A Cup of Tea, And A Lost Memory

Our flat in Sodepur had a half-glass half-wooden cupboard in which Maa used to keep her precious crockery sets. A few cups, plates and serving bowls which were kept stored with loving care, only to be brought out on special occasions when a large number of guests will arrive. These occasions were very few and far between. But never, never will we be allowed to use those sets for ourselves because they are expensive items meant to be “maintained” for better days. I guess this was true for most middle-class families at that time.


I was a tea addict and had an eye for a set of two cups – light pink in colour and made of fine bone China. Baba bought them in 1961 for a then-princely sum of 16 rupees from Kamalalaya Stores, a reputed British-era departmental store of Dharmotolla Street, Calcutta. This meant that they will be saved for a possible visit by the royalty and not to be given to a clumsy college-going youngster. And of course, I am not a bull in a China shop but I admit that there were high chances of the cups vanishing from the earth just like Kamalalaya Stores if I was allowed to have tea in them. But the denial of access used to upset me, nonetheless. 


Now on a visit home, as I was taking out some spoons from the once-glossy shelf, I saw the cups under a layer of dust. One of the dishes had a visible crack, which occurred due to the laws of nature, or maybe due to boredom arising out of an endless wait.


So, I washed them, gingerly, and had a morning tea seeped in nostalgia with Maa. Yes, yes, with her permission. By the way, my mom had her birthday today. She is nearing the nervous nineties and had been a loyal reader of The Statesman for 58 years. But that is another story of nostalgia.