Author: Ramya Ram

‘Tea Kaapppiiii! Tea Kaapppiiii!’

‘Idli Vade, Idli Vade!’

Loud calls from vendors woke Selvi up. The sun had set, and their train had just entered Tirunelveli Junction.

‘We’ve reached, Appa!’ Selvi climbed down from the top berth she was sleeping in and joined her father at the window. Appa’s face lit up, and his eyes twinkled.

Selvi was eager to see her grandfather, whom she called ‘Thatha’. Thatha always brought murukku and other snacks from Tirunelveli whenever he came to visit them in Chennai. However, he hadn’t visited them for a whole year now, and therefore, for Selvi’s Pongal holidays, Appa had decided that they would visit Thatha.

‘Selvi, I’m here!’ Thatha said when he saw them.

‘Thatha! I’m so happy to see you,’ Selvi squealed and jumped into his arms.

Thatha embraced her and gave her a small newspaper parcel.

The parcel was warm. Selvi opened it eagerly to find another banana-leaf packet inside. A sweet smell came from the packet and tickled Selvi’s nostrils. She knew what was in it, and her mouth started watering.

‘Can I eat it here, Appa?’ she asked her father, who was getting down from the train with their luggage.

‘Not here, Selvi, it is dusty and crowded here. Wait till we get to the car,’ Appa replied.

‘But it will get cold!’ Selvi argued.

Appa was busy talking to Thatha. Selvi decided to open the banana-leaf packet, and there it was—warm, gooey, delicious Tirunelveli halwa! Thatha had bought it at a tiny shop called Iruttukadai that sold packets of their signature dark halwa through a window, for a few hours every evening. Thatha must have waited in the queue for at least 30 minutes to buy this packet for Selvi. The halwa was glistening with ghee and beckoned to Selvi. She put her hand into the torn banana leaf and tried to grab a handful of halwa. But the halwa was laden with ghee and had a slippery, flowy consistency. From under Selvi’s fingers, the entire blob of halwa slipped out and fell onto the railway station floor.

‘Oh no!’ Selvi yelped, attracting the attention of Thatha and Appa.

‘I told you not to open the packet here, Selvi. What a mess you have made! Now, passengers and coolies will trample on it. They might even slip on it and fall!’ Appa frowned.

A big tear rolled down Selvi’s cheek. She was more upset about losing her halwa than the inconvenience that Appa was talking about.

‘It’s okay, Selvi,’ said Thatha and picked the halwa off the station floor with a page from the magazine he was carrying. Thatha always bought a magazine at the station bookstore when he came to drop off or pick Selvi up. He dropped the halwa into the dustbin and said, ‘We can buy some more tomorrow!’

‘But the halwa shop opens only in the evening,’ Selvi wailed, referring to the only shop that had been making and selling the halwa for generations.

‘So, then, you will get it tomorrow evening!’ Appa said.

Soon, they reached home, where Selvi’s grandmother had made paniyarams for them. Selvi narrated all the happenings at the railway station to her grandmother. She then indulged in the hot paniyarams and mango-coconut chutney and forgot all about the halwa.

The next afternoon, Selvi went to the market with Thatha to buy all the necessary ingredients for their Pongal celebrations.

‘Moong paruppu, rice, cow-dung cakes, marigold torans . . .,’ Selvi checked against her list. ‘Oh, Thatha! We forgot the jaggery,’ she called out from the car as Thatha put the groceries into the boot.

‘What kind of jaggery, Selvi?’ Thatha asked, wiping the sweat off his brow with a white handkerchief.

‘Karupatti jaggery, Thatha. Not factory jaggery!’ Selvi replied.

As she waited in the car for Thatha to bring the missing item, a familiar smell tickled her nose. It was the smell of ghee mixed with jaggery and … oh, it was the Iruttukadai halwa!

‘Thatha! I think the shop is open,’ Selvi told her Thatha when he came back, ‘Shall we buy some?’

‘Are you sure, Selvi? There must already be a long queue forming outside the shop,’ Thatha said.

‘I’m sure Thatha,’ Selvi said defiantly.

As he had predicted, the queue was rather long. Selvi and Thatha had to stand behind at least 50 to 60 people. The queue moved at a snail’s pace, and the smell of the halwa wasn’t making things easier for Selvi. Her legs began to hurt, and she asked Thatha to pick her up into his arms and carry her. After a while, her stomach began grumbling. Thatha heard it, as she was in his arms.

‘Selvi, I think we should go home. You are hungry.’

Selvi had to agree, and they left the queue, with Thatha promising that he would send their gardener to wait in the queue and buy some halwa the next evening.

The next day began early, with Thatha and Appa decorating the house with marigold flowers and mango leaves for the harvest festival of Pongal.

Selvi’s eyes widened with joy as her grandmother gave her a brand-new yellow long skirt and blouse set with a gold zari border.

‘You look like the sun itself!’ her grandmother, Paati, laughed as Selvi did a spin and puffed her skirt up after she wore the dress.

‘I hope the sun doesn’t mind, Paati!’ Selvi laughed and replied to her grandmother.

Paati drew the traditional Pongal rangoli of the sun in their front yard and decorated the area around the house with white rice rangolis.

Fresh pumpkins, turmeric plants, sugarcane sticks and bunches of paddy were placed as offerings to the sun.

Fire was kindled, and a painted clay pot of milk was placed on it. When the milk bubbled and boiled over, all of them held their hands close to their mouths and called out, ‘Pongalo Pongal…! Pongalo Pongal!’ There was a Pongal feast at the end of it, with four varieties of sweets. But Selvi could not get the halwa out of her mind and reminded Thatha about it.

That evening, Selvi waited patiently, but the gardener came back empty-handed, saying that the shop was closed for Pongal. The next day too, he came back without any halwa because the shop had sold out all its stock by the time it was his turn in the queue.

Selvi was heartbroken now. She was going back to Chennai the next day.

‘Don’t be upset, Selvi,’ Appa said, ‘We shall go to your favourite ice-cream shop in Chennai as soon as we get there.’

Selvi nodded, but her face was missing her usual smile.

The next day, Appa booked a cab to take them to the railway station. Selvi wondered where Thatha was, and Appa told her that he had some important work and would meet them at the station.

Selvi and her father reached the station and boarded the train. Selvi took a window seat and peered out, searching for Thatha. Her eyes swept through the crowd, looking for his unmistakable mop of white hair.

Soon enough, there was an announcement that their train was about to leave the station.

‘Oh no!’ Selvi thought, ‘I won’t be able to say goodbye to Thatha!’

The train gave a small jolt and began moving.

‘Sit back, Selvi,’ Appa touched her shoulder, smiling, ‘I’m afraid you’ll squeeze out through the grill!’

‘Thatha did not . . .,’ she began in a sad voice.

‘ . . . let you down!’ A voice came from outside.

‘Thatha!’ Selvi flung her hands out of the window to give her Thatha a hug.

Thatha was walking alongside the moving train and placed something into her outstretched hands.

‘Enjoy, Selvi! Make sure not to drop any of it. I had to wait in the queue for 45 minutes to get it for you!’ Thatha said and waved as the train began to gather speed.

Selvi drew her hands back in and looked at what Thatha had given her—six neat brown packets of dark halwa!

‘Thank you, Thatha!’ Selvi shouted from the window and heard him reply, ‘You’re welcome, my sweet child!’ as their train sped out of the station towards Chennai.