Famine and Bengalis

In the Shadow of Famine: Bengali Food Habits – History, Practice, and Bodily Burden

About 10–12 days ago.
I had gone to a large retail store where products are generally purchased by the box and are available at wholesale prices, and where entry and shopping require an annual paid membership. At different tables inside the store, food samples are displayed, which are prepared and served by female employees from the marketing department for potential customers. I went to one such table and stood in line. At that time, the female employee was still preparing and arranging the food. Behind me, several people from different ethnic groups were waiting. At that moment, a woman arrived—she appeared to be Hispanic. She went directly to the front of the line and stretched her arm far forward, trying to take a bowl of sample food before everyone else. The female employee politely informed her that many people were waiting in front and that she needed to be patient. Just then, another Bengali person came and stood there, and I said to him, “This woman has become impatient and is trying to take food first by breaking the line!”

This is the freedom of language in foreign lands—since no one around understands Bengali, there is no need to speak discreetly. But to our astonishment, the woman glared angrily and said, “I understand Bengali!” I instantly felt embarrassed. I had criticized her right in front of her, yet there was no way to know that she was Bengali. What surprised me even more was that even after breaking the rules and violating etiquette, she raised her voice in her own defense. In such a situation, remaining silent would probably have been more appropriate for her.

Once, an Additional Secretary from Bangladesh was recounting an incident at the Sheraton Hotel. On that day, an important meeting was held there with the country’s top businessmen, senior bureaucrats, and politicians. After the meeting, a buffet lunch was arranged. The chairperson’s closing speech had not yet finished—there were still about 10 minutes left. Yet by then, most of the guests had rushed to stand in the food line, as if food would run out if they did not go immediately. The Additional Secretary and a few others patiently waited for the speech to end. But when they finally went to the line, many food items had already finished. Another scene caught their eyes—many people were sitting with plates full of food, but most of it had not been eaten. Food was being wasted, while those who followed the rules did not get many items.

Our collective attitude toward food is full of strange contradictions. It is difficult to say with certainty how prevalent such a “grab-grab” attitude toward food is among other ethnic groups. However, one thing is noticeable—many people waste large amounts of food and casually throw recently expired items into the trash. On the other hand, we Bengalis—who grew up in deprivation and have seen the reality of food scarcity—consider every grain of food priceless. We do not want even a little to be wasted. From this mentality, it sometimes happens that in trying not to waste food, we consume poisonous levels of excess carbohydrates and completely ruin our bodies. Even expired food makes us think many times before throwing it away—although expired does not always mean inedible. From this tendency arises a kind of “duty to eat,” which is sometimes habit, sometimes cultural conditioning, sometimes necessity. The result? Many people’s bellies become drum-like. Body structures become uncontrolled and awkward. Fitness—this word barely exists in our practice. Just as emotion exists in our diet, so does necessity. But health awareness, exercise, and consciousness still remain on the fringes of our culture.

Food is not just a means to fill the stomach—it is a reflection of culture, history, and the struggle to survive. The excessive carbohydrate intake in the Bengali diet, especially the irresistible attraction to rice, is not just due to taste. Behind it lies a tragic historical reality that genetically transformed Bengalis. Once-happy and prosperous Bengalis became impoverished and destitute. For generations, foreign occupiers’ plunder, greed and exploitation of agricultural production, and the resulting horrific famines together created a “duty to eat” that left deep marks on our genetic and social behavior.

Colonial exploitation and agricultural plunder changed us very negatively. Its effects can still be seen everywhere in the country today—in widespread looting and massive corruption. The Bengal region—especially present-day Bangladesh and West Bengal—was historically rich in agricultural production. Rice, jute, sugar, indigo, and other agricultural products attracted the attention of foreign powers. Toward the end of Mughal rule and the beginning of British colonial rule, this agricultural production became the center of horrific plunder. The British forced local farmers to cultivate indigo and other cash crops, which reduced food grain production. The result? Multiple famines every century, among which the Great Bengal Famine of 1770 and the famine of 1943 were the most devastating.

Famine and food shortages became a kind of ethnic memory that embedded itself into mutations and later genetics for the sake of survival. These famines were not just economic disasters but left permanent effects on the human psyche. The experience of going days without food, cries for food, and facing death spread from generation to generation. As a result, a kind of “food-hoarding instinct” developed—where the tendency arose to eat as much as possible when food was available. The fierce competition to be first and to eat as much as possible is a result of that instinct. This is not only psychological but has become part of genetic adaptation.

Rice is the primary food of Bengalis. Rice is a food that can be eaten even with salt, green chili, oil, or a small amount of curry. Even during famine, rice was the most easily available and affordable food. Because of this, an emotional dependence on rice developed. Even today, in many families, the practice of eating rice three times a day exists, although from a nutritional science perspective, excessive carbohydrate intake is harmful to the body.

This habit of eating excessive rice, the mentality of not wasting food, and this “duty to eat”—combined—have affected our body structure, as mentioned earlier. We view food not just as a necessity but as part of emotion and cultural conditioning. As a result, the place of health awareness is taken by the “duty not to throw away,” the “commitment not to waste,” and the “habit of eating as much as possible.”

Therefore, to analyze the Bengali diet, one must think not only from a social or cultural perspective but also from a genetic one. Bodies adapted to survive famine are shaped in such a way that they can survive on fewer calories and seek to collect and store food quickly when available. This genetic memory has spread across generations and is still reflected in our behavior today. That is why Bengali food habits cannot simply be dismissed as “gluttony.” Behind them are centuries of exploitation, famine, and struggles for survival—events for which Bengalis themselves were not responsible. Bengalis were exploited; their food was taken away so others could become wealthy. However, understanding that history now calls for the cultivation of health awareness, consciousness, and a culture of physical exercise. Food is not only a tool for survival—it is etiquette, sensitivity, and a reflection of the future. This must now be established within our culture.