Rite-of-passage.

“It’s called ‘A-n-n-a-p-r-a-s-h-a-n’,  Alison!”, I laughed as I spelt out the letters to my British friend who was still struggling to learn the nuances of the Bengali language. “The Annaprashan is a ritual that all Hindu children have to go through when they are six months old. It’s something like the baptism. The ceremony is a rite-of-passing that marks the first time that a child is given solid food.  What makes things even more fascinating is the ceremony also gives you an indication of the priorities that a child will possibly display when he or she grows up.”

“How so?” asked Alison, as she sat near the fireplace in our living room and struggled to fit the words and meanings together in her head.

“Let me explain”, chipped in Pratima, “at the end of the little ceremony the child is given a set of four items to choose from on a tray -  a book, that signifies knowledge, money or a jewel, that symbolizes wealth, some clay, the stands for land and property and a pen, that represents one’s career.  We believe that whichever  item the child chooses first, and the order in which he chooses the following items, gives you a fair indication of what the child will be interested in pursuing when growing up.”

“But will Dr Bose agree, Pratima?” I asked changing the focus of our discussion to where we had started, “Do you think he will agree to be the Tot’s Mama for the day?”

“Mama? How can Subimal be Tot’s Mama? Aren’t you his Mama?”, Alison asked, her curiousity once more aroused. As someone who had decided to marry a Bengali she was determined to try and understand as much as she could of the Bengali language and culture, often at the chagrin of people around her…

” ‘Mama’ in Bengali means Uncle, silly, haven’t I explained this will you earlier?” I said, as we all burst into laughter. “The Mama or maternal Uncle conducts the whole ceremony, as it is he who feeds the child, before everyone else, and later offer the child his choices. Can you imagine what it feels like to taste fish curry and dal for the first time after growing up on milk and custard apple?”

“Your fish curry and dal, Manjula? Simply divine!”, Irene exclaimed, as she remembered the sumptuous meal that we had all just tucked away.

“Since I don’t have my brother here, I thought I could ask Dr Bose to fill in the role”, I continued. Of course, there was another reason: it was believed that the  child would follow in the Mama’s footsteps and Dr Subimal Bose was among the most accomplished professionals we knew in the UK. But this was a ‘minor’ detail that I chose not to share with my friends.

“Pratima?” I asked.

“I really don’t see why he wouldn’t agree, Manjula. You know Subimal loves children and is especially attached to Tot. I have seen his eye’s light up every time we talk about coming over here. And while Tim is an angel, I think he sees in Tot the picture of the son we haven’t had as yet”, she said tugging at her saree to cover the little bump on her belly that had just started to appear. “I am sure he will be very happy to play the part if you ask him.”

And so he was. Dr Bose – I still hadn’t gotten round to calling Soumya’s friends by their first names despite spending the better part of a decade now in the UK – gladly agreed to be my brother and Tot’s Mama on the eventful day.

I spent the next the fortnight and a half preparing for what was to be the biggest ceremony my son had seen or would see for the next couple of years. There was an outfit that had to be stitched. I measured, procured, cut, sewed and fitted the shiny red fabric that Tot would don on his special day. Tim, my elder son, and Saumya, watched on in amazement as the clothes fell into place, as did the elaborate bill of fare. Rice, dal, a sabzi, five kinds of fries, two kinds of fish curry, payesh, mishti the works! And that too, all for a six month old!!

“Aren’t you worrying about this a bit too much?” Irene asked, having dropped in one afternoon and finding me completely at sixes and sevens, “I don’t remember you making such a fuss about this when Tim was born”.

“You are right, Irene”, I sighed as I sank back into the comfort of our living room sofa, “I don’t quite understand it myself, but with every passing day I feel the urge to make that extra effort to do things in exactly the same manner that they had been done for us when we were growing up; to do things exactly as my mother or your father would have done when we were young. Is it because these memories mean so much to us or because we are trying desperately to cling to on the past? I can’t help but wonder…”

“Does it really matter?” said Irene shrugging her shoulders, “will our children ever understand these ceremonies or appreciate the way we feel about them? Will they ever see India? Or know that they are Indian? For that matter, will we ever get to go home…?” A touch of sadness and pain creeping into her voice.

It was my turn to shrug my shoulders nonchalantly, as I refused to be drawn into this  deep discussion now,”I don’t know. I really don’t know Irene. What I do know is that this is important to me. And while my son is young, he doesn’t have a choice but to be a part of everything that I believe is good for him.  Everything we have grown up to believe in and respect. Both Saumya and I want our sons to know their identity, their roots, their culture, themselves. What happens later is not something any of us have control over or have knowledge of. It is for us to keep doing what is right and let the future take care of itself”.

Forty people came home to witness Tot’s Annaprashan that Sunday.  Tot, who would grow up to be better known as Sumanto, went through his rite-of-passage successfully and entered into this world of boundless tastes, smells, desires and fantasies.

As Dr Bose cradled him in his arms and fed him his first spoon of real food, Tot looked at him slightly bewildered. “What on earth is this?”, he seemed to ask as he looked up at his Mama and rolled around the morsel in his mouth. “A bit salty, slightly sharp, but yes, it’s different!”

As all of us looked on in earnest, Tot reached out across the tray, “he’s picked up the pen and then in close succession, touched the book, the money and then the clay!! Look, he won’t let go of anything”, Dr Bose laughed as he tried to pry the things out of Tot’s hand. “Your younger son, Manjula, sure has a strong grip. You can be sure he won’t let go of anything or anyone that he decides to take hold of when he grows up”.

Our son had taken his first step towards manhood.