Shangri La

We were at Shangri La Paris, the Chinese restaurant, celebrating my father’s birthday on the 9th. 

The first amused-bouche was a steamed tomato. Impeccable in its cherry shape, its steamed texture. I almost had it. Deep inside I wanted to have it. 

But my sympathetic nervous system went on the flight mode. 

It started when we were born. Tomato ketchups were banned. Soft drinks were banned. Fast food was banned. 

Anything containing lumps of floating tomatoes was considered ‘bangal’, referring to the Bengalis who came from east Bengal which is now Bangladesh. They were considered uncultured and uncultivated in comparison to us West Bengalis— who basked in the glory of Tagore and Ray. 

One year I think it was 1988 or 1989, we were in Berlin. It was the year or the year after the wall fell. 

My father left the hotel early. He probably had a meeting.

In his absence, my mother in a hushed voice said, ‘do you want ketchup with that omelette?’

I remember that breakfast been delivered to our hotel ro…