This incident took
place many years ago. I must have been around 10 then but my memory remains
very sharp and vivid as far as revisiting instances such as these are
concerned. It was during the summer vacations when the entire extended family
had gathered in our native village where my grandmother lived with my uncle and
his family. In all, the children gang comprised of 16 members with my oldest cousin
brother at 21 and the youngest at a year and a half. The girl gang had a
strength of six with the leader Munni didi, 16.
Over the years, we the girls
had come to a conclusion that the granny was biased towards the boys ie our
brothers. This had been inferred by a careful study of her behaviour when it
came to distribution of any goodies to all of us. It had always been observed
that the boys got a better deal, whether it was the sweets, the mangoes or even
the steaming paranthas for breakfast. They very always the first to be served
and more often than not when the turn of the girls came the prized ones had
always been polished off, leaving us glum faced at the apartheid being
practised. Sometimes our leader mildly protested to the granny but her teary
eyed response at such a “baseless allegations” being labelled against her in
her words always made us feel so guilty that we had reconciled with our fortune
or lack of it. We had become very
understanding and instead of blaming her, her bias was attributed to the fact
that she had no daughters of her own, she had been married off very young at 12
and all her life she had lived with the boys.
But one day our
patience wore off. We decided to change our fortune. Over the years we had
borne with her behaviour but now it was decided enough was enough. So it was
decided that something needed to be done not only to lift our morale but also
to have our slice of the cake which was so blatantly being denied to us. And after
carefully weighing all the available options, the readily available delicacy of
milk was finalised. And no it was not ordinary milk that had caused a change of
heart and strategy. For those of us unaware of the richness of the milk those
days, let me give you an idea of the taste and the aroma it possessed. Every
morning, the milk was kept in an earthen vessel and left to boil on a slow fire
for 20-24 hours on fire stoked of a little pack of cow dung cakes in a hole
scooped in the earth in the small room behind the kitchen. The hole itself was
covered with a thick earthen cover in which a few holes had been punched. The milk
simmered over this fire and by the time it was distributed to the children next
day, it would be thick, rich and wonderfully aromatic.
As usual the boys queue
always walked away with the top layer of thick creamy milk. By the time the
granny turned towards us, the quantity too fluctuated from a small cup to a few
spoonful depending upon our luck!
On the day the big heist was planned, the
unsuspecting granny was dutifully escorted to the family well around 100 yards
away for her daily bath by two of us. A guard was also kept at the door so that
nothing untoward happened if God forbid she returned earlier than expected. The
granny normally took 45 minutes to have her bath and return home after offering
her puja. So the entire secret operation had to be done in these precious 45
minutes. Once she was away, the leader was on the job. And it was not easy
because all our aunts around had not been taken into confidence except one. On her
rested the secondary responsibility of taking the other three away while we
carried out our mission. Once this was accomplished, we broke onto the room by
quietly opening the heavy latches and bolted it from inside. There was no
electricity then and the room had no windows either except for a small
ventilator at the top. Therefore a torch had been carried in. The lid was
opened and there it was…the smoky…..thick…mildly sweet….milk with floating
malai…..The four of us inside had a real treat…and licked the bowls clean in
the dim light of the torch. With jumping hearts and delighted taste buds, we
came out one by one….with our leader proudly smuggling out a bowlful under her
dupatta for the two of us standing guard at the door. Now it was time to give
the message of the mission being successful to the aunt who was a willing
partner in our crime. Excitedly she was beckoned and informed and profusely thanked but wait…..she
had a question for the inexperienced malaichors….have you made up the volume? She
asked. Oh we had never given it a thought and before any of us could respond,
she was off…with a jug of water….and no prizes for guessing.. where the water
went!!!
