About a Nut……..and a Leaf

The first image which my mind conjures up when I think about tamul-pan is that of an old granny whom I met many years back during a brief stopover at a village. We Assamese stand by a long tradition of tamul-pan which is a concoction of betel leaves, raw areca nut and some lime smeared on the leaf – a tradition which is pretty much inescapable if you are in Assam. We chew it as a mild intoxicant, offer it to bhokots (monks) in prayer meetings, offer it to the Gods in our marriages, offer it to the departed soul for his appeasement, even our wedding invitation cards are adorned with that familiar image of tamul-pan arranged on a bota (a sort of brass chalice), and not offering it to the husori (Bihu balladeer and dancing groups) players when they come visiting every household in Bihu time, would be tantamount to a sacrilege.

To come back to my story, the granny I met must have been in her 80s, if not in her 90s, and we exchanged greetings. She grabbed a seat beside our family, and talked about this and that, mostly about how old customs are dying out even in the villages. She was very bent over due to her age, her hair was all silver and she had that sweet toothless smile with those twinkling eyes which most grannies seem to have. She had lost all her teeth, and her daily diet consisted of only milk and boiled rice mashed to sheer liquid consistency. Anyway as we were talking, she loudly exhorted her daughter-in-law to offer us tamul-pan (you see, in rural Assam you absolutely have to offer guests tamul-pan). The daughter-in-law placed a bota with tamul-pan in front of us, and a wooden mortar and pestle in front of granny. We watched with fascination as granny proceeded with a single-minded devotion to place first the leaf, and then the nut and lime together in the mortar-bowl, and mashed it all together with her pestle. When she put that powdered brown-green mix in her toothless mouth, her face lit up like a kid who has just got the candy which she was always wishing for. Afterwards she told us how chewing tamul-pan was one of the few pleasures she still enjoyed in that ripe old age. That wonderful image of the old granny with the beatific smile on her lips and eyes has stayed with me.

So when I was visiting Meghalaya just last month and as I saw Khasi people, mostly ladies chewing their kwai (the Khasi equivalent of tamul-pan), that long-loved image came back to me. I saw Khasi ladies in their traditional jainsem dress (with built-in pockets for holding knick-knacks and of, course for holding the beloved kwai), some of them carrying produce to the local markets in their khoh (traditional Khasi bamboo baskets), some with their babies strapped on their backs, others sitting by their shops and tea-stalls and chatting, but all of them with their customary red lips (locals call it the ‘Khasi lipstick’ and it comes from a combination of chewing the lime and nut in kwai). This form of Khasi beauty has been immortalized in a song by balladeer Bhupen Hazarika in his song ‘Lien Makao’ where he sings about a lovely Khasi maiden whose jainsem has been “woven by lightning” and with “alluring red lips”. The Khasi menfolk are mostly seen with their ubiquitous pipes which seems like a natural extension of their face (to be fair though, I saw far lesser men with pipes in Meghalaya the last few times).

Just like us Assamese, the Khasis too have placed their kwai on a pedestal which is accorded to a beloved family member. Khasi people in markets, in shops and on their home porches congregate over kwai, end their meals with kwai and when a person dies, the formal reference is that the departed soul has gone to heaven to enjoy kwai with God. Every other person you meet is most likely to be chewing kwai which also helps to keep warm, particularly in the winters when a small piece of fresh ginger comes gratis with the kwai. The last few times I have visited Meghalaya, I have also made it something of a custom, to imbibe the local kwai but there is one great difference. You see, unlike the Khasis, every time I chew kwai, my face and ears turn beetroot-red. My mom tells me it is because the Khasis traditionally put more lime in their kwai, and also due to the fact that their areca nut is fermented in water, unlike ours (fermented nut is supposed to impart a better taste but I wouldn’t know).

Youngsters now are veering away from the traditional tamul-pan or kwai and moving on to pan masala mixes available in sachets and therefore, more convenient. I cannot say that either is really a good habit. Chewing any form of betel nut concoction is unhealthy for the teeth and also carcinogenic; in fact, instances of mouth cancer in the country are highest in the North-east.

Anyway, whenever I think of old granny and the red-lipped Khasi ladies, I cannot help but smile when I see this connect in our region.

Says the confetti girl, “Have some candy!”

It is just chance that this is July - the birth month for Simi, the “confetti girl” - and it was on the 1^st day of this month that I happened to see the animated film ‘Wreck It Ralph’. Just a few minutes into Wreck It Ralph, I was drawn into the familiar tale of how characters even as those as far-removed from us as the pixilated people from video game are moved by the all-too human emotions of an alienated sense of duty, rejection, isolation, and the cycle of impulsive, ill-advised actions which sometimes precipitate when it is the very nature of the duty which causes that seclusion.

As plots go, this film does not break new ground. We have after all, seen how outcast and misunderstood characters like the hunchback Igor in Igor (2008), the villainous Megamind in the eponymous Megamind (2010) and not to forget, that lovable green monster Shrek, all strive to escape from the caricatured roles which someone else has scripted for them, in order to gain just that little bit of love, acceptance and friendship which has always been denied. Yet it is not the plot itself which delighted me, but the imaginatively-written characters which populate the arcade-style video games, the humour, and the poignancy and honesty in feelings which often laced such humour. This film follows Ralph – a ham-fisted bulldozer of a man in a game called ‘Fix It Felix’ who is forever fated to rain down blows on an apartment building (Niceland) and terrorise its residents, an unhappy state which the handyman Felix soon remedies with the help of his magical golden hammer. Every successful game of ‘Fix It Felix’ concludes with the same fixture – Felix gets feted and awarded with a medal for a job well done while the residents unceremoniously throw Ralph down from the terrace to a muddy puddle on the ground below. To add insult to injury, Ralph is left to dwell in the neighbouring dump from where he sees the colourful and happy lives of the Niceland’s residents. It is this sad state of things that Ralph seeks to turn around.

Ralph quickly comes to the conclusion (erroneous!) that what he lacks is a gold medal just like Felix, which would propel him into the high league. And so starts his journey to a game ‘Hero’s Duty’ which awards a gold medal to its victorious warriors, and onto an ill-managed starship crash into a racing game called ‘Sugar Rush’ with a candy landscape and an absolutely saccharine little girl, Vanellope (voiced so endearingly by Sarah Silverman). It is the chemistry between the mischievous little Vanellope and the grumpy Ralph which is the highlight. In an obvious parallel with Ralph’s own state, Vanellope who is characterised as a game glitch is the resident outcast in ‘Sugar Rush’, mocked and left friendless by her own kind. In a predictable journey fighting vile cybugs and racing impossibly candy-coloured cars through an impossibly candy-themed racecourse and discovering the inherent spirit of friendship between them and a new sense of self-worth, we are treated to some insightful ideas.

It is these insights which bring me now to the life of our beloved friend, Simi. In a world where so many of us seem ill at ease with who we seem to be inside, and the struggles which we put up to re-define ourselves in a bid to win acceptance and love, Simi was the exception. Just like Sarah’s plummy-voiced Vanellope, Simi too conveyed that sweet naughtiness and that bold spirit to boot, of a girl who has her sights set high borne up by a sure sense of identity.

Whether it is Fix It Felix or Wreck It Ralph, I realise that just as we are defined by the jobs we do, we are also marked in a far deeper sense by the values we live by and the love and friendship we are able to share. Just like a zombie character in the game says, “Labels do not make you happy. Good, bad... you must love you.”

Here is wishing you a very happy coming birthday, Simi!