When my parents picked Shimla for the annual getaway in the summer of 2003, they must have taken into the account the delights of a roomy mountain retreat, the super-market like the satisfaction of squeezing in some free Delhi city tour on the side, and just the hint of the rebellion of a Bangali holiday venturing beyond Digha-Puri-Darjeeling. What they did not consider was the de-valuation of Posto (poppy seeds) up north and its effects on fellow travelers.
We were travelling with one other family; Jyoti Uncle is my father’s childhood friend settled in Delhi owing to his work. We persuaded his mother (Thamma) to also join us on the trip along with his wife and daughter and stuffed ourselves in the back of a Travera one morning and set off. We were lucky to have found a Himachali driver (Bahadur) drive us which eased our local movement as well. It was pleasantly cold in Shimla as the locals barely needed a sweater, if you know Bangalis, we had packed our entire winter wardrobe, from monkey caps to innumerable thermal layers. Jyoti Uncle had diligently booked a cozy stay with neat washrooms and linens – a rare finding during peak seasons in the early 2000s. This experience would have gone down memory lane with barely any significance, but for what happened next. We were served hot soup/milk to sip on during lunch and Thamma exclaimed, “O ma, Posto kothai?”, translating to Where is Posto for lunch? Before uncle could intervene, summon Bahadur she did. The incident was short-lived but ended on a delightful note with Thamma beaming with happiness as she ate hot rice with aloo-posto, while we were on the floor rolling with laughter. It wasn’t anything short of hilarious at the time, but the incident has, over years of re-telling at family gatherings come to be referred as the “posto incident” something of a dark Bangali joke.
Apart from the snow-capped peaks and alpine forests, all the states up north hold immense religious importance. Needless to say, Bahadur was beckoned one morning and Thamma made plans of visiting the most coveted Hidimba temple. The highlight of any story related to Thamma is her innocent attempt to manage and speak Hindi; not letting the inhibitions bog her down. Really who could have stopped Thamma from bewildering another pahadi waiter with her-sincere after meal request: Khabar ke baad Sandesh (sweet in Bengali and news in Hindi) leke anna”? to be fair, I would not stop her if we were to take a train to the Himalayas tomorrow and she decided to bamboozle her wonky Hindi on another gullible local.
Looking back at all our yearly trips, we were quite successfully marching on with blooper-full vacations. One knuckle freezing night in Sikkim in the month of December, my parents were pushed to do something they hesitate to do even now – offer me brandy. They had little choice after I pushed myself in a shiver. My brother had managed to get himself in a bigger soup when he decided to sleep off on the ride to Nathula pass. While we were all excited about the trip, my brother, then around seven, was most pumped about playing in the snow. AMS hit him real hard as we reached the pass and after a brief stay, had to hurry back down owing to his sickness. So, imagine the trust issues, when I loudly blabbed “clearly you won’t be able to travel to mountains” digs for the next decade, a remarkable source of power in any sibling relation, you’d agree.
These trips have empowered us with a lifetime full of memories to sift through, just as I would not stop my best-laid plans from running awry, I doubt my parents would either. It is the unintended, awkward ones that make us laugh together.