Tinkling bangles bring back sweet memories
Ilook with a certain longing as he shifts the handle momentarily to transfer its weight from one limb to another. The colours shimmer and I’m transfixed by the beauty of so many colourful suns hanging precariously on the paraphernalia he’s carrying. The bangles dangle on the horizontal sticks mounted on a vertical bar he carries.
This fair, organised at a village near Hoshiarpur, attracts buyers and sellers from far and wide. The bangle seller must have been hopeful of a good sale. On days of the fair, all vehicles move at a snail’s pace as the area is thronged by a stream of people. The endless honking of vehicles around does not seem to dim their enthusiasm.
Little girls surround the bangle seller as they ask for vibrant colours, trying on the contraptions on their wrists. They giggle and touch the glitter embossed on some of the bangles. They shake their wrists to listen to the tinkling sound, letting out small bursts of laughter and surprise. I’m transported to childhood. The shrine of Gugga Pir in Nakodar was much revered and the annual fair was a huge affair. My brother and I were allowed an excursion to the fair and I would end up splurging my pocket money on bangles. The glass bangles lacked tenacity and would break at the slightest pressure. I would store the broken glass pieces in a wooden box as keepsake.
The little girls are joined by young women who appear to be their sisters or relatives. Their exuberance and shy glances towards the young men in the passing crowd make me smile. I’m reminded of my college years when we would doll up in traditional attire with the trendiest of bangles borrowed from each other. Glass bangles were out of fashion so there was no risk of breakage and wrists could be flaunted at will.
Some newlywed women joined the group. The red churra (bangles worn by a bride on her wedding day) that covered their slender arms is an indication of their newly acquired status. I was transported back a decade when I shopped for my trousseau with mother. For every salwar-suit that was part of the ensemble, I bought matching bangles.
After the jewellery was chosen, came the matriarchs of the family holding their purses under their armpits. There was some negotiation on the purchase but the bangle seller would not budge, reiterating the fixed price. His smile revealed his stained teeth and elicited giggles from the young and frowns from the elderly.
Back home, I was tempted to have a look at my collection of bangles that I rarely wear and have passed on to my daughter.
I’M REMINDED OF COLLEGE WHEN WE WOULD DOLL UP IN TRADITIONAL ATTIRE WITH THE TRENDIEST OF BANGLES
She has put them safely in a box called the bangle box. I spread the colourful adornments on the bed and tried some on my wrist, taking my daughter by surprise as she entered the room.
After a while, I put them back in the bangle box. Nostalgia of the years gone by gripped me as I looked at my wrist that sported a watch. I took out a few gold bangles and slipped them on, on the other hand. They felt smooth and their tinkling was music to the ears. I felt rejuvenated as if my childhood days, college years and the beginning of married life have all been woven in a single thread, a memoir of memories, which rests on my wrists now in the form of the sparkling bangles.