This year, on my sixty-fifth
birth day, I got a gift from an aunt of mine. It was a pleasant surprise as she
never gave any gift to anyone. Even as people started speculating over the
content of the nicely wrapped small box, my daughter with no patience to wait
opened the box with great excitement and I saw her and other members in the
family crest fallen in unison. Probably they expected a mobile phone, a wrist
watch or a pen, from the size of the box. I grew anxious and tried to peep over
the shoulders of the people still standing dejected before the unwelcome
box that had deflated their spirits on an auspicious day. But at the sight of
the contents, I pinched myself to convince myself that I was not dreaming. I wanted to
shout, “Binaca”. But I was so overwhelmed that no sound came out. I felt
dumbfounded. I had lost the same box with the same contents almost six decades
ago. Seeing my joy going through the roof, my aunt was a relieved person as by
then someone had told her politely that during these pandemic days she should
not have taken the trouble of travelling such a long distance with such a
precious gift! After all she was educated enough and intelligent enough to
understand such nuanced semantics. But to me the gift was precious indeed. As a
small kid I had been to her place with my parents and while returning had
forgotten to take the box which I always carried with me. A few weeks later she
saw this abandoned box and seeing the contents was about to throw it away. But
for some reason she kept in her cupboard and forgot about it. Years later,
recently during one of our telephonic talks I spoke so emotionally of that lost
box and she had a flash in her head. On searching, to her surprise, she could
locate the box waiting in her cupboard for about six decades and decided to
give it back to me and thought that my birthday was the best day for the same.
As kids we all wanted parents to buy only one brand of toothpaste, the “Binaca”. Along with every tube there was a miniature elephant, kangaroo, deer, monkey, giraffe etc. made of plastic, surely to lure the children. By the time I was six I had a fairly big collection of these. I always carried the box containing all these with me like an invaluable treasure. It was this box that I lost so many years ago. The excitement of getting it back after decades was unbelievable to people around me but it was a big moment for me. I still fondly remember that deep yellow and green colour combination of the “Binaca” packing cover. As I grew up “Binaca” acquired another sweet spot in my mind in the form of music. The “Binaca Geetmaala” program of the radio Ceylon hosted by the iconic Ameen Sayani was eagerly awaited by many of us during our college days. That Wednesday 8 pm programme was the only source for listening to the latest Hindi film songs.
In the course of time, “Binaca” changed its name which was unacceptable to diehard fans like me. But then, we also got transformed from “Binaca Zoo” kids to “Binaca Geetmaala” youth and are now senior citizens. Yet, the excitement of seeing an old box of various miniature species of fauna in plastic? Or, as they say, is age just a number?
