My sister & I were luckier. My father & his siblings were lucky. We had parents who had been rubbed off by Anglo-Indians and urban Indians of post independent India. Am sure a lot of readers, including me, personally know and perhaps had parents, especially fathers, who never owned a wallet. Not a real one, anyway. What the man possessed was a large dry-washing-powder-packet-wrapper or the least-oily-namkeen-packet wrapper, turned inside out, wiped with the seriousness of a surgeon before her/his surgery, folded twice, tucked into his shirt’s left chest pocket. Inside lived the man’s liquid assets: two ten-rupee notes, one crisp fifty "for emergencies,", some odd ineligible papers for some random memory and critically, the Railway ID Card and the Railway Worker’s Union ID Card filed in a separate lighter transparent polythene. That was his ATM. No card, no PIN, no OTP. Sometimes, even a Monaco biscuit wrapper with trust issues.
Mothers, meanwhile, ran an import-export business out of the aangan/verandah. Every few months, the bartan-wali would arrive with her giant basket of shiny steel, and mothers would bring out a bundle: three of father's 1950s checkered shirts , Cl III school uniforms of children stored for well over 5 yrs to accumulate garments for better negotiations. And 3 sarees, 2 of self and 1 of her mother-in-laws, our Dadis, who was never happy and side with her daughter-in-law, except during such negotiations. Then the negotiation began. We all have been part of negotiations in our professional capacity. Be it wage-settlement with unions, or with vendors over office contracts or even our own salary negotiations during interviews. None of these could came close to how mothers & grandmothers were seen bargaining for that one extra bowl or spoon! They would just walk away with a patila, a thali and the moral high ground.
Nothing in our houses died. They just got reincarnated. The Bournvita jar became the dal jar. The Horlicks bottle held achaar. The Dalda tin became home to a money plant, which was ironic, because money was the one thing that never grew in our house. Old vests became pocha. Old pocha were slit in strips and were used to straighten plants in pots in balconies and entrances and in gardens, if you had one! Utility never ceased. A functional use was always imagined by the father, mother or grandparents. Money was less. But they were never short of economics! The old toothpaste tube got rolled flat with the new Ponds Cold Cream bottle until it let out a small squeak. Gift-wrapping paper was opened with the precision of a bomb squad, ironed, and saved to be used in someone’s upcoming birthday.
If you remember, there was a polythene bag full of polythene bags! A sacred kit bag nobody was allowed to question. School uniforms was always two sizes too big. Books were covered with the white side of old calendars because brown paper was for rich kids. The dining table and sofa had different covers for daily use and two special covers for two different set of guests – The regular ones who had to be shown alternate covers and the new or irregular one who was to be shown the most glamorous cover. Crockery lived in a glass cabinet, not to be touched & only for viewing purpose. China bowls were reserved for ultra special guests and relatives who were civil servants.
Grandparents had treasure. Hence, needed an iron or steel trunk. It smelled of naphthalene and secrets. Every wedding, festival or crisis, she'd open it and produce things none of us had ever seen: an unshiny silver glass which had to be rubbed till the Djinn came out! Or an old Kashmiri shawl or Benarasi Saree, a rusted brass kamandal, silver ornaments for festivals. Sometimes, a hundred-rupee note knotted into the corner of a handkerchief. It was always for the "Sahi waqt ke liye rakkha tha". The right time, though, was mostly for some relative’s wedding, never for us!
There was no phone. There was Mukherjee Aunty's phone and a diary. A diary that alphabetically had all numbers and names that one had to write and remember - of all own friends, friends of parents, all relatives and few random acquaintances. And we did remember it all! Finally, in early 90s, after a wait till Dashratputra came back to Ayodhya, families started getting their own landline. It sat on a table, covered religiously with crochet piece, now that you think - designed like a cobweb - with a tiny lock on the dial so the maid (and the children) couldn't make calls. The story of pagers, PCO and mobile phones is a novel in itself!
The generation’s dream 4-wheeler was - Maruti 800 OX or a PAL-Fiat. When I started working early 2000s, I bought my parents a new Maruti 800 on EMI. Now, here's the thing. There is a new phone that is costlier than our dream car, while growing up! Funnily, many of us can probably afford it too. But at what cost?
We skip red lights and tell our kids, "late ho rahe hain, chalta hai." We want everyone to put their phone on silent except our own self because Putin calls us to consult on the Ukraine war! We advise people to not scream at our kids, the spouses or even the maids in public as that’s rude and bad social etiquette. But that does not apply to our own self. Because, we are from Marvel Comics! We click our food before we bless it. We throw parties with themes & budgets only to compare, not for fun. Unconsciously, we are teaching our kids to hate harder than to compete. The goal isn't to win anymore. It's to make sure the other person loses.
Social media is the new God. Everyone believes it blindly. A forwarded message, reel or article is more credible just because it aligns to what I think the true and right. No book, no research. No debate. Our parents prayed to two entities – God & Doctors. We fear Algorithms & plan our prayers even online now! We saw a father with a namkeen packet as his wallet and still give the rickshaw-wala a rupee extra sometimes. We saw a mother bargain like a shark and then give her loveliest saree to the maid for her daughter's wedding. Our kids are seeing us cursing the security guard for doing his job or arguing with the delivery boy over a 3-minute delay. I have a leather wallet - with zero cash & three cards. UPI is primary.
This Diwali, may be, just may be, I'll turn a Haldiram's packet inside out, fold it twice, and keep some money in it for a while. Just to show my kids where the real wealth used to live.
-Q
No comments:
Post a Comment