Day 97. Wherever he goes, he brings back gifts. For the home and for everyone at home. One of the first times I met him was on such an occasion. He had just returned from a trip to Agra and I happened to be present as he unpacked, fishing out little tokens and souvenirs for everyone – a sari for his mother, a box of petha that was as sweet as the smiles on everyone’s faces on seeing the gifts he had brought. Little gifts, magnanimous thoughts. Umm, sometimes the gifts are large too. So large that we don’t know where to keep them and everyone ends up scolding him for not showing better judgement. But the heart rules in every buy of his… be it terracotta horses from Bankura or mishti from Burdwan. Just before my first Puja after marriage, he took me along to Pantaloons to buy me, his new sister-in-law, a kurta. It’s another story, of course, that the highlight of that shopping trip was his rather low estimate of his waist size and his big ambitions of fitting into sizes much too small even as the shop assistant first tried to correct him politely and then struggled hard to suppress a smile. For every occasion after that, every trip he has made, he has brought me and the others at home something. A sweater from England, another from Darjeeling and, most recently, this sari from Benares. My phone pinged and I saw an unread WhatsApp message. It was a photograph of a beautiful powder blue sari with intricate work in silver zari. I loved it the moment I saw it and then my phone rang and it was him calling to find out if I liked the sari. Yes, I said, before quickly adding that he shouldn’t spend so much buying saris for everyone but he cut me off. When he came a few days later, he was laden with gifts – a blue and black Benarasi for his wife, the powder blue one for me, glass bangles for both of us and identical saris (with only the colour of the threadwork different) for his mother, mother-in-law and my mother. I have never owned a Benarasi, much to my mother’s disappointment and sorrow. For my wedding, I had made it a point not to buy a Benarasi. It was in the peak of summer and I had wanted something light, something different, something I could go on wearing on other occasions. The shop assistant did show me a rather nice lightweight Benarasi in pink, but I had been quite adamant. Since then, my Ma has looked for many an occasion to buy me one but I always managed to dissuade, though I confess not very peacefully at all times. But when this arrived, I fell in love with it… the colour, the zari work. Embedded in the delicate designs is the story of a colourful city, a city I have never seen but I yearn to visit. But then again I have seen the city, through others’ eyes…I have seen the narrow galis through which Feulda, Topshe and Jatayu walked at night, I have seen the ghats where Maganlal Meghraj’s bajra arrived or where the crew would sail around in between shooting, I have soaked in the inherent excitement of the city with its myriad moods and moments. I have breathed the warmth of affection wrapped in the sari. Joy Baba Bubai! Jai Benares!