Wednesday, August 31, 2011
how many people can sit on a tamarind leaf?
it was a time when things were not so money-wise or space-wise comfortable for us. otherwise, things were fine, thanks to the lady boss who ran the show. as in, mother (ah the urge to use the capital).
the stream of guests never thought of petering out, the addas continued unabated, only the location shifted: from large, roomy bungalow in duliajan to part-of-temple-converted-to-residence in calcutta which was also, to complete the atmosphere, drippy-in-the-monsoon. from there to very tiny three room flat in another part of the erstwhile capital of british india.
this is where the tamarind leaf and its wondrous capacity were brought up every time we had largish gatherings. which were, of course, if not a daily occurrence, definitely more frequent than the sightings of mr haley's comet.
how will we fit in so many people, someone would start the fret; then mother, large and immovable on her favourite place on earth, her bed, contentedly wagging big toe, would say:
jodi hao shujon
tentul patay nau-jon
if you are good people
tamarind leaf sits nine
the elliptical ovular, less than 5cm leaflets of the tamarind compound pinnate seemed to get super-leaf power upon encountering "shu" or good "jon"/people. it is difficult to adequately translate the remarkable sanskrit idea "shu" into english. it means good and much more, it is positive, auspicious, the opposite of "ku" and "du", prefixes denoting the negative.
our parties felt cosy, comfortable, relaxed, fun. but never crowded. what's a bit of sweat and sitting on the floor between friends.
this morning, david brooks, writing in the international herald tribune, introduced me to the yiddish word "haimish": a cosy, comfortable, friendly, warm and simple environment or feeling. he was reminded of it while on safari in africa with his family. there, the smaller, less luxurious camps seemed to have haimish, but not the spiffy ones.
surrounded by the the wealth, polish, shine and shallow of singapore, the tinkling laughter at fancy parties, the famous chef menus that leave you half fed, the glass and the granite, the skid and slide to the pinnacle of "perfection", my heart yearns for haimish.
"is money the enemy of haimish?" my brain train asks as it chugs along.
no, don't think so. there was enough of that; and space; and other stuff money can buy before that move to calcutta. there was haimish too. so what was different? what made the tamarind leaf so big and generous?
the crux of it, the mother would have said, is not the leaf, it's the people.
haimish is in the air, when "shu" is in the people.
the stream of guests never thought of petering out, the addas continued unabated, only the location shifted: from large, roomy bungalow in duliajan to part-of-temple-converted-to-residence in calcutta which was also, to complete the atmosphere, drippy-in-the-monsoon. from there to very tiny three room flat in another part of the erstwhile capital of british india.
this is where the tamarind leaf and its wondrous capacity were brought up every time we had largish gatherings. which were, of course, if not a daily occurrence, definitely more frequent than the sightings of mr haley's comet.
how will we fit in so many people, someone would start the fret; then mother, large and immovable on her favourite place on earth, her bed, contentedly wagging big toe, would say:
jodi hao shujon
tentul patay nau-jon
if you are good people
tamarind leaf sits nine
the elliptical ovular, less than 5cm leaflets of the tamarind compound pinnate seemed to get super-leaf power upon encountering "shu" or good "jon"/people. it is difficult to adequately translate the remarkable sanskrit idea "shu" into english. it means good and much more, it is positive, auspicious, the opposite of "ku" and "du", prefixes denoting the negative.
our parties felt cosy, comfortable, relaxed, fun. but never crowded. what's a bit of sweat and sitting on the floor between friends.
this morning, david brooks, writing in the international herald tribune, introduced me to the yiddish word "haimish": a cosy, comfortable, friendly, warm and simple environment or feeling. he was reminded of it while on safari in africa with his family. there, the smaller, less luxurious camps seemed to have haimish, but not the spiffy ones.
surrounded by the the wealth, polish, shine and shallow of singapore, the tinkling laughter at fancy parties, the famous chef menus that leave you half fed, the glass and the granite, the skid and slide to the pinnacle of "perfection", my heart yearns for haimish.
"is money the enemy of haimish?" my brain train asks as it chugs along.
no, don't think so. there was enough of that; and space; and other stuff money can buy before that move to calcutta. there was haimish too. so what was different? what made the tamarind leaf so big and generous?
the crux of it, the mother would have said, is not the leaf, it's the people.
haimish is in the air, when "shu" is in the people.
