Sugar-coated Biscuits
and Lessons from Life
B A B I TA B A R UA H
Sugar-coated Biscuits
and Lessons from Life
B A B I TA B A R UA H
First Published by Great Latitude Media Private Limited 2018
Copyright © Babita Baruah 2018
All Rights Reserved.
ISBN 978-1-946869-51-7
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or
used in any manner whatsoever without the express written
permission of the publisher except for the use of brief
quotations in a book review.
Typeset in Garamond Premier Pro.
Printed in India
First Printing, 2018
Great Latitude Media Private Limited
08 The Peach Tree, C Block Sushant Lok 1
Gurgaon, HR 122002, India
www.GreatLatitude.com
B A B I TA B A RUA H 2 Sugar-coated Biscuits and Lessons from Life
CONTENTS
Foreword 4
The Call 5
The White Dettol 7
The Dance Teacher 9
The Milkmaid 13
The Divan 16
The Goddess of Learning 19
The Stage 22
The Mutton Curry 25
The Home 27
The Key Bunch 29
The Sugar-coated Biscuits 31
About the Author 35
l
B A B I TA B A RUA H 3 Sugar-coated Biscuits and Lessons from Life
For Bobo & Joya
I REMEMBER living two lives as a child. One, the real world.
The other, and the one I loved, was the world of imaginary
friends, fairies, characters from my favourite books. It is in this
world that I liked spending more time. I still like to imagine
that such a world exists.
B A B I TA B A RUA H 4 Sugar-coated Biscuits and Lessons from Life
The Call
I REMEMBER the long distance calls back then.
When Maa would “book a trunk call”.
The trunk calls were booked mostly for breaking news.
Usually bad. Sometimes good.
There was a sense of emergency when such calls were booked.
One of us had to guard the phone and holler if it rang.
Once the call was connected, the person would start off with a
shout if not a yell.
HELLLLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Immediately breaking into the news delivery, almost akin to the
way brands deliver the statutory warning message on audio.
B A B I TA B A RUA H 5 Sugar-coated Biscuits and Lessons from Life
The high decibel voice was maintained — repeating meant
more time and more money.
An audible sigh of relief would be heard around the room once
the call was over.
No question of calling to just say a hi.
Or wonder what’s for breakfast.
Or whether the aunt has visited the jeweller’s place before the
wedding season.
Or simply a call to say “I am missing you”.
We have the power to do that today.
To express what we feel in just a dial.
To say what we want to in a split second.
Wonder if we do that.
Or maybe we still call our family only on Sunday evenings.
For a quick call to check on them.
B A B I TA B A RUA H 6 Sugar-coated Biscuits and Lessons from Life
The White Dettol
I GREW UP thinking Dettol was white.
And shampoos needed to be mixed in half a mug of water.
And skirts had to be unhemmed as you grew taller.
And text books were hand me downs.
And Cadbury’s Dairy Milk was a thrice a year treat.
No, we were not poor.
Yes, my parents doted on me.
But this was what the great Indian middle class was about in
those days.
Working men had huge liabilities.
Mostly single income households, most men were responsible
for getting their sisters and brothers educated and married.
Money orders to parents every month was a must, they were
not on pension plans.
Maa was an expert at making things last.
B A B I TA B A RUA H 7 Sugar-coated Biscuits and Lessons from Life
Whether it was our skirts, or textbooks, or every bit of a
vegetable being used up deliciously.
Or changing the straps of the Hawaii chappals till they could be
used no more.
We were conditioned never to ask for expensive things
We were content with what we were given
If we weren’t, there was no choice anyways.
Later on in life, I realised that Dettol was not white.
My father would dilute the Dettol in an empty bottle as he used
it after his shaves regularly.
And that we could shampoo straight out of the bottle.
Today, things are far better for all of us.
But as a communications professional, I realise that there is a
big intangible attached to every purchase, every brand.
Only the brands that feel this pulse can earn the trust and love.
B A B I TA B A RUA H 8 Sugar-coated Biscuits and Lessons from Life
The Dance Teacher
HIS NAME was Sarbeswar.
