In October 1947, bauji registered himself at the Paharganj desk of the Ministry of Relief and Rehabilitation in Delhi. This refugee registration certificate issued by the Ministry became their first formal proof of belonging to this new land of independent India.
It is an incredible thing for an inanimate object like a dupatta to reveal so much about a family’s history. To become the fountainhead of memory, that leads to the unearthing of so many long-forgotten tales. Part of bhabhji’s trousseau from 91 years ago, it is still used today.
This Kirpan belonged to Shanta Boora, my nani , my maternal grandmother. She always carried this with her.
This photograph had come to my family to discuss our marriage. The next time I saw him to my heart’s content was when I had become Mrs. K.L Gupta. That day I felt that destiny had come to me in the form of this paper photograph to take me on the most beautiful journey of my life.
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.
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.
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