R.I.P. the 'chowanni'

It was sad to read about the death of the 'chowanni'. At one time, many, many moons ago it was a much coveted item ...... came to us only on Saturday mornings. The 'chowanni' in the sixties bought me a bottle of Coca Cola (the 'asli' American stuff) and perhaps a toffee too. The Coke at that time was probably the most costly item on the 'chowanni' list. The indigenous "Jusla" or "Nimbula" cost 20 paise. Even in the '70s a 'banta' (in Delhi) would cost att anni .

A 'chowanni' got us a wooden top with a latti....... a great toy to show off ones skill in lattu khela.

In the rainy season with the gusty winds tugging at my wild unkempt hair, a 'chowanni' could fetch a few paper kites with some manja string. The joy of flying a kite from our roof top, with the wind tugging the kite high, high, high up in the sky was something nearly sublime. Hemant Jalan had once offered to do my school homework for the princely sum of a 'chowanni'. Unfortunately Dad got the wind of it, and the plan died a sudden death. When I was very, very young (in the Keyatala house), a copper paise with a hole in the centre got two gujias at the local mishtir dokan.

A few years later a 'chowanni' would take me to the school tuck-shop where a small bar of Cadbury's (white wrapper with purple logo) would cost 2 annas. That was the most expensive chocolate in our tuck-shop. Jujubes came for one anna for 10, and a biggish stick of barley sugar would cost the same. Lacto Bonbons and Morton's toffees would cost 5 paise for 10. The old man in front of the Rink cinema at Darjeeling would sell second hand Archie comics at 'chowanni' ........ this was the height of "contraband" in our school life.

Even as late as 1975, a soda-nimbu at North Campus would cost a 'chowanni' and 'char annar size' rosogolla was common in all mishtir dokan in Calcutta. In Etawa station a 'chowanni' could get us pua tak rabri. Plus the thrill of running after the Deluxe Mail with the rabri dripping from an indigenous leaf-plate. The sheer defiance of having a malai lassi in Banaras ( even after Ma had read the Riot Act on the consumption of street food) came at 'chowanni'. Just as much a 'chowanni' bought me strength and comfort in the cold December nights in Delhi in the form of samose aur malai chai.

The 'chowanni' could actually pay for a two-way bus fare from College in 1972 with 5 paise to spare, and when the bus fares went upto 15 paise, there were widespread protests in Calcutta. A 'chowanni' worth bus ride took me from Bhawanipur to Paikpara on the top deck of a No 33 bus, and brought me safely home with a return ticket. Those were great days!

It is a pity that the 'chowanni' died away in the great path of economic advancement. With it died a large part of my childhood.