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Happy Birthday, Tuttu: I Still Owe You a Mishti Paan
Some memories make us laugh, while others leave a quiet ache in our hearts. On Tuttu’s birthday, I revisit a few childhood memories and reflect on the people we carry with us long after they are gone.
EMOTIONAL HEALTH
The Thinking Me
10/3/20264 min read
Do you have memories that make you blush in the middle of the day? I certainly do, more than you can imagine! For instance, I remember a very embarrassing incident from one afternoon at Sevoke More, Siliguri, in 2002.
I had just enrolled in Siliguri College for my graduation and had decided, one afternoon, to explore the city on foot. I was walking along Hill Cart Road, through the traffic, and perhaps, inadvertently, caused some disruptions. A gentleman on his motorcycle, a few years older than me, paused briefly by my side and asked me, “Maidan mein chal raha hain kya?”
“Do you think you are walking on a playground?” - was the literal translation, a sarcastic response to my languid pace amid the rush of city traffic. The naive me, who had a very poor grasp of the Hindi language, thought that he was asking me, “Are you going towards the playground?”
I assumed he wanted to give me a lift to the Siliguri College Ground. I was surprised to find that people in the city were so helpful, so considerate, an impression that perhaps shaped my five years in Siliguri. In response, I gave him a gentle pat on the back and said, “Thank you, but I would prefer to walk there.”
It was only years later that I unearthed the real meaning of the incident. I still remember the bewildered look on that gentleman’s face, although I cannot recall whether his verbal response to my words was as gentle. There is a good chance that I misinterpreted that as well.
I always laugh when I recall that day. That and many others. Yet there are also memories that are not so generous. Memories which leave a sweet and salty aftertaste every time they cross your mind. Perhaps even cause a cramp in the belly, a hollow in your heart.
I remember one which revolves around Mishti Paan, which is an ensemble of Saunf, Tutti Frutti, shredded coconut, sweet betel nut, cherries and an assortment of sweet ingredients spread on a betel leaf. It is a delicacy among the Bengali masses, but I must admit that I have not tasted one in many, many years.
Once upon a time, though, things were a lot different, Decades earlier, when life was not rushed, I would sneak out of home in the early afternoons, with Tuttu, on a Mishti Paan quest. The entire neighbourhood would be indulging in a siesta, while my cousin sister, three years my elder, and I would move towards our destination. A small shack near her home, that had, among other lesser interesting things, one of the best Mishti Paans in Malbazar.
The old gentleman would meticulously craft a Mishti Paan according to Tuttu’s demands, sprinkling the exact ingredients in the exact proportions, while I would wait patiently by her side. And then, our mouths full and hearts content, we would sneak back into the house, laughing all the way.
It is a memory whose details have eroded over time. The colour of the shop, the face of the shopkeeper, the taste of the Mishti Paan are all a blur in the back of my mind now. I can hardly remember Tuttu’s accomplices who would often join us in the expedition.
All I can remember is the happiness that filled my heart in those days, a lingering taste of which stays in me for a split second every time I remember those afternoons. It was the company, not the Mishti Paan, that made the day brilliant.
Today, Tuttu would have been a year older.
Instead, she resides in our memories, long taken away by life’s cruel turn, well ahead of her time. I return to thoughts of her on my weakest days, at my saddest moments. I hold on to a handful of pictures that I have of her.
What happens to people when they die?
What happens to people when they die? The atheist in me rejects all notions of heaven and an afterlife, yet there resides another in me, perhaps a small child, perhaps even a believer who misses his elder sister. A weak voice that murmurs in my mind, reminding me that she is looking after me still.
That in my hardest days, if I pay attention, I would be able to feel her hand on my shoulders.
It is perhaps that voice that urges us to shoulder on, to live on in absence of the ones who leave us behind. To live for the ones who are gone too soon. For the one who never heard Arijit Singh sing, never saw Argentina win the 2022 FIFA World Cup, never met my little Messi.
I preserve her pictures with a heavy heart, but it is her memories that are my most prized possessions. They are both fire and ice. They bring me solace yet break my heart. In them, I find peace wrapped in sadness.
This life and all its materialistic pleasures often feel insignificant, especially when you realise that we are all in a race. Like a stretched rubber band slowly recoiling every minute. And someday we too will wither away and become memories in someone else’s life. Perhaps they will also remember us fondly, like I remember the yellow tinted days of the old, when life was simpler and there was happiness in abundance.
Until then, I preserve Tuttu in my thoughts, in my writings, in my dreams. Where I go, she travels with me. She lives on with me, listening to Arijit Singh with me. Her love flows to little Messi through my embrace.
Happy Birthday Tuttu. I shall never forget you. And yes, I still owe you a Mishti Paan. Someday….