Childhood Rituals

(rituals childhoodrituals belonging)

word count 1023

I grew up in nineties Bombay. A Bombay that was going to soon be called Mumbai, a Bombay that was going to see the greatest impact of India embracing globalisation, a Bombay which was at the peak of her ‘sapno ka shehar’ attitude and owning it with full Bambaiyya swag.

More importantly it was for me a secure space where I grew up within the safety of certain childhood rituals under my paternal grandma, Papama’s protective care. Here, I share with you a few of these rituals which for some reason seem to have been left behind in those growing up years.

Ubtan Bath

“Uddak bhochi taaaplyaa, zauke maa” Papama cautions the 4 yr old me about the hot bath water as I await my special “yellow” bath. I stand bare in the small bathroom , awaiting Papama to finish preparing the ubtan mixture of gram flour , turmeric and milk in the kitchen which is adjacent to where I am standing feeling a bit bored. I begin tracing my name on the white tiles of the bathroom wall which are covered with water droplets. This is a newly acquired skill, one which I am excited to master. ‘Hanngaa yaw ma” Papama beckons me towards her as she enters the bathroom. She swiftly gives the ubtan a final mix and begins applying it on my face followed by my arms, legs, torso and back. If I think about it now, the scent of the ubtan along with the steam in the bathroom makes for a saun like environment.

The 4 yr old me however says ouch Papama as the rough texture of the ubtan cleanses and purifies my skin. “Vattantu khelnu kashi zallya pale’ Papama gently admonishes me for playing in the hot sun for far too long. “Vaggi kari nave`’ I plead with her to rinse off the ubtan quickly. She dunks the copper chambu into the stainless steel bucket, checking that it is just right - neither too hot nor toos old. Once satisfied she asks me to shut my eyes and begins pouring chambu after chambu of hot water over my head. My body is thoroughly soaped and washed. My best part is about to happen. As the water in the bucket reaches the very bottom, she keeps the chambu aside, lifts the bucket and pours the rest of the water on my head. The gush of water over me thrills me every time . Before I can even open my eyes properly, Papama wraps me in a bhairaas and leads me out of the bathtooom to get changed.

Plaits

8.05 am every school morning, Papama braids my curly frizzy hair. She invariably has just five minutes to do this because my school bus arrives promptly at 8.10am and if I am lucky at 8.12am. Papama never seems to be fazed by the time pressure. She is confident and efficient. She oils my hair generously to which I always complain ‘my friends will call me chip-chip chokhri”. “Ignore kari tanka” Papama asks me to ignorethem.

I wish it was that easy I think to myself. Teenage girls can be rather nasty but how can I explain this to Papama now?

Her voice interrupts my thoughts. “Tel ghalka baa,barenchi te” she tries to reason with me by saying oiling my hair is in fact beneficial for it. I sullenly agree as I need my hair to be tied into neat plaits and time is of essence. I make a mental note to talk to her about this after school. I can see my brother ready to leave for school. I can;t help but be envious of how he doesnt have to go through this hair braiding malarkey.

I see my school bus turning around the corner. “Bus aayle papamaaaa”, I scream asshe is tying the end of my second plait with a bright red ribbon. “Vhaee gottasa”, shereplies calmly . “Gadbadi kornakkkaaa”, she tells me not to panic. She quickly hands me my school bag and water bottle and with blessings and love waves me goodbye.

Kelay Hashale Sliced banana dunked in a bowl of cold milk and sprinkled with powdered sugar was an after school snack that I looked forward to as soon as I got off the school bus. Haath paay dhuyi anni vaggi yaw khavnchak. Papama’s voice greeted me every single day. She would be busy preparing this snack for me as I entered home after a long school day.

I was sweaty, tired and hungry and kaley hashaley was the perfect pick me up snack. The cold milk, soft banana and sweetness from the sugar energised me almost immediately. One day we ran out of bananas and the 5 year old me threw a massive tantrum. I wanted kaley hashale and nothing else. Even a slice of chocolate cake would not do. Papama was in a dilemma. I was refusing to eat - a relatively new problem as I have always been one of the most non fussy eaters around according to my family at least. My incessant crying ended up waking Ajju from his afternoon nap. Without saying a word, he got dressed and stepped out of the house. Papama wondered where he went but was far too distracted by my antics. She tried telling me a joke, showing me my favourite book and switching on my favourite cartoon on television. Nothing worked.

Her methods to calm me down seemed to be failing miserably. Soon after, Ajju returned with a handful of bananas and handed them to Papama who was very relieved. She quickly made the hashale and as soon as she fed me a spoonful, I instantly became quiet. Kaley hashale for me was comfort food - a significant part of my daily routine. It provided me with a strange sense of belonging to my home. Without it, the afternoon was different and for the 5 year old me, dealing with change was hard. So I latched onto the kaley hashale like an anchor. Even today, when I find myself dithering and unsettled, I know what I reach out for almost subconsciously - banana, milk and sugar.