Memories and Musings

MY NEW BLOG

2008-03-23T07:32:00.000-07:00

Hullo everyone,

Do look at my new blog for more of my stories about life in Pondicherry.

See you there!

CHANGED LIFESTYLE

2008-03-11T07:44:00.000-07:00

As I said before, we had a happy and busy life in Pondicherry. Our outlook on life also started changing and this life was very different from our Delhi life, where we had our set group of friends and we were happy interacting with them.

Here, in the new life, we were always in touch with a cosmopolitan set of people from all walks of life – not only from different parts of India, but from different parts of other nations, too. Our life also became busy with luncheon gatherings, tea and dinner parties.

We had been in Trichy, Chingleput and Saidapet for a period of two years where Babuji underwent administrative training. Life in these places was also different from the Delhi life, but it was nothing like life in this new place.

Talking of dinner parties, I have to tell you about our first get-together. On the very day Babuji took charge of his post, we were invited to a sit-down dinner hosted by the Rotary Club.

‘SIT –DOWN’ dinner! I was aghast!!

I was full of fear and apprehension. It was the first of its kind we were invited to. Though I knew how to use cutlery in an off-hand manner, at a sit-down dinner one had to use the correct spoon, fork and knife for each course. And I was very ignorant of these things.

To add to my confusion, Babuji was seated at another table, while I was seated at the centre table, at the head of which sat the Chief Commissioner – the head of the state. Thank God I did not show my fear or nervousness on my face. As soon as we were seated, I started a conversation with the lady sitting next to me. When the food started coming, one after another (and it was a five-course dinner), I waited till the lady next to me picked up her spoon and fork. I followed her example and the day was saved for me – the ordeal over.

Later in life, more than three decades after, Gowri and Mohan, with Parvati, took me out to lunch at a famous restaurant. I was amazed at the way Parvati, a three year old kid, handled the food with her knife, fork and spoon so deftly. Thanks to the tea garden culture where she was growing up.

LIFE IN PONDICHERRY - MOVING IN

2008-03-10T09:38:00.000-07:00

Pondicherry, or Puthucherry , as it is known today is very different from what it was some fifty years ago. I last went to Pondicherry with Gowri, Mohan and Raja in 2002.
Gowri was keen to see the place of her birth. She was born there and we left Pondicherry when she was not even six months old.

Babuji was on deputation there from June 1957 to November 1963. We were there during the de facto, or de jure, period, and when the French influence was very strong still.

At the time, the town was divided into two parts by a canal that ran across it from about a kilometre west of the sea. The east side was known as the white town where the Head of the State - the Chief Commissioner, and other top officials lived and worked. The Cercle de Pondicherry, St. Joseph de Cluny High School and the Medical College were also housed there.

A major part was occupied by the Sri Aurobindo Ashram and its inmates, its shops and its school.

The west side of the canal was called the Black Town where the local people lived, and where the markets and shops were situated. Most of the local people were Creoles who worked for the French Government, and they spoke French as well as any Frenchman. The French influence was very much in evidence.

This was how we saw the place when we went there. The sea and the beach, though it was an apology of a beach, captivated me, particularly the sea. From our terrace the sea, with the ships moving far away on the horizon and the deep blue green waters, looked like a huge picture post card.

We were given a bungalow in Rue de Rangapillai, which housed the Development office, of which Babuji was posted as Secretary. Our living quarters were on the first floor. It was a really big house built by the French in real colonial style. The dining-cum-living room was so big it could have housed a large flat of today.

The day we moved in, one of the officials working in the department advised us to keep one of the north side doors on this big room closed, and never to open it at any time. The reason given was that previous occupants had felt that this doorway was haunted, and many apparitions had been seen there by many.

Babuji’s immediate reaction to that was to ask me to have my ‘pooja’ set up by that doorway and to never ever keep that door closed, not even at night. We were in that house for more than six years and we never saw any ghosts or apparitions. Rather, we had a happy and busy life there.

More to follow. . .

You can read this post in my new blog :http://lifeinpondicherry.blogspot.com/

A MOVE

2008-03-08T07:55:00.000-08:00

Thank you for visiting this blog and reading my posts.
I have now started a new blog, to write posts about another part of my life - the years we spent in Pondicherry:

http://lifeinpondicherry.blogspot.com/

Hope to see you there too!

A TIME FOR EVERYTHING

2008-03-02T00:13:00.000-08:00

“What what thing which which tiyithiley happeno, that that thing that that tiyithiley happeney happen.”

This was one of Babuji’s favourite sayings. And it has been proved right so many times. Recently too it was proved right, not once, but twice in a three month period. Though we lived in New Delhi for more than 40 years, Babuji and I had never visited Agra to ‘see’ the Taj Mahal. Every time my son Bala came home from the U S he was keen and ready to take us to Agra. But Babuji always had a ready-made reply that at that period of the year either it was too cold or too hot. So we never made that trip. And for the last twenty years, no mention of this was made by anybody in the family.

