Thakuma making kaanthas, the cotton spreads on which babies are laid or swaddled, made from layers of the soft cloth of old sarees and dhotis, stitched together, then embroidered using the simple kaantha stitch, tiny lines of colourful threads running across the fabric. Like the life-lines drawn from far away Khulna and Mymensingh – the origin points of her life.
An old album of photographs, likely taken between 1970 and 1985, is one of the few things I keep in my room from my grandmother’s working years as a Gram Sevika in Kakopothar. Somehow, it has become what I hold onto most.
I have met my grandfather through his quirks and collectibles – books ranging from the theatre of the absurd to Rumi’s philosophical ruminations, silver votives carved with exquisite care, sea shells with his and his wife’s names engraved on them, Dutch wall paper borders extending to 24 feet long, ebony wood chillums never used, and playing cards printed with astounding clarity. My entire childhood was spent finding little treasures all over the house, and invariably, when asked, I was told they belonged to my grandfather, CR Das.
My family know very little about the years my great-great-grandmother spent in India. This tea cosy is one of the only remnants of the four decades she lived away from England. I also had no idea that when the tea cosy came into my possession in 2019, that it would mark the start of an exciting period of research into my ancestors’ past.
The first time I encountered the locket was as a small child. My grandmother has preserved numerous photographs of her parents from their time in British Malaya and India, but one of the most prized possessions is this jade set in a gold locket that had been purchased from Malaya or Singapore by my great-grandfather.
When an object has witnessed Partition, it ceases to be ordinary. In the case of my maternal grandparents, these objects were a framed portrait of my nana, his personal diary, and a silver drinking bowl. A photograph of my nani, Razia Ummul Baneen, holding her first born, my uncle, in her arms. The family also carried a folding wooden chair, a sewing machine, its table and motor, some clothes, and a tarazu. All these made the journey from Delhi to Karachi.
Receive a new story from somewhere in the Indian subcontinent in your inbox every week!