The plays and ploys of paandaans

Amtul Jamil
tells the story of one of South Asia’s most enigmatic creations

On a recent visit to my favorite antiques store, a small, reddish, metallic paandaan caught my fancy. I bought it; and at home, on my mantelpiece, the sight of it set my imagination aflame: who had owned it? How had she spent her days? What gossip was shared when women congregated around the paandaan?

This little artifact, at one level no more than a simple box for holding betel leaves, had come to embody for me the mystery of a lost era.

The paan is eaten all over South Asia. And India is by far the largest consumer and grower of the betel: in Hyderabad and Lucknow, the two nawabi cities, paan-chewing attained a hallowed status. Not bothered to earn a living, the nawabs and begums of these lands kept themselves busy by maintaing an elaborate lifestyle in which decorum, or how one did something, was just as important as why one did it.

Paan was just one of those things that became associated with this Indian Muslim aristocracy: its preparation was an art form in the two seats of learning and culture in British India, i.e. Uttar Pradesh (UP) in the North and Hyderabad Deccan in the South. From these places emerged two major types of paandaan: in the North and UP the paandaanwas dome-shaped and decorated with gota or golden braid. In the South the Hyderabadi paandaan was a rectangular casket with intricate filigree of gold and silver.

The Mughal emperors too indulged in the practice of eating paan, and a paandaan became a ceremonial gift for ambassadors and nobles. (A gold paandaan was presented to the Prince of Wales by the Maharaja of Mysore.) At court the paandaan was never displayed; a ready-to-eat-paan was prepared in the zenana or women’s quarter and served to the courtiers. The nawab begums went to great pains to teach the ladies of the harem and the ladies-in-waiting how to make the perfect paan.

Distinguished guests of the nawabs were offered a paan from the royal household. Both British and Indian dignitaries enjoyed the paan along with the special cuisine and wines associated with the court. The paans were served between and after meals because the condiments in them gave the guest a very sweet breath. The addition of tobacco gave the consumer a bit of a high and created in him an addictive craving for a paan.

Paandaan culture was a way of life, with many rituals sprouting around the little box that stored the betel leaf and its condiments. The rich of Lucknow were extremely sophisticated, and the special condiments used by the lady of the house were of high quality and painstakingly prepared. The ladies of Lucknow were fond of telling themselves that their paans matched the grandeur and highbrow culture of their State.

These begums were ever mindful of the art of coquetry and the needs of their husbands; their conversation, their dress and jewels, their commitment to raising well-mannered children and teaching their daughters how to be good wives when they went to their husbands’ homes, it constituted the reservoir of their pride. This is how they did it: the paan leaves were wrapped in a moist red cloth called ‘tool’ and stored inside the paandaan, which had several containers with lids for storing betel nuts, cardamom, and tobacco leaves; a smaller container in the centre usually contained the qiwaam, which is a mixture of tobacco, saffron and sweet-smelling ingredients. Paan-lovers are fond of saying that if you have not eaten a qiwaami paan you have missed out on one of the best things this world has to offer!

On weddings and family occasions paan preparation was a major preoccupation. Kilos of betel nut were cut and browned on a hot plate to make them extra-crisp. The cutting of betel occasioned much discussion, for the size of the betel nut had to be determined as well as what type of sarota or betel cutter would be used. Girls were taught how to cut each betel piece the same size. If a girl cut big pieces she was considered clumsy. Indeed, how one held the sarota and how one cut with it was examined minutely by the elder ladies of the household.

It is unsurprising, then, to find that a paandaan was an essential item of a girl’s trousseau in UP, Lucknow and Hyderabad. Interestingly, the sarota was excluded from the trousseau paandaan as it was considered a bad omen to carry a cutting instrument (a sarota or a knife or a pair of scissors) to the husband’s home! So to make things easier the bride would collect the sarota on her first visit to her parent’s house after the wedding.

When daughters were married off, an allowance for the keeping of the paandaan, or the kharch-e-paandaan, as it was called, was negotiated and put in the nikahnama. The subject of the betel box expense elicited some hard-nosed bargaining on the occasion of a marriage – it was an izzat ka sawal !(The paan allowance of my friend’s mother, for example, was settled at 500 rupees in 1936!) The higher the kharch-e-paandaan, the more it added to the prestige of the lady of the house.

Some other plays and ploys of paans: invitations for weddings carried a little pouch containing paan, betel nuts and cardamom; the news of a birth in the family was conveyed with a paan and a clove; and the blessing “May your paandaan never be empty!” was showered on loved ones.