The clearest memory I have of him is him wheeling his black
cycle up the hill into our driveway in Digboi.
The winding lanes had been made for cars or hardy walkers and
was not cycle friendly at all.
Which meant that Sarbeswar Sir, as we called him, had to really
put in a lot of effort on that long climb uphill.
Sir would lean his cycle against the wall and walk up.
Maa would shout out — “Sir is here”.
Her loud voice streamed through the walls and doorways into
B A B I TA B A RUA H 9 Sugar-coated Biscuits and Lessons from Life
our room, where I would usually be buried in my favourite
book.
I wasn’t happy. Sir used to come on Friday afternoons, which
meant I missed my swimming in summer and playing with my
friends in winter.
But Maa wouldn’t ever take a no from me.
She was convinced that I had to be an all-rounder.
And classical dance ticked the right box.
Both from talent as well as performance opportunities.
So I had to drop my book, wear my ghungroos and jingle my
way into the guest room where Sarbeswar Sir would be gulping
down a glass of water.
He had long hair, which fell in locks up to his shoulders.
One nail , the ring finger one , was exceptionally long.
He usually wore the same off white half sleeve shirt and a pair
of black well-worn trousers.
Sir stayed in the Naamghar (Assamese place of community
worship) in Shantipara, Digboi.
He was trained in one of the Satras of Assam. The Vaishnavite
monastries that are the centre of dharma and culture. As a
Satriya dancer. The traditional Assamese classical dance.
His lodging and meals were taken care of by the Naamghar
committee. But these lessons earned him his livelihood. He
charged three hundred rupees for coming home and teaching
me how to dance.
And I danced.
B A B I TA B A RUA H 10 Sugar-coated Biscuits and Lessons from Life
Sir would teach me the steps — difficult ones — the hallmark
of all classical dances where hand gestures, eye movements, the
body and legs move in unison to paint a story.
Then he would sit on a chair and play the khol — an Assamese
drum, singing along as I swayed and moved and turned and
stopped, breathless.
After the class, he would gratefully sip the cup of tea and bite
into the sandwich or biscuits served to him on a tray.
And I performed.
Maa ensured I was there on every stage that was set up in the oil
town.
Always to a loud applause.
Sir would be in the wings, playing his khol in front of a
microphone.
And his melodious voice would move my legs and my soul.
I learnt the power of expression.
The art of connecting with the audience.
Never to worry even if I missed a step.
To let go of all my fears.
To love what I did.
And to say a prayer of thanks before the curtains went up.
We moved.
Lost touch with Sir.
Heard later that he had given up his Naamghar responsibilities
and taken up a job as a clerk in the oil refinery.
Gave up dance classes.
Dancing.
B A B I TA B A RUA H 11 Sugar-coated Biscuits and Lessons from Life
It was not enough to give him his daily bread.
I realise today how much I owe what I am to Sarbeswar Sir.
He taught me that the spotlight and stage was never to be taken
for granted.
It was a blessing. And I had to respect it.
I still do.
For Life is just a stage with spotlight moments.
B A B I TA B A RUA H 12 Sugar-coated Biscuits and Lessons from Life
The Milkmaid
ONE OF THE THINGS that we used to love as children was
the tin of Nestle’s Milkmaid Condensed Milk.
Maa had a ritual around it. Must have been a combination of
economy, recycling and small treats for her family all rolled into
one.
So the Milkmaid would rest on our kitchen counter and Maa
would make two small gashes. Small is operative here because it
was about controlling the flow. The gashes were made parallelly
to let in air and help the flow. Kitchen physics.
B A B I TA B A RUA H 13 Sugar-coated Biscuits and Lessons from Life
The tin was then placed on a saucer of water which soon had
hapless and ambitious ants floating in their watery grave.
Maa was clear. Milkmaid was for making her amazing cups
of tea. A concoction of fresh ginger, Assam tea and the thick
creamy milk. No sugar needed.
