Get your handkerchief out

We’ve replaced “Do you have a ‘kerchief?” with “Do you have a tissue?” Leaving aside arguments about the environmental friendliness and hygiene factor, I want to dwell on the simple fact that I miss the use of handkerchiefs.

The countless games we played as kids—dog in a manger, A Tisket, A Tasket (that for many years I phonetically pronounced isket and tasket) where we substituted our handkerchiefs as the object indicating the ‘bone’—wouldn’t be the same if we had tissues then.

The ruse of the handkerchief-dropped-by-the-girl-and-picked-by-the-boy-that led-to-an-eternal-love- story used in so many movies and emulated by people in love wouldn’t be so potent with a tissue.

What about the aunties who tucked their kerchiefs under their bra straps in their blouses and dresses that they happily produced when you needed it?

The handkerchief also served as a temporary bandage on all scraps, cuts and wounds earned on the playground, not to mention wiping away tears, sweat and drool!

I remember carrying a kerchief to all the rosaries when the statue of Mother Mary ‘did the rounds’ to people’s homes in the month of May and October. As part of tradition, boiled Kabuli chanas (white chickpeas) were distribute to people attending these rosaries and these chanas were only ‘served’ on your handkerchief.  The bigger the ‘kerchief, the more chanas you would get! And no handkerchief meant no chanas to take home.

While women’s handkerchiefs have remarkably disappeared from the scene (and I don’t know why?), the men have retained theirs. They still proudly carry their neutral-toned, line-bordered designs in their pockets.  Once upon a time, my uncles used to pull out their ‘kerchiefs with flourish and wave them in the air for the ‘mando’; now the hands are raised but the ‘kerchiefs stay tucked firmly in their breast pockets.