‘Mani‘, a  Bengali common noun which is generally referred to the maternal aunt. For me it is more than just a noun identifying my eldest maternal aunt, it meant a world beyond that.

It was a humid day in the summer of 1995. A phone-call 15 minutes back had just announced  the arrival of ‘Mani‘ at our house. Ecstatic and overjoyed, a smile remained etched on my face in anticipation. My mother shouted from the kitchen for me to go and have my bath. Usually such shouts required regular follow-ups at five minute intervals so that I do go for my bath on time. But today was a different day. In no time, I was in and out of the bathroom all ready for her arrival. The smile still etched on my face.

It was exciting time for my mother too as I could see her making the choicest of delicacies with all the love and care. Even she gave pace to her daily chores in anticipation on such days.

And then just around afternoon, the door-bell rang. My father had a penchant for the harshest sounding door-bell justifying the need to be alert and responsive when someone’s at the door. But today, it sounded like ‘nolen-gurer rosogulla’ (a typical jaggery flavoured rasgulla found in Bengal) being squeezed hard to let all its syrup flow down my ear. I knew it was the arrival of the phenomena- ‘Mani’. I flung from my bed and with a sprint that will make Olympic athletes ashamed, I caught the door-handle. And then after a momentary pause allowing all the excitement to sink in and prolonging the climax willingly, I finally opened the door. Mani, with a bag full of goodies in one hand and office-purse in the other, was standing with the most charming smile. Ecstasy.

I find that much of my childhood memory is dominated by ‘Mani‘ and ‘Manir bari’ (Mani’s house). She represented an abundance of love and joy. Similar excitement (maybe a bit more) was shared when our families met at Manir bari on various occasions. For me, her house was the temple of joy and happiness. A place where everyone was welcomed with a smile and was offered the best of hospitality. Obviously she wasn’t alone there; she had three charming daughters and a husband with the temperament of a dove- peaceful, calm and reassuring. Not to forget, the couple’s exquisite culinary skills were like a frosting in the cake.

Sometimes I wonder how much of my adulthood is going to be shaped by such pillars of love in my childhood. M.Scott Peck in his much acclaimed book ‘The Road Less Travelled’ indicates how important the love of parents and family is, for the psychological growth of a child. I probably belonged to the generation of children when the families started transitioning from living together to their nuclear existence. So it still gave a chance to be connected to our myriad aunts, uncles and cousins. Most importantly, the feeling of familial bond and love did not cease altogether. But I am afraid with the next generation of children, the signs are already grim. With fast-paced lives of the parents, children have only the company of technology and a few scant friends. Such ‘Manis‘ remain only in stories and once-in-a-lifetime visits. Either the connection is never formed, or is snapped owing to distance and lack of time.

I wonder how incomplete the life of my children will be if they do not get someone like ‘Mani‘. Each one of us must be having one such ‘Mani‘ in our life. The onus is on us to be one such ‘Mani‘ in the life of others. A Mani who can generate joy and happiness within the deepest recess of a child’s heart. A Mani whose love and care  touches the human soul. A Mani with whom one can feel a divine connect. As they say, love alone can change the world. And children are nothing but wet clay who should only be shaped by the hands of love.