On Sundays she would make some rice pudding and the gashes
were made bigger with the kitchen knife being pounded with
the rolling pin.
But what gave my sister and me great joy was sneaking into the
kitchen, tilting the Milkmaid and gulping the milk directly
from the tin. The tin was held just above our open mouth and
we waited for the slow thick trickle.
Years went by and Milkmaid now had recipes printed on its
label.
Maa carefully cut them out and we had a Milkmaid recipe
book.
Don’t remember her baking so much but do remember the
recipes.
Without us realising it, one day the Milkmaid disappeared from
our lives.
Maybe we started having more of black tea.
Father had diabetes so no desserts or cakes.
B A B I TA B A RUA H 14 Sugar-coated Biscuits and Lessons from Life
And Life weaned us off Milkmaid.
This is how some brands connect with our lives.
Strong functionality.
Far stronger emotional connect.
A connect that remains far longer than the utility of the brand
itself.
B A B I TA B A RUA H 15 Sugar-coated Biscuits and Lessons from Life
The Divan
MOST OF US would have memories, even if misty or
cobwebby, of the divan occupying one side of our living room.
The divan was usually like a single bed, minus the head board
and footboard.
Two things set it apart from the regular beds.
One, it had cushions instead of pillows, arranged horizontally
along the wall which also served as a back rest. The cushions
were hand embroidered at times, often multi-coloured, and
placed diagonally, resting on one of the four square tips.
Two, it was part of the living room.
The divans served as home for many a cousin, brother in law,
brother, elder son.
Unexpected visitors would see the occupant scurry inside with
a pile of books, after a quick straightening of the divan cover.
B A B I TA B A RUA H 16 Sugar-coated Biscuits and Lessons from Life
Visitors hardly sat on the divan. It was reserved for the hosts.
Maybe guests in those days found it awkward to sit on a “bed”,
maybe it was also a part of our hospitality.
At night, most divans morphed into makeshift beds for the
additional family member who had a prolonged stay in the
house.
Like I said, a cousin in his final year at college.
A brother-in-law in his first job — looking for suitable
accommodation.
The elder son, who definitely had more privacy on this than the
big four poster.
Women hardly ever slept on divans — it was too public.
The morning help who swept and swabbed would show her
irritation at this humble wooden piece of furniture.
The occupant would usually be still lying down, fast asleep
while the rest of the family was awake.
She would have to manoeuvre her broom skillfully around Bata
Hawaiins, a cushion that got shoved off at night and was lying
on the floor, pick up the odd ballpoint pen that had rolled out
of the trousers thrown casually on the nearby stool, wash the
dregs of tea in the cup from the night before.
Divans had their use in social occasions as well.
In Assam, ‘it was covered with a glittering velvet spread
bedecked with marigold and rajnigandha, and served as a couch
for the bride and groom on their “reception” evening.
The wedding gifts would be stacked on one corner of the divan,
carefully guarded by a young niece who was given the sole
responsibility of shipping them to safer confines inside with her
B A B I TA B A RUA H 17 Sugar-coated Biscuits and Lessons from Life
siblings.
Some of our lives are so like the divans.
Always useful. Always used.
Given a place of pride during the day. Abused when no one was
looking.
Be the first to be forsaken when good times mean better
opportunities.
Uncomplaining.
Accepting.
Yet basking in the morning sun rays everyday, making our living
rooms and lives brighter and warmer.
B A B I TA B A RUA H 18 Sugar-coated Biscuits and Lessons from Life
The Goddess of Learning
THE DAY WOULD START with me fumbling and
rambling around Maa’s Godrej steel almirah, pulling out saree
after saree, mekhela after mekhela. Mekhela is the Assamese
traditional wear.
Maa’s blouses had to be quickly altered around the arms by
Kamla didi, who helped us around the house.
Finally, after a gruelling hour of decision making and almost
driving Maa up the wall, I would take the final call.
Next hour was a flurry of shower, mad scurry for a matching
bindi and earrings, slipping on my highest heels so that I looked
tall, Maa pinning up the aanchal of the saree or mekhela chador.
