Doodh Do Do Biscuit - A Childhood Anecdote

She may have looked old and frail, but then looks can always be deceptive. Cause though time may have aged her, it could never age the immense strength she had within. She may have been small in stature, simple by nature, but was quite the formidable woman. After all she had raised her children and grandchildren and cared for the ones who were blessed to receive her love and care. 

Though we were not related by blood, I affectionately called her Nana (or grandmother in English, not to be confused with nana, or grandfather, in Marathi). A simple lady who always wore a traditional lugda (an East Indian Kashti, or navarri saree), who always loved the simple things in life.

Every morning she would open a packet of Parel G in a  bowl and pour milk into it, and then try to  mix the two together. The next step was getting hold of her grandson, a not so light toddler, tie a bib around his neck (where else would you tie it), carrying him across her hips, or on her lap, or any thing where she could try to feed him. This was her regular morning ritual, feeding doodh do do biscuit (as we used to, and still, call it) to her grandson.

I don’t think he was great fan of his doodh do do biscuit, and I could understand  why, as once attempted to taste it and it wasn’t quite good. This was evident from his constantly trying to escape from her, trying to move his face and wriggling his way out, dangerously bending over backwards, resulting in the doodh do do biscuits finding all but the right mark. And if by some mean that it did, it was spat right out, adding to the splattering on his bib and his clothes, all over his face, and some on her saree.

But she was formidable woman, and she would not give up. She ensured that he ate, even if it was little. She threatened him that the crow birdie would come and peck him and take away his doodh do do biscuit (I don’t think he would have mind this), or the boodha man (not to be confused with budha man) would come and take him away. And if he still didn’t eat, a whack he would get. 

But she was loving and kind towards him. And despite all his attempts to free himself, she would feed every morning like clockwork. She insisted that he have that  as it would make him nice and strong and she had fed his father that when he was little, and did the same for all her daughters, and she insisted that her grandson would do the same.

I observed this with great amusement and interest, often bemused at what transpired between grandmother and grandson and that bowl of doodh do do biscuit. This stayed with me long after nana passed away and her grandson’s all grown up and had a son of his own.

But every now and then I love to remind him how his nana used to feed him doodh do do biscuit and If he does the same to his son too, passing down the tradition.