September 19, 2000

NEW DELHI JOURNAL

Chewing Their Way to an Ancient, Unsightly Bliss

By BARRY BEARAK

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NEW DELHI, Sept. 15 Of the sights and sounds of wondrous, age- old India, among the most enduring have been the red splat on the ground and the abrupt noise of "pitooey."

This nation has an ancient fondness for something called paan a betel leaf wrapped around a varying mix of areca nuts, cardamom, lime paste, tobacco and other flavors.

These pungent concoctions make a mouth-watering morsel, and once the mouth waters, there are only two places for the fluid to go: down or out.

"Pitooey," said Rajinder Tyagi, a businessman, with a sharp crank of his head.

A rivulet of red juice flew above the sidewalk toward the street, landing a few inches short of curbside.

"I try to find a suitable place to spit," he said in a meager apology.

But truly, no apology was necessary. So common is the habit that chewing paan (rhymes with John) and spewing its juice does not meet with much social reproof in India or the rest of the subcontinent. Hospitals, universities, office complexes, railroad stations it is hard to find a public building spared the signature mementos of expectoration.

Paan's appeal as a stimulant is all- embracing. It is enjoyed by rich and poor, young and old, men and women a remarkable popularity for a product that rots the teeth and stains them red, leaving the frequent user with the smile of a loser in a street brawl.

"My wife doesn't like my ugly teeth," confessed Mr. Tyagi, the prosperous owner of a courier service. "And she tells me that my mouth smells."

That criticism struck him as nitpicking. After all, his shirt and trousers were clean. His hair was combed. His mustache was trimmed. His hands were washed.

"I never liked white teeth," he said defiantly.

Mr. Tyagi was chewing among the colonnades of Connaught Place in central New Delhi. Paan is believed to aid digestion. He was having his fifth of the day, not an unusually large number especially for those who order paan mixed with tobacco and get addicted to the nicotine.

"Most people eat paan with tobacco," said Shiv Narayan Pandey, the paanwallah who sold Mr. Tyagi his late-evening chew for the equivalent of 10 cents. "That is why it is a good thing to spit the first juice, to get rid of the dangerous part."

A paanwallah is a common presence on Indian streets, busily slathering pastes, sprinkling ingredients and folding leaves. Usually, he is a man with hopelessly stained fingers and ragged clothes, his jars and tins of colorful condiments spread out before him on a pushcart.

But there are also paanwallahs who dress in stiff uniforms and sit in the elegant lobbies of five-star hotels. They offer superior hygiene, though not always tastier goods.

Connaught Place recently added an unusual upscale paan "parlor" a place to be seen as much as to spit. The betel leaves are displayed near boxes of Swiss chocolates and Danish cookies. Each paan is wrapped in tissue and then silver and gold foil before being sealed in a fancy case, like a piece of jewelry. Some cost more than a dollar.

The parlor is not the only change afoot in the venerable paan business. In recent years, products known as paan masala and gutka (with tobacco added) have become the rage because, while a fresh paan is preferable, one is not always nearby. And an extra supply is too messy to store in a pocket. So freshness has been sacrificed for portability. The betel nuts and flavorings are prepackaged in small foil or plastic sachets that are easy to carry around.

Ever more people are salivating red, though the numbers are hard to estimate. There are hundreds of brands, and with tobacco being a heavily taxed industry, the recording of accurate sales figures is scrupulously avoided by thrifty manufacturers.

Doctors have taken note of the changes, however. There has been "a manifold increase" in the incidence of oral submucous fibrosis, said Dr. Prakash C. Gupta, an epidemiologist and tobacco researcher. That irreversible malady makes the palate stiff and leathery and can narrow the mouth to the size of a button. It often leads to cancer.

While fresh paan carries its own hazards, researchers believe paan masala and gutka to be far worse. Opponents have asked the courts to ban the new products.

Mr. Pandey, the paanwallah who catered to Mr. Tyagi, considers these prepackaged substitutes to be a scourge, full of chemicals, unhealthy as well as unsavory.

"This is a kind of life poison," he protested.

While not wealthy, Mr. Pandey, at 80, is highly regarded. He has been the paanwallah of choice for some of India's leading politicians and celebrities. He has seen the famous as few do, with their fingers in their mouths and spittle on their chins.

"Up to now, all the presidents of India have eaten my paan," said Mr. Pandey, a near-toothless man with white hair and a wise bearing.

For someone with so distinguished a clientele, his shop is quite small, perhaps 4 by 4 feet. Mr. Pandey sits cross-legged on an old barrel. Preparing a paan, he seems part chef, part apothecary. He uses only the best varieties of betel leaves, trimming them carefully along the "right nerves." He makes his own red paste from acacia sap.

A connoisseur easily appreciates such high quality, though to an initiate, a first paan has the feel of dental packing that is endlessly oozing sweet syrup and wood chips.

"There is an art to making paan," Mr. Pandey said reverently. "But there is an art to eating it also. People who know how to eat paan don't have to spit a lot."

As for reddened teeth, he said it was only a problem for those who failed to brush after every paan. "Definitely," he warned, "you should never go to sleep without cleaning."

That cosmetic advisory was news to Santosh Sharma, 62, a businessman who is one of Mr. Pandey's best customers. Paan long ago discolored his smile, but he thought it a worthwhile sacrifice.

`After so much paan, I am fine," he said proudly. "I still enjoy every possible taste."

Then, as paan chewers are wont to do, Mr. Sharma momentarily disappeared, to spit.

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