Phuphee – Bhartiyanews24x7

23Apr

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Opinion

Column | Don’t squash that scream

A few months after my little boy turned three, we went to stay with Phuphee for a few weeks. He loved playing in her garden and we would go on all sorts of adventures in the apple orchard that sprawled behind the house. It was a wonderful time, or so it seemed until he would have a tantrum. It would start with something insignificant like him dropping a ball, and from there on it would snowball into hours of crying and screaming. What frustrated me most about the situation was that no matter what I tried, nothing would help or soothe him. Sometimes after hours of trying to distract him, I would begin to get frustrated with myself and end up scolding him. At times, it worked, and while I was grateful that it did, something about the way it ended didn’t feel right. But, I knew of no other w...

Column | Gulkand ice cream and ambition

I had just finished my first year at medical school, and was visiting Phuphee for the summer holidays. The days were hot but a constant breeze made the heat tolerable, even pleasurable at times. One such hot, breezy afternoon, an elderly gentleman and his wife arrived. When it was hot, Phuphee usually made ice cream. She would put together all sorts of flavours, depending on her mood and on what the wind told her to expect — in terms of the people who would come seeking guidance. Early that morning, I had helped her churn cream for the gulkand ice cream she was making. We were sitting in the garden, under the shade of a giant chinar tree, when the couple walked in. She greeted them and asked what had brought them to see her.‘We are a little embarrassed by what we have come to seek help for...

Column | Phuphee serves some lemonade

One balmy July afternoon, a few weeks before I got married, two families from the village arrived at Phuphee’s house. We were sitting on the verandah, tumbling in and out of a light sleep after a heavy lunch of riste te paalak (meatballs with spinach) when we saw them walking towards us. The families were in laws. ‘Aaaze paizihaa aesyii zamdoad batte khyoan [we should have had yoghurt and rice for lunch today],’ Phuphee whispered, as both clans got closer to us. The boy’s father was striding in front. He greeted Phuphee and launched into a barrage of accusations about how modernisation had reached the heart of the village and sown its devilish seeds in every home. Phuphee raised her hand and he was forced to stop mid-sentence. She pointed to the young woman in the group, and asked her to c...