And then, showered with compliments from Maa and the
neighbouring aunties, I would walk down the four floors of our
building and catch the bus to Cotton College.
Oh what a riot of colours. Everyone dressed in their best,
the gates lined with pillars of banana plants and woven with
auspicious mango leaves, blarring music from loudspeakers
propped up on makeshift bamboo pillars.
And the beautifully decorated pandals with the Goddess of
Learning, Saraswati idol, pujari chanting the mantras.
B A B I TA B A RUA H 19 Sugar-coated Biscuits and Lessons from Life
We would then go pandal hopping.
Each Cotton College hostel would vie with each other for the
best puja pandal and celebration — the students would have
stayed up all night decorating, putting up lights, dancing in the
small vans while ushering the Goddess into the pandal from the
idol makers.
Professors and students
mingled as one.
Lunch would be
“khichri and labra
bhaji” — the Indian
rice and lentil risotto
with mixed vegetable
curry, in one of the
pandals and maybe in
more than one pandal.
Love and romance
dotted the air, with
romantic couples
sitting close together,
sharing a meal in
Feeds or Hotel Prag or
Sunflower, the local restaurants.
Droves of girlfriends would go for a stroll down Panbazar and
Fancy Bazar, the shopping streets.
It would be late evening when I reached home.
B A B I TA B A RUA H 20 Sugar-coated Biscuits and Lessons from Life
Maa would also be back from work around the same time — so
usually our puja at home was a quick lighting of the diya in our
regular puja corner in the kitchen and Maa, my sister and me
chanting , “Saraswati Saraswati, Konthe gulapi……”, the Puja
chant.
There would be vegetarian dinner that night — either puffed
flour patties or khichri and potato curry with assorted sweets.
As we retired for the night, I would revisit the day, the pujas,
the sarees, and wished that such days would continue in our
lives.
Days that brought all our friends together.
Celebrations we all revelled in.
Prayers which created an atmosphere so positive that there were
no foes or ill will that day.
It was a day that brought us all together.
B A B I TA B A RUA H 21 Sugar-coated Biscuits and Lessons from Life
The Stage
WAS LOOKING AT
Zoya all dressed up to do
her Krishna Gopi dance
in school today and was
flooded with memories.
Of my classical stage
performances — kathak,
shatriya nritya, bihu,
debate, extempore,
elocution... there was
no competition or show
where I wasn’t there.
Maa firmly believed that
I was talented and went
all out to put me in the
spotlight.
But no one knew what I
was going through. The agony,
the fear, the clammy hands. For I was a
victim of stage fright. Before every show
I would beg and plea asking Maa to spare
me. But next day I was up there in the
spotlight. And when the lights came on, I
B A B I TA B A RUA H 22 Sugar-coated Biscuits and Lessons from Life
would look at her, always in the wings, and begin.
Days merged into months that melted into years. I was all
grown up, working. But the performances continued and do
so even today. Every day we are performing. Whether it is in
our roles in life, or in our careers. Some are real performances
— like a client presentation, workshop, seminar or a business
pitch. Some are not so evident but still performances. In
everyday life.
Feels good to share some of the tips I taught myself for a good
performance. Before the show begins.
1. Practise. Practise. Practise. There are no shortcuts.
2. Spend a few minutes alone just before the performance.
3. Focus. There should be no other thoughts except the
performance.
4. Smile at others around you. Could be people in the
boardroom or the musicians or lightmen behind the stage.
5. Whisper a silent prayer, thanking God for the opportunity
and for the great audience out there.
6. And then, as the curtains swing back, take a deep breath, step
out with confidence knowing you are the best. And begin.
On stage, there is no room for deceit or pretences. Only the
honest can truly survive.
B A B I TA B A RUA H 23 Sugar-coated Biscuits and Lessons from Life
And before I end, like we are all performers, we are also
audiences. Let’s go all out and clap and cheer. For the biggest
reward a performer can receive when the curtains go down is
the resounding echo of applause.
