The days of Tiffin

The magic of a tiffin box wasn't just about satiating hunger; it was a window into family love, childhood friendships, and even social dynamics. For me, its contents evolved with time, painting a vivid picture of my school journey in 1950s .

The mood of tiffin keeps changing with time. Not only time, environment and ambience also have a special contribution in this. This tiffin is most meaningful and friendly among the middle class. For the poor, it hangs tied in a towel on their shoulders. When they feel very hungry, they eat it anytime, anywhere with relish without any discomfort. Tiffin of the upper class is either handled by servants or a lot of it is available in the school canteen.

During summer days, when school was in the morning, grandmother used to take charge of the tiffin. She used to add sugar to the Chana(gram) sattu taken from the pot hanging on the shelf of the store room, knead it with sugar and water, make laddus and hand it over. By the time we reached the outer gate, laddus were eaten. With the arrival of rainy season, the tiffin menu used to change. Bread smeared with ghee, sprinkled with sugar, wrapped was handed over for tiffin.

On other days, school was from nine o'clock to four o'clock. Mother used to give parotha and vegetables in tiffin box regularly. If vegetables were not available then jaggery/sugar and pickles were the alternative. We liked both the combinations. Sometimes mother would also hide surprise items – like barfi, murabba, bundiya etc. which would be revealed only after opening the tiffin. Such a surprise item was often present in everyone's tiffin.

In the school, a veranda was designated for eating tiffin. We used to sit there with friends. First of all it was to be seen who had a surprise in their tiffin. It was kept

aside for sharing at the end. Some students were more prosperous than our group. There was a fear that someone might share. They used to hide their tiffin.  From the emanating smell it was easy to know on which day whose tiffin contained egg, fish or mutton or whether it was normal like ours. Happiness comes only when shared with friends. Due to these reasons, there developed a depth in friendship which remained till date. By God’s grace we three friends are still there.

There were stalls and carts outside the school. There was a crowd of mostly rich children there. We also used to enjoy this once or twice a month. Several varieties of snacks could be bought for a couple of paisa like Chhole, Dahi Bade, Aloo Tikki, Jalebi, Pantua, etc. Once when we were enjoying aloo chaat, we saw two classmates sitting on the culvert a short distance away and secretly eating Roti (flat bread or chapatti) with onion and chili.

We got admission in a government school in seventh class. The most interesting thing was its tiffin management. The school band started playing minutes before the tiffin bell rang. Synchronising with the beats of the band, stout confectioner, carrying a big tin box on their head, would come out from the canteen 300 meters away. When the bell rang and the band stopped, the confectioner and the class monitor used to place a plate of refreshments each on the students' desks. Menus were fixed for each day of the week. Sweets like Barfi, Jalebi, Bundiya, Pua, Balushahi etc. for two days. Nimki, gathiai, kachori or mathri for two days. For the remaining two days, perhaps on Tuesday and Saturday, fruits like banana, apple, pear or guava. The quantity used to sufficing to satisfy the hunger. We did not like Nimki and Gathia that much. But there was no dearth of admirers. We used to walk on the roof of the school. The sky was full of eagles and crows. They somehow smelled or had inkling of nimki days. We used to toss the snacks as high as possible. The birds seldom missed. They even dived down to catch falling snacks. Some boys dared to show snacks for attracting birds. In the process, a few used to get scratches in hands.

Not all students played this game, especially the senior students. Once I looked down from the roof. Every day these senior students used to go to school backyard with some portion of tiffin in their hands. An old man with a very bent back and a long beard waited with a bowl with two children. Everyone used to put some part of their tiffin in his bowl. We also started doing the same.

That old man was a school peon 15 years ago. After retirement, he somehow managed to survive with a pension of Rupees four only. After the untimely death of their son and daughter-in-law, both the grandsons started living with their aging grandfather. The increasing inflation has bent the back of the old man. Once on a holiday, while returning from cricket practice, my elder brother and his classmates saw those children picking and eating from the garbage. At that very moment they took a decision. They started delivering packets of rice and pulses from their homes every week. This process continued even after we left school.

My tiffin's journey wasn't just about food; it was a tapestry woven with love, friendship, and social awareness. It taught me the joy of sharing, the comfort of simple meals, and the importance of reaching out to those less fortunate. Even today, the memory of grandma's laddus and rooftop eagle shows lingers, reminding me of the lessons hidden within a humble tiffin box.