It is about my childhood days when in my home there existed one wooden chest (Sinduk as we call it) under the control of my mother. The chest had two main compartments and one small drawer. It opened from the top and was quite heavy, so much so that it would require about a half dozen people to lift and carry it.
Being instruments of safe keeping of valuables in the olden days, these were crafted with utmost care and extra heavy planks of wood and other materials, like, hinges on the doors, etc. For better mobility it was fitted with four wooden wheels as well.
As it was an article of great workmanship, everybody longed for such chests in the olden days. Currently, I suppose, such article would fetch quite high antic value and would be considered a prized possession pointing to your family background.
In giving such a long account of the chest, I am going away from the main line of the story. Being brought up in a joint family and having lost my father at a very early age, I was quite attached to my mother for all my emotional support. Being the last of the three surviving children of our parents, my mother had all the attention bestowed upon me as a child. I was a constant companion of my mother and at times in the evenings when she opened the chest, I was sure to climb up the same to peep into it's contents which mainly consisted of some heavy brass/bell metal utensils and some other items of my father who although a priest by profession was a folk artist as well (a pala gayak to be specific).
He used to perform on stage as the lead singer in a group of six artists who presented in lyrical format stories from the mythological epics and other such classical works of great poets of yore.
Such folk artists are still a living community in this part of the land and they are much respected and admired for their mastery over classical literature. The lead singer is the mainstay of the show whose skill lies in his mastery over various literature on the subject and the capacity to explain the verses correctly. Also he is supposed to be a good singer with adequate knowledge of ragas, etc. But some of those who are deficient in singing, manage the show with the help of their co-artists who pick up the thread qujckly in a chorus. But what can't be compromised is his knowledge of literature.
And this becomes all the more important because of the presence of learned people among the audience coupled with rival groups too most of the times. Besides, he has to be quite witty and dignified in conduct.
My father being a qualified sanskrit graduate from an established Universty was a moderately successful artist as per the then prevalent standards.
What is worth mentioning here is that all artists who use their vocal chord regularly extensively consume spices, such as, cinnamon, etc. And my father was no exception.
Of course, I was talking of the Chest. I would climb up the walls of the chest which also provided ample scope for such effort due to it's seer style of construction, to lean over the opening on the top each time my mother used to open it. Although such attraction was mostly out of childhood curiosity as to what could such an unusually built article conceal in it's belly, but the real reason was my inherent weakness for the small cinnamon pieces that my mother used to give me then. These were from my father's days who procured those to aid his performance on the stage.
Presently, while chewing a piece of cinnamon I brought from the market, I could not help compare the taste with those my mother offered me as a child. I do not know whether it is the difference in the quality of the products per se or the motherly love and the father's touch which accompanied the cinnamon pieces that made them so tasty then, but what is certain is that I will never be able to get the same taste ever again.
May be this is also the cost of growing up as an adult.
Viswamitra (10.01.2023)