B A B I TA B A RUA H 24 Sugar-coated Biscuits and Lessons from Life
The Mutton Curry
SUNDAY WAS MUTTON CURRY day for us when we
were young.
It was a ritual.
Kamla, the help, would chop onions and grind garlic and ginger
in rhythmic motions as she squatted and sweated over the stone
pestle and mortar.
The potatoes were peeled and sitting on the sink ledge, some
bits of skin still bravely clinging on.
Maa would call out to my father to hurry up.
Father would amble out of the shower, hair neatly combed
back, the plastic shopping bag in hand and car keys in the other.
He would walk past the garden and the chicken coop, shouting
out gentle instructions to the gardener, before we heard the
B A B I TA B A RUA H 25 Sugar-coated Biscuits and Lessons from Life
familiar start up rumble of the Amby.
Around one in the afternoon, the screaming pressure cooker
and the accompanying stream of aroma would announce that
afternoon lunch would be shortly ready.
That was a ritual that not only we, but most of the families we
knew followed.
It was not the mutton that made it special.
It was the family meal.
Unlike other days, father was there at home for lunch.
There was no rush, we could savour every bite and more
importantly, the conversation.
Maa would be relaxed and happy.
We would be playing.
The radio would be belting out our favourite songs.
That’s how the Sunday mutton curry brought many families
together.
Magic often lies in the little things around us.
B A B I TA B A RUA H 26 Sugar-coated Biscuits and Lessons from Life
The Home
1995. THE BEAUTIFUL WALLED WORLD of the Little
Sisters in Hyderabad. A home for the aged.
I walked in. More curious than anything else.
I was welcomed by experienced wrinkes and toothless smiles.
Where every face still had hope and every eye had the twinkle
of life. Where the Sisters worked selflessly to clean, care and
help the aged folk live life like they would have led back home.
Curiosity turned into an urge to be a part of it. I volunteered to
help them for the two weeks I was there.
I would spend my time talking to the ladies and the gentlemen.
Some were too old to walk around, so I sat next to them and
talked. Actually listened while they spoke. Maybe that’s what
they liked better.
B A B I TA B A RUA H 27 Sugar-coated Biscuits and Lessons from Life
Most of them showed me their albums. Of the times gone by.
Happy sons overseas with wives and families, grandchildren,
and beloved ones who are no more.
Lunchtimes were fun. The Sisters would serve hot steaming
rice, curry, dal and the people there would hand around their
own pickles, jams, preserves etc which their families would have
sent them occasionally. We all said a prayer of thanks together
before digging in. The Sisters would insist that I eat with them,
so I did. Those were the best meals I have ever had.
Finally it was time to say goodbye.
Some took it well. Some had tears. Some gave me small gifts —
a pair of knitted booties, a book, a pen. Some held my hands —
as if asking me to wait for another day.
As I stood in the Secunderabad station waiting to board for
Kolkata, my mind went back to the Little Sisters Home. And
then I felt a hand on my shoulder. Looked back — there was a
small group of men. My friends from the Home. My eyes welled
up with tears.
They handed me a newspaper wrapped parcel, saying it’s a little
something for my journey.
Once the train chugged its way out of the city, I opened the
parcel. It was a packet of hot samosas, with a small note. “Thank
you Babita. For your time with us.”
B A B I TA B A RUA H 28 Sugar-coated Biscuits and Lessons from Life
The Key Bunch
I GREW UP, like many little girls, seeing my Maa with a bunch
of keys adorning her waist.
This bunch of big, small, medium, wide and narrow toothed
keys would be tied to a handkerchief or, on occasions, to a nice
silver adornment and tucked in carefully into the saree waist.
In those times when women were still on a journey of
empowerment and freedom, this bunch of keys always gave her
a sense of control and power within the four walls of her home.
Most women back then, may not have completed school, but
managed the cash and the flows.
Their children knew how to cajole her into opening that safe
and handing out the pocket money.
B A B I TA B A RUA H 29 Sugar-coated Biscuits and Lessons from Life
The household help never dared to touch that bunch.
