Just One Peppermint

My grandmother’s brother was a cute old man. Balu Mama as he was known was full of life and wit and used to visit us at least twice a week. He loved his sister and made it a point to visit her whenever he was in the area. He never came home empty-handed. He always had a packet of peppermints or orange candy for us.

As he entered he would ask my mother where we were and call out our names. He would then fish out the peppermints from his bright yellow bag and give us just one peppermint each. He would then give the rest to my mother and ask her to give it to us later on. On the days he didn’t bring the said candy, he would ask my mother’s permission to take me to the small petty shop at the end of the road, run by an old man we called ‘Mittai Thatha’. He would then ask me to choose either peppermint or orange candy.

Mittai Thatha and Balu Mama would make small talk while I picked my candy and we would head home. This continued till the day we lived in that area. We moved to our own house a few kilometers away and Balu Mama’s visits became few and far between. Having peppermints never felt the same. We missed Balu Mama’s visits.

Some days we used to get peppermints from the local grocery store, just thinking of the old man.

The next year my grandma left to stay with our uncle in Chennai and Mama’s visits stopped altogether. We visited his son’s house once in a while and enjoyed our visits there. Even during this time, he never forgot to give us peppermints. He would ask his wife, son or daughter-in-law to get the peppermints, which he would then dole out to us.

Old age crept up on him. He became too weak to travel out all by himself. He visited once or twice with his son and slowly the visits stopped. I was in the final year of school when he died. We had seen him a couple of months earlier, but did not anticipate his death.

Whenever someone brings chocolates or biscuits for the kids my mind wanders to those days when the old man doled out peppermint. I feel so much has changed in the way we gifted. We get the gift but mechanically give it to the kids, who, equally uninterested (as they know it is going to be chocolate), get the package put it in the fridge and go on their way. There is no small talk of any kind. If we object, the visiting friend or relative shushes us by saying ‘Kids will be kids, let them be.’

This is when I become wistful and think of Balu Mama. I do not remember having long conversations with him. I wonder how just one peppermint could cheer us so much when entire bars of chocolates do not cheer these kids now and can only bring out a hurried ‘thank you’, said with much discomfiture. I even know of some kids in their teens who just sit and fiddle with their phones and give a disinterested answer when the visitor tries to make small talk.

Long after the visitors are gone, the chocolate gets devoured without knowing who has given it to them. The old man is long gone, but he did leave us something precious to behold. In his own way he had taught us the act of giving with a smile. This was one human being who won our hearts with just a few kind words, a smile and a single peppermint.