Sunday mornings in a Bengali household are sacred. No, not because of meditation or yoga, but because it’s the day of “The Great Fish Hunt.” This isn’t just about buying fish—it’s a ritual, a test of patience, bargaining skills, and sheer resilience in the face of flying scales and determined fishmongers.

And if you’re in Ranchi, the best battleground for this ritual is Lalpur Fish Market—the undisputed kingdom of Ilish (when in season), Bhetki, Pabda, Chingri, Pomfret, and of course, the mighty Rohu and Katla.

The Mission Begins

As the clock strikes 7 AM, Bengali men (and some brave women) march to the fish market, armed with their jholas (cloth bags) and a keen eye for the freshest catch. The air is thick with the scent of fish, mixed with the loud calls of fish sellers competing for attention.

“Dada, aajker maach ta dekhun, kal raat-er jolkhela kore eshechhe!” (Brother, look at this fish—it was playing in the water till last night!)

“Didimoni, ei bhetki ta fresh! Shashurbarite pataleo shobai khushi hobe!” (Sister, this bhetki is fresh! Your in-laws will be impressed!)

I smirk—these lines are as old as Bengali love for maach-bhaat, but they work every time!

The Art of Selection

Selecting fish is an art. You don’t just pick any fish; you inspect it like a jeweller examining diamonds. Eyes should be clear, gills red, and body firm—any deviation and your Sunday lunch is at risk! The experienced ones pick up the fish, press the belly, check the gills, and sniff (yes, sniff!) to confirm freshness.

Some shoppers get too enthusiastic. Last Sunday, a bespectacled uncle went full Sherlock Holmes on a rohu, sniffing and poking so much that the fishmonger sighed, “Dada, ektu chhere din, maach’er o respect ache!” (Sir, give it some space—fish have dignity too!)

The Battle of Bargaining

Now comes the real battlefield—bargaining. Bengalis may be emotional about fish, but they are also champions of haggling.

Seller: “Ektu kom bolo na dada, amadero pet ache!” (Sir, reduce the price a bit—we have families to feed too!)
Customer: “Pet ache bolei to kom chai! Ami o maach khete chai!” (That’s exactly why I’m bargaining—I also need to eat fish!)

After 10 minutes of dramatic negotiations, a truce is reached. The fish is weighed, chopped, and packed in a bag or wrapped in paper.

The Triumphant Return

Returning home with the prized catch, there’s a sense of victory. Mothers and grandmothers inspect the purchase with a critical eye—“Thik moton dekhle toh?” (Did you check properly?)—before approving it for the legendary Sunday lunch.

And then begins the second ritual: the grand fish meal. Gorom bhaat, dal, aloo posto, and the star of the show—shorshe ilish or doi katla. Ah, pure bliss!

Conclusion: A Bengali’s Love Affair with Fish

Fish Market isn’t just a place—it’s a cultural experience. It’s where stories are exchanged, friendships are forged over fresh ilish, and generations bond over the simple joy of picking the perfect fish.

So next Sunday, if you see a Bengali passionately debating with a fishmonger over the freshness of pabda, know that this isn’t just shopping—it’s tradition, love, and a little bit of drama, all rolled into one!