a walk along the beaches at forenoon; you will see fisherwomen drying fish in the traditional way.
During my travels through the town of Poompuhar, once a flourishing port city in Tamil Nadu, I saw the process of making karuvadu, as dried fish is called in Tamil. Women wash the fresh catch, clean the innards out of them and slice them into two halves laterally. These slices are vigorously rubbed with sea salt and stacked to let the water ooze out. The slices are then laid on a bed of coconut leaves in scorching heat.
I was curious — when would the karuvadu be ready to cook and eat? “This should take a week to dry well,” replied Sharada, a fisherwoman, pointing to chunks of fish. “But those smaller ones will dry in two days.”
Fishery and aquaculture industries also form the backbone of the Bangladeshi economy, contributing to employment and reliable foreign export earnings. The shutki maach business contributes about 20% to this share. Traditional methods of sun and air drying are still used in pockets of the Bangladesh coastline where mechanised preserving methods are not available.
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Dried fish is a good source of high-quality proteins, carbohydrates, lipids, and essential nutrients like iodine, zinc, copper, selenium, and calcium. When it is eaten as an accompaniment to a plate full of rice, it makes for a wholesome meal.
It is interesting to note the elevated status of cousins of shutki maach in countries like Iceland, Greece and China.
People in Greece have been known to consume dried fish since ancient times, ever since they discovered that salt could be used to preserve food. Sun dried, salted fish is a part of several traditional Greek recipes.
These include bakaliaros (or batter-fried salted cod) and bottarga (salted, cured fish roe). Icelanders love harðfiskur, their version of dried fish, which is usually eaten with salted butter. The Chinese believe that consuming dried oysters and mussels on Chinese New Year brings good luck.
Several international fine dining restaurants have dried fish delicacies in their menu. But shutki maach has not yet been accepted as a gourmet food in India.
“I personally feel dried fish is a wonderful way to preserve an ingredient and store it for times of scarcity,” says Bala. “It is frugal and delicious; the opposite of consuming over-fished, large varieties and demanding boneless filets — practices that encourage waste. Chefs could do their bit by finding new uses for ingredients like dried fish.”
