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Paanwallah’s exit

Paan sellers form close ties with their customs and their exit is naturally painful. Ghalib sometimes went for a paan…

Paanwallah’s exit

(Getty Images)

Paan sellers form close ties with their customs and their exit is naturally painful. Ghalib sometimes went for a paan without money but was never turned back. He did have a paandan at home but at the end of the month it was empty of the ingredients ~ paan leaves, betel nut, tobacco ~ and his wife, Umrao Begum, would ask him to get his daily quota from the bazaar. He was not disappointed, except, says gossip, when the paanwallah died.

Another poet, who could not make it to his favourite shop because of heavy rain in the evening, went to the neighbouring house of his old cousin and asked her for a homemade paan. "You’ll get it," said Hajjan Bua, "but first recite a couplet for me." Fazal Mian thought for a while and came out with this witty one, taking into account his Bua’s missing and loose teeth: "Daanth kehte hain pidi mein rehkar kitni hal-chal mein hain Allah re watan mein rehkar (The teeth say what hurly-burly state we live in oh God, even in our own habitat)".

Hajjan Bua was mighty pleased and made out a choice bida of folded paan for him, complete with Lucknaviflavoured tobacco Khimam.

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No wonder paan servers are a favoured lot. One such was Ram Lakhan Chaurasia of Harinagar Ghanta-ghar. A thickset man of about 55, he was all grace and courtesy. For some time he had gone to his East Uttar Pradesh village, where he was building a temple. It was then that tragedy struck. While riding pillion on a scooter he was struck from behind by a rashly-driven truck and died on the road. His family was shocked and so were his customers. Luckily, his sons continue to run the shop and exude courtesy to paaneaters and cigarette smokers in an unpoetic age. But softspoken Ram Lakhan is sorely missed.

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