har-ish

Before I ever saw a shark in the water, I had already eaten one.
My maternal grandmother was a terrific cook, and in that part of the world, shark curry is something of a delicacy. It was a laborious, time consuming affair, and the smell can be strong enough for someone to politely describe the curry as “stinky.” But the taste was something else altogether. Absolutely otherworldly.

I also spent enough time in the local market to see the cadavers of sharks laid out among the day’s catch. So, growing up, a shark never really represented fear to me. It was simply a rather large fish that could, with enough effort, end up in my grandmother’s kitchen.

Then came Jaws.

And interestingly, I think the book was far more awe inspiring than the movie. The novel made the shark feel less like a movie monster and more like something vast, unknowable and genuinely terrifying. The movie gave that fear a face. The book gave it an imagination.

Suddenly, the creature that had belonged to my grandmother’s kitchen belonged to my nightmares.

And then, years later, along came Bruce in Finding Nemo, cheerfully declaring that he was on a seafood diet: “I see food, I eat it.” Apparently, sharks could have comic timing too.

So my relationship with the shark has travelled a rather strange journey: from grandmother’s curry, to the fish market, to Jaws, and finally to Bruce.

Perhaps that is what I find most fascinating about them. The animal itself never really changed. Only the story I told myself about it did.