Indian Morning
On your mark: The milkman rings the doorbell.
Get set: The municipal water pours through the
tap into the large bucket.
Go: The pressure cooker whistles for the fourth
time.
These sounds, along with the sunrise, symbolize
the start of an Indian morning. The milkman has replaced the roosters
by ringing the bell at 5:45 a.m. “One minute,” the mother
says, rising out of bed so quickly you wonder if she actually was
sleeping. Drowsily, she grabs the steel bowl and stumbles around
and over sleeping kids, husbands, in-laws and pets.
The milk is then placed on the stove and waits
for a boil. The chai is made separately as the vegetables
are cut to put in the pressure cooker. The cooked vegetables, which
take four whistles in the pressure cooker, will be packed in the
tiffins (portable steel containers) for school or work.
Chai is shared by adults who are planning their day. Husband
and wife sit and read the news before the children need to be woken
up. They discuss the needs for the day, he gives her some extra
cash for household expenses and she reminds him that the electricity
bill needs to be paid this week. The eldest child, who is preparing
for her admission exam into the prestigious Indian Institute of
Technology (IIT), has been up since 4 a.m. reviewing her math homework.
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| The younger children
lazily rise out of bed, as if each one of their body parts is waking
up separately. They take slow baths until their mother knocks on
the door to advocate for the waiting siblings. Children step into
neatly pressed uniforms: skirt and white shirt for the girl and
pants and white shirt with tie for the boy. Boots are polished while
toast is being buttered and milk is cooling after adding two heaping
spoonfuls of sugar to the tall glasses.
The room echoes with “Mumma, where is my…?”—bags,
socks, pencil cases and homework. As the mother quickly steps in
to locate the item, not missing a moment in her routine, she quickly
finishes packing her husband’s lunch: roti (leavened
bread), daal (lentils), subji (cooked vegetables),
rice and some sweet snack. She ensures the children look fresh with
clothes clean and pressed and Pond’s talcum powder glistening
around their chins like slight white shadows around their moon-shaped
faces.
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A comb divides long hair into long
ropes of ribbons in the daughter’s hair. The son’s hair,
still a little wet and slightly oiled, is smartly parted on the
right, sending curly waves floating to the left.
Backpacks filled with heavy books and water bottles
that have been refilled and tightened twice will accompany the lunch
of aloo (cooked potatoes) and puri (fried bread)
for the children. Included will be one Rupee (Indian currency)
for a snack of chickee (peanut brittle) at recess. The
mother gathers her belongings and gets ready to walk the children
to school. She prepares breakfast for the father who has just finished
the business section of the Times of India and is ready
to step into the bathroom to use the stove-warmed water. She looks
in the mirror to check her bindi and her mangalsutra (necklace
symbolizing marriage). The pleats in her sari are checked again
as she reminds the husband to finish up with the paper and get moving
quickly. If he is late, the morning train ride on the local train
is going to set him in a rotten mood for the whole day.
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She packs her purse
and small umbrella in a plastic bag—an essential item for
the monsoon season. The children trot next to their mother as they
dodge sidewalk vendors, paan wallahs (seller of paan,
a mouth refresher made of betel nut), samosa wallahs (seller
of samosas, a deep fried potato dumpling), coconut and
fresh juice vendors, stray animals, people waiting for the bus,
aunties haggling for vegetables for lunch, aggressive pedestrians
and uneven sidewalks. When they finally reach the school, the mummys
all gather at the gate, their saris perfectly pleated colors in
pastels, primaries and geometric shapes. They stand together until
each one of those braids and round faces disappear into the building,
blessed with the promise of a new morning and touched by the hopes
of their mothers. |
Heading back home, she quickly picks
up some fresh fruit from the vendor. She waves hello to her friends
headed in the other directions and rushes back home. Her husband
just finished his breakfast and is ready to leave. The eldest daughter,
after getting ready, started the washing machine before she left
on the local bus. Her mother-in-law is slowly finishing her morning
ablutions and is preparing for her morning pooja (prayers)
and will hang the clothes out to dry after. She grabs her bag for
work and heads out after taking the blessings of the diya
(candle) she lit in the early morning after her bath. As she heads
out to work on the local train, she checks her wristwatch, it is
7:58—just in time for the morning local.
From 2004-2006, I lived in India while working
for a non-profit organization in Mumbai. Earlier this year, I have
started another position that brings me to India quite frequently.
This isn’t a snippet of just one family’s life, but
rather an amalgamation of my observation of different families during
my long term stay and short term visits to India.
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Photos courtesy of Karilyn Owen
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Meenakshi Verma Agrawal is a writer and public health professional based in Boston, MA. She was recently recognized by the South Asian Journalism Association (SAJA) for her article on the Mumbai Locals, published by ABCDlady. Her writing is inspired by her grandfather, P.R. Verma, a writer and an artist. She blogs at http://transformintobeauty.blogspot.com.
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