I remember standing at the gate of our housing complex watching for my father to come home from work, later than his usual. I recollect the tension of it… giving in to the utter relief of seeing the familiar light of his bicycle appear at the end of the dark road beyond. I was then about the same age as Jhupli. The fact that I recall it at 68 testifies to the power of this picture book, delightful and evocative.
Jhupli belongs to the Sunderbans, and her father goes out into the forests every other day to collect honey from the forests. It is his occupation, necessary to feed his family and send his children to school, even Jhupli, a girl child. As depicted in a two-page illustration, when home, he breaks off a tiny bit from a honeycomb he had brought and gives it to Jhupli. For my father, who would have been 100 next year, it used to be roadside masala-muri, damp by his delay.
October 2023, volume 47, No 10