Now a large takht or wooden seat was a central place in every noble’s house. Visitors sat on the takht or around it on chairs. A friend recalled that her uncle upon visiting would always request his sister to “inayat” or ‘bestow’ on him a paan made by her own hands. Her mother would pull the paandaan close, make a paan, fold it and hand it to him. He would touch his forehead and say “aadaab”. This was to confirm that he had been honoured by the lady of the house. After savouring the paan, this man would exclaim that the paan made by the lady’s hands had more flavor than any other paan he had ever eaten.

On Eid the children looked forward to collecting their Eidi or pocket money along with a paan made to their taste (children were allowed paans only on special occasions) and a ball of cotton wool sprinkled with attar which they stuck behind their ears before they sallied forth on their round of salaams. The nawab families offered traditional Eid vermicelli and paans wrapped in gold waraq or leaf to the master and lady of the homes they visited.

A paandaan needed a series of accessory utensils. For instance, the washed betel leaves were stored in the nagardaan, a silver box with a cover in the shape of a leaf that was placed next to the paandaan. Then there was the khaasdaan, a dome-shaped receptacle for keeping freshly made paans. (At a friend’s house, a stuffed black bear with outstretched paws stood holding a khaasdaan to welcome guests with a paan!) And then there was the ugaldaan or spittoon. Abhorred by some, it was a big jug of silver or brass. It was heavy so as not to fall over and spill its contents! After eating a paan with tobacco the first ‘peek’ or stream of spittle had to be discharged. Servants and maids brought forth the spittoons and were always waiting for a signal from their master or mistress that they needed to spit. The well-bred very carefully placed a hand over their mouths and spat so as not to dirty the sides of the spittoon. Throwing the ‘peek’ was an art form; it helped you to not disgust people!

And that was because how you ate, chewed or spat a paan showed your class. (It is said that Princees Durre Shehwar of Hyderabad Deccan had such a fine skin that when she swallowed her ‘peek’ one could see it pass through her gullet!)

When traveling, the nawabs carried a dibiya or small box of silver or gold which had a tray for prepared paans and a compartment for the betel nut, with two slots for cardamom seeds and saffron tobacco. The ladies of the house too kept a dibiya and on their visiting rounds a maidservant who walked behind the mistress carried her dibya-box.

A kasna or round bag stored betel nuts and a cutter. When a maid was free the kasna-bag was handed to her. She would busy herself with cutting the betel and then pull the string together to close it when she had other work to attend to.

Finally, a silver dagger-shaped toothpick on a chain was worn as an ornament by many wealthy paan-eaters.

The kotha or courtesan culture was intertwined with the elite cultures of Delhi, the South and Oudh. And so the paandaans at the kothas were ornate, polished to perfection, and strategically placed in the drawing room. Upon entering the kotha a gentleman visitor was served a paan. While presenting a paan, eye contact was made by the presentress, and the first level of seduction between herself and the client was established. Sometimes the courtesan in question served this ‘prey’ paan by placing it with her own hands in the nawab’s mouth. And on other occasions she even went as far as to teasingly put half of it in his mouth and the other half in her own!

It is said of a young nawab that a courtesan prepared him a paan so full of flavour and taste that he gave up the comforts of his home and spent the rest of his days at her doorstep. Another was accused of preparing her katha-mixture with opium; her nobles became addicted to the high and visited her kotha again and again. The ladies they left at home came to believe that the courtesans put spells in the silver-leafed cardamom to ensnare their sons and husbands.

But all that is a part of the long-lost past. Today paan-eating is maligned not only by hapless neglected housewives by the mainstream culture itself. This is because it is considered a health hazard and has come to be associated with the addictions of the poor. (How ironic that it was once the symbol of their elite oppressors!)

Still, there are benefits to eating a paan that ought to be mentioned.

Paan-eaters don’t generally suffer from heart disease. This is because the leaf contains a good amount of vitamin B complex. Paan also prevents the user from overeating, and chewing the betel nut makes his teeth strong. The chuna or lime in a paan is a source of calcium, and the katha gives an attractive red coloring to lips. Finally, and funnily, you have to grant that a person who eats a paan, whatever other maladies he comes to possess, will never suffer from bad breath.

But these are the benefits of paan. What about the paandaan? Well, the truth is that paans have, like other delicacies of the medieval world, become commodities that are readily available in markets. Today you buy your paan from a paan-wala at a paan-stall or shop. So while paans are still alive, their once-glorious keepers have become redundant, and are these days passed on from one family member to another, usually in the form of a relic or memento, something to remind you of your ancestors’ misty past.

Amtul Jamil lives in Lahore

March 4-10, 2011 - Vol. XXII, No. 03