<B>Keya Sarkar:</B> The sacrosanct afternoon siesta

I can’t remember having felt it in all my years of working in 9-to-5 jobs. But ever since I came to Santiniketan the afternoon nap has become kind of sacrosanct. Probably because the afternoon siesta is not frowned upon here (as by industrious Gujaratis in Mumbai), but in fact, actively encouraged. Many an evening conversation starts with enquiries about the quality of the afternoon nap or, as the Bengalis say, “bhaat ghoom” (rice-induced sleep).

I remember when I was first initiated into this art of falling asleep right after lunch, I would bark at those who called mid-afternoon, typically, insurance sales staff or holiday resort pushers. I would reprimand them for calling people in the middle of the afternoon. Conveniently forgetting, of course, the number of people I must have harassed when I had targets to meet. But those were times when I had just left Mumbai and felt the need to stay connected at all times. Now thankfully the Birbhum (the district to which Santiniketan belongs) magic has worked on me and I am truly unconcerned about having my phone on silent mode for the better part of the afternoon.
 

Over the years, however, as everywhere else, the population of Santiniketan has seen a steady rise. Not only have many migrated from the neighbouring villages of Bengal, but also from the neighbouring state of Jharkhand. As a result, an increasing number of less privileged children come into our neighbourhood, which is characterised by large open spaces. While in the early hours, football and cricket is played in the vacant fields, in the afternoons, when the sun is scorching, many rounds of marbles are played in the shade of trees. Many an afternoon, therefore, when the kids are just outside our fence playing in the shade of a large mango tree in our garden, their shrieks and yells are detrimental to sleep.

However, telling myself that children will be children and it is uncharitable to be resentful of a little bit of joy in their otherwise miserable lives, I often ignored the shrieks and just turned over, even if woken up suddenly. But one day I had a bright idea and bought a big jar of toffees from my local grocer. So every time the kids got really noisy I would emerge from the bedroom into the garden and negotiate an exchange through the fence. I would say that when children were good and went home to rest in the afternoon they were given toffees. I must say the noise level went down in a higher proportion to the depletion of the toffee jar.

In our effort to be away from the summer heat of Santiniketan, we normally get away for a month. This time our base for the month happened to be in the Western Ghats. This gave us an opportunity to visit an ailing aunt in Pune. Once we were there, however, we decided to meet up with old friends and party and stayed on in Pune for a couple of days (although the temperature in Pune was almost catching up with what we had left behind).

On one such afternoon in Pune after a heavy meal at a friend’s place, we decided to take a nap. Only to be woken up by the familiar shrieks and yells. In an upmarket gated community for the privileged, suddenly I felt transported to Santiniketan. Of course, it was the summer holidays and the kids, many of them rather grown, were home. Thank God I don’t live here, I thought. In this day and age what could I possibly bribe privileged kids with?