As children we spent hours listening in rapture to the stories related to us by our two wonderful grandmothers. Despite the apparent affluence of their backgrounds, their lives were not devoid of trials and struggles. Was it more than a mere coincidence that they were both named Aisha?
One of her aides in acclimatizing to her new environment, was the family cook, Misser ji. Custodian of lost and aged recipes, raconteur par excellence and caretaker of all the silverware used for cooking and serving – the young girl that my grandmum was, latched on to him to not just pick up the unfamiliar language and its nuances, but also conquer palates with dishes such as ‘kulfe ki kadhi’ and santre ka raita, beaten yogurt with oranges.
The coin from 1906 was no mere coin, but rather a piece of my great-grandmother’s jewellery. It was a part of her tagdi, the silver belt she wore around her waist on top of her sari, which was eventually bequeathed to my grandmother. The story goes that so beautiful was her mother that when her future father-in-law came to see the young girl, he immediately liked her for his son, and presented her with a silver coin. This silver coin, to be exact.
I have faint memories of summer afternoons when an ittarwalla, a man selling aromatic oils and perfumes – ittar – would arrive from Awadh with a black briefcase. My parents would buy small amounts of a certain ittar from him and fill it in glass jars, which were then placed inside a wooden ittardan, a small rectangular box made to store perfume.
In our house, no one really would value the old, nor find it charming, but I immediately fell in love with this [tea set and watch]. My father still laughs at my obsession with these old things, but for me, it’s a little bit of preserving the lost past of Punjab and my family.
Receive a new story from somewhere in the Indian subcontinent in your inbox every week!