Lemon Tea and Lost Biscuits by Dr Goutam Bhattacharyya
Ramesh still lived in his family’s old house in Gangarampur of Dakshin Dinajpur district in West Bengal, where the bamboo groves bent low in every season, and neighbours remembered everyone’s childhood. His parents had named him with affection, though his grandmother insisted that real fortune would arrive only with a good wife. Ramesh laughed kindly at that thought.
He had always loved books, but the teacher’s job he dreamed of slipped through his hands; someone else had bought it with money he didn’t have. So he settled into tutoring children in their living rooms, cycling through narrow lanes, carrying a rusted bag and a quiet hope that life would someday surprise him.
He once told a friend, with a mischievous smile, “These people don’t offer tiffin, you know. They offer just tea and biscuits, not even every day. So, I tried something new.”
That day, Ramesh arrived late at a student’s home. He slipped off his sandals by the door and began his little story. “Before coming here, I went to three other houses. They feed me so much, I can barely breathe. Today, one family insisted on mouth-watering biryani. If I didn’t eat, they would have cried. That’s why I’m late. Good thing you only give tea, otherwise I’d collapse.”
The boy laughed and hurried inside when his mother called. Ramesh wiped his forehead dramatically, proud of his harmless lie. In his heart, he started counting backwards, like a magician waiting for applause, ten, nine, eight… surely, a cup of milky tea and those two precious biscuits would appear.
Instead, the boy returned holding a cup of lemon tea, pale and steaming. He placed it gently on the table. “Ma says too much junk food is not at all good for health,” he announced. “She told me that from today, no more milk tea. Only lemon tea, with black salt.”
Ramesh stared at the cup. Beyond it lay a sudden emptiness where two biscuits used to live.
Outside, the afternoon sun draped the narrow lane in gold. Children’s voices floated in through the open window, bright and untroubled. With a heavy heart, Ramesh took a sip, winced at the sourness, and smiled anyway. Life, he thought, had its own wicked humour.
His friend liked the straightforwardness and the sense of humour of Ramesh. He too smiled with a wink in his eyes.
He closed his notebook, listened to the rustling trees in the courtyard, and felt strangely comforted. In Gangarampur, nothing grand ever happened. Yet each day, there were small stories, some sour, some sweet, all worth keeping.
Dr Goutam Bhattacharyya is a researcher, teacher, poet and writer based in Ahmedabad, passionate about capturing the essence of Indian culture & everyday life through his creative writings. He started his career as Resource-Teacher of Bhutan in 1990. His creative writings are published in different Anthology books and magazines, the latest being a short story, ‘A Rare Reunion’, published in ‘Kitaab’ a Singapore-based South Asian literary magazine having excellent literary quotient.
facebook.com/goutam.bhattacharyya
Sketch courtesy of Dr Goutam Bhattacharyya
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Even a white lie can travel places with unexpected endings. I saw kindness and care. We Indians need to learn more about it. Ramesh and the reader (me) learned something of value which is lemon tea…always needs black salt. Good one…