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.
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