The younger women in the joint families waited patiently (and
sometimes impatiently) for their turn to own that bunch.
The handing over of the keys from generations was a ritual —
almost.
Tears, fears, words of wisdom accompanied the transfer of the
bunch from one waist to another.
After all, the hand that held the keys, had the power.
B A B I TA B A RUA H 30 Sugar-coated Biscuits and Lessons from Life
The Sugar-coated Biscuits
IN THE OIL TOWN of Digboi where my father worked and
we lived, the Assam Agitation impacted our lives in many ways.
My father was holed up in the oil refinery for days. My family
also joined some of the processions that drew even women and
children out of their homes.
One day, there was a curfew declared by the authorities. It took
a lot of families by surprise. Maa was worried. Everything in
Digboi was a ten minute drive away and she had not stocked
B A B I TA B A RUA H 31 Sugar-coated Biscuits and Lessons from Life
up the refrigerator or the kitchen shelves. I heard my father tell
her that he knew a small path through some wooded areas that
would lead to my uncle’s house. My uncle was a bachelor but
may have some flour, rice, pulses in his place. I also heard Maa
reproaching him with fear in her voice — being spotted in a
curfew could be fatal.
Next morning, my sister and I woke up to hear Maa singing
happily and waking us up. She then told us that she had a
special breakfast in mind and we should stay in bed. Father
was also around and we happily snuggled up against him. Maa
kept talking to us from the adjoining kitchen. About how
some treats make a day special. How a family that does things
together are the best families in the world. How “the English”
as she referred to people from the U.K, had breakfast on a tray
in bed.
Now, the word “English” was special for us as Digboi was an oil
town built by the British. The bungalows we lived in, the lawns,
the fruit trees, the chicken coops, the roads, the refinery that
employed the people in the township, the club we went to, the
convent school, were all a legacy we grew up in. That, coupled
with the Enid Blyton stories and our imagination, made this
seem very special for us.
We waited, already excited. Seeing Maa happy anyways made
me happy. Maa entered the room with a large wooden tray. It
had a teapot, four tea cups and we gasped. It was Maa’s wedding
gift and the only place we ever saw them in was the glass
showcase. She set the tray on the bed and father, my sister and
I formed a circle around the tray. We saw a bunch of freshly
B A B I TA B A RUA H 32 Sugar-coated Biscuits and Lessons from Life
picked flowers, a sugar bowl with sugar cubes — another treat
— and a butter dish. With a plate of sugar coated biscuits.
Maa poured hot tea in the tea cups we had never held before
and we reverently held them in our hands. She buttered the
sugar coated biscuits and we dug into them. We laughed, played
with the flowers, smiled at mother and father, listened to stories
of their childhood days.
It was the best breakfast of our lives. A moment I will always
remember.
Life took many turns. We lost our father. Moved towns.
Years later, Maa told me that the only food in our house on
that curfew day was a packet of sugar-coated biscuits. She was
worried sick that we would wonder why there was no food in
the house if she just shared the biscuits. She could not bear
to see fear in her children’s eyes. So she created that beautiful
breakfast moment for us. Painted a memory that kept us going
when we lost our father.
What in reality was a day we had nothing at home, was the best
breakfast day of our life.
Maa taught me what brand positioning is.
Whatever be the product or service, the perception we create
in the mind makes a brand. A powerful entity that commands
love, value and a premium.
Life teaches us marketing. It happens around us all the time.
B A B I TA B A RUA H 33 Sugar-coated Biscuits and Lessons from Life
We just need to see. And learn.
B A B I TA B A RUA H 34 Sugar-coated Biscuits and Lessons from Life
About the Author
BABITA BARUAH wears many hats, but the one she loves
most is learning from life. This collection of anecdotes is what
made her believe in the magic and miracles around us.
B A B I TA B A RUA H 35 Sugar-coated Biscuits and Lessons from Life
Sugar-coated Biscuits
and Lessons from Life
B A B I TA B A R UA H
