Why doesn't the memory of Dhaka University's daal never get dull?

In Bangladesh, you'd be hard-pressed to find a Bengali who doesn't relish a hearty plate of daal-bhaat, the quintessential Bengali meal of lentils and rice. This assertion is not merely a boast but a testament to the deep-rooted connection that Bengalis share with this culinary staple.

No matter where a Bengali travels or what delicacies they may encounter, the desire for a spoonful of daal, whether at the beginning or end of the meal, remains insatiable. 

As Bengali children leave the comforts of home to pursue higher education in distant cities, the longing for daal-bhaat intensifies. Despite their newfound independence and exposure to diverse cuisines, the allure of daal-bhaat and the midday nap remains. 

This shared craving is perhaps the reason why the dormitories of Dhaka University overflow with steaming pots of daal.

Imagine this: it's lunchtime, you're rushing for a high noon class, and you dash into the canteen, famished. As you approach the daal pot to fill your plate, you catch a glimpse of your reflection in its depths. 

That's right, the hall daal is so transparent that it doubles as a mirror, saving you the cost of buying one. Now that's frugality at its finest, a testament to the resourcefulness that thrives within the walls of Dhaka University.

Today, we delve into the world of the DU daal. 

What exactly constitutes daal, you may ask? Well, the daal that graces the plates of dormitory dwellers bears a striking resemblance to water in its consistency.

The daal from the hall is not heavy at all; rather, it is excellent for digestion. Even the most ardent enemy would have to admit this. This daal is so thin that distinguishing it from water is a challenge in itself. It's through this culinary enigma that young men learn to identify daal, a crucial lesson in preparation for married life, right from the halls of academia.

First-year students, grappling with this unfamiliar substance, often struggle to decipher what constitutes daal. Over time, however, they evolve into daal connoisseurs, instinctively understanding the delicate balance of salt and turmeric required to transform rice into daal. No recipe book is needed; the art of daal mastery is passed down through generations of hall residents. 

And there you have it—another expense saved—the cost of a recipe book. The wonders of the university daal are truly endless.

As the saying goes, "knowing a person is a great responsibility." Today, we add to this adage: "understanding hall daal is an even greater challenge." Countless stories abound about hall daal, whispered in hushed tones across the university campus. 

We embarked on a quest to uncover these tales and the storytellers behind them.

Nazmul Hasan, a second-year student at Shaheed Sergeant Zahurul Haq Hall, is a seasoned hall resident, armed with years of daal expertise. However, he laments the lack of recognition for hall daal experience in job application evaluations. This, he argues, is a grave injustice. 

Shouldn't students who have survived years of protein-deficient hall daal be given preferential treatment for their resilience and adaptability? After all, they are the epitome of dedication, working tirelessly, unfazed by the mounting piles of paperwork on their desks, all while fueled by a diet of hall daal.

When asked about his daal experiences, Nazmul shared an anecdote that left us speechless. "One day, while dining at the hall canteen, a young student sitting opposite me nonchalantly washed his hands in the bowl of thin daal. The entire table paused in mid-meal, staring at him in disbelief. It turned out that the boy had genuinely mistaken the daal for handwashing water."

Such is the enigma of Hall Daal! The ability to craft a concoction so thin that it's indistinguishable from water is an art form in itself. 

The hall cooks possess a unique talent, requiring unwavering dedication and self-belief. After all, their culinary masterpiece not only satiates hunger but also conserves water and time, as students can wash their hands directly in the daal, eliminating the need to visit the washbasin. True efficiency, indeed!

Our quest to uncover the secrets of hall daal led us to a remarkable discovery: Dhaka University, one of Bangladesh's most prestigious institutions, has remained steadfast in preserving its glorious past, evident in the enduring thinness of its hall daal. 

For 45 years, this culinary concoction has defied the laws of physics, maintaining its ethereal consistency amidst a rising global temperature. This unwavering commitment to tradition is a testament to the university's pride and heritage.

However, amidst this unwavering tradition, we stumbled upon a conspiracy theory, shared by a resident student named Aniruddha Biswas. He claimed that a secret plot once existed to thicken the daal using flour paste, masking the emptiness of the bowls. 

This revelation casts a shadow of doubt on the university's commitment to transparency, a value it holds dear. Yet, the university remained unfazed, refusing to succumb to such culinary subterfuge.

The allure of this transparent daal is so strong that non-resident female students are denied entry into the halls of residence. The fear is that they might pilfer the precious bowls of daal, leaving the resident students with an empty void. This exclusive access to the 'free' daal is a privilege reserved solely for the female residents of Dhaka University.

To delve deeper into the historical context of Dhaka University's thin daal and its connection to the institution's glorious past, we sought insights from a former student of the 1976–77 session. As a resident student of Rokeya Hall, I was particularly intrigued by this opportunity to explore the past through the lens of the present. 

This anonymous former student, passionate about Hall Daal, vividly recounted his memories, captivating our attention with his storytelling prowess.

"The dining tables of Jagannath Hall buzzed with activity during lunchtime, from 12 pm to 2 pm. Those of us struggling financially would often skip breakfast, leading to ravenous hunger by midday. 

To secure a spot at the front of the line and ensure a less watery daal, we would strategically place five-paisa coins or slips of paper bearing our names and room numbers on the tables. As the meal progressed, hot, salty water would be added to the daal, replenishing the dwindling supply and distributing it among the eager diners."

"If this daal ever accidentally spilt onto one's shirt or pants, there was no need for additional detergent. A simple swipe of the hand would erase any trace, for this daal was more water than substance, with a faint, barely discernible color. Even that colour wasn't quite 'ripe', as it were."

He elaborated further, "The dining hall caterers employed this ingenious method to cope with the overwhelming demand for daal. As a consequence, vegetables and fish were often scarce. However, there was no shortage of low-quality ration rice and daal, which students could consume in unlimited quantities. 

Protests demanding better food quality were met with little effect. The slogan 'Those were the good old days' held only a partial truth,' reminisced this former student, painting a vivid picture of the university's culinary landscape in the past.

Since the topic revolves around daal, it would be unfair for us to make arbitrary decisions. Instead, let's hear from those who consume this daal daily.

Mehdi Hasan, a resident student at Bangabandhu Sheikh Mujibur Rahman Hall, shared, "Our hall probably serves the thinnest daal in the world. Its density is such that one can even gaze into the future while staring at it. People say Bengalis never let go of anything free, not even tar. But the taste of our daal is so good that, despite being free, it ends up being ignored and disrespected."

You see, this daal possesses the power of foresight. And it's also responsible for erasing the stigma that Bengalis will eat anything for free, even tar.

Sanjana Afrin, a student at Rokeya Hall, adds, "If you go to the canteen late, the thin daal will be all gone. Those who prefer thin daal have to be quick."

On the other hand, Sworna Das, a student at Sufia Kamal Hall, laments the poor quality of daal in her hall. "It's like eating rice with water, but with a hint of daal colour." That's enough to provide some mental peace, knowing that I've had daal-bhaat." 

This, in a way, highlights the role of hall daal in providing both time management skills and mental solace to students.

While university students may initially be taken aback by the sight of hall daal, it's far from useless. Who can say that some haven't become "Shibram Chakraborty" while writing humorous essays about daal? A daal that inspires literary creativity deserves respect, not disdain.