Last year my children and grandchildren came together to celebrate my 80th birthday. Raja felt that my ‘not seeing the Taj Mahal' should also be rectified.
He arranged for a one day trip to Agra for the whole family which was enjoyed by one and all, including my three year old great granddaughter.

So it was fated that I was to see the Taj Mahal without Babuji.

We all know there is the annual Thiruvaiyaru Thyagaraja Aradhana conducted in January–February. Though I never voiced my wish to anyone I always felt that I was not lucky enough to go to Thiruvaiyaru during the Aradhana. Recently this was proved wrong.

Last fortnight Raja and I went on a temple tour to Thanjavur, Thiruvaiyaru and Kumbakonam. We reached Thiruvaiyaru at an auspicious time when at the Samadhi of Sri Thyagaraja Swamigal, abhishekham, alankaram, and Deepa aradhanai was taking place. We were the only two devotees there. We had a good darisanam. It seemed as though it was specially ordered for us. I was entirely thrilled.

To add to my joy and fulfilment, there was a violin concert going on too, with full accompaniments. That made it perfect. Then the violinist started to play the pancharatna kriti in Sri Ragam - what more could one ask for!

Again I was reminded of Babuji’s saying “What what tiyithiley ……”

NIGHTS BEFORE LIGHTS...... life without power

2008-01-17T08:08:00.000-08:00

The other day one of my children asked me whether I remembered those days when there was no electricity in our day-to-day life. Yes I do! I do remember this child of mine at the age of two trying to catch her own shadow thrown on the wall by the chimney lamp placed on the floor next to the main room of her grandfather’s house. How she laughed and shouted at the way the shadow too moved along with her!!

Today’s youngsters must be wondering what kind of life we had at that time without electricity. No TV. No music system. No lights. No fan. No air-conditioner, etc, etc. We did not miss those things because they were not there; we had no knowledge of such things. Instead, we had brighter moonlight and nights well starlit. How we enjoyed those games we played in the moonlight on certain nights. Games like “Light and Shadow”, “Corner to Corner” etc.

There were different types of lights and lamps to wave away the darkness: the hurricane and the tall chimney, the short chimney and the round chimney. Lamps all working on kerosene oil. There were also different types of brass lamps, like nila vilakku, kuthu vilakku, kai vilakku, etc which were lit by wicks soaked in oil.

When the sun set and dusk fell, in every household these lamps were lit and placed at the front verandah and the backdoor. The kuthu vilakku was placed in the main room, facing either east or west and little children joined by elders said prayers here every evening. Schoolgoing children too learnt their lessons by the light of this vilakku.

This was all before my schooldays, I cannot recall those early days of my life when there was no electricity at home; I remember we got an electric connection when I was five or six years old, when we were living at the house rented from Shankara Pillai.

A scene I remember vividly is from the days I spent with Manni’s mother in Karamanai, where there was no electricity. It was how the streetlights were lit every evening, exactly at the same time. The men to whom this job was given appeared – each decked with a ladder on his shoulder, a can of oil, a duster round his neck and of course a match box – at the street corner, placed the ladder against the lamp-post, climbed to the top, opened the glass-cased lamp, dusted the glass panes with duster, filled the lamp with oil, lighted it , got down, went to the next lamp-post, did the same thing…and went on doing it till all the lamps in the street were lit. This work was done at the same time in all the streets.

School-going children and even college students used to learn their lessons under these street lights. Word has it that one of these street-lamp lighters, Ramaiyan, later on in life became a “dallavai” (army chief) to the Maharaja of Travancore.

As the evening progressed, for entertainment, children huddled around their grandparents to listen to stories, both real and fiction. Stories about Sri Rama, Sri Krishna, tales about ghosts, spirits etc. There was so much interaction among members of the family, it made family ties stronger.

In today’s world, almost in every house there are at least two bathrooms, sometimes even more, with an attached bathroom to every bedroom, with running hot and cold water. Kitchens are equipped with a sink with running water. Every household has a fridge, air-conditioner, and washing machine. But can you imagine how in those days people managed without them.

Those days, no electricity meant no running water. So it was heavy work for everybody, whether cooking or washing clothes. And not every household had servants to help them with these tasks. People, both men and women, went to the river to have their daily bath and wash clothes. Even children used to wash their own clothes. If there was no river nearby, people used the temple tank to bathe and wash clothes. The water in the rivers as well as the temple tanks was unpolluted, cool, clean and clear.

In the late 40s when I used to go to Babuji’s home in Trichur, Annaji and Kunjappa used to take Raji and Bala with them to have their daily bath in the temple tank, which was 10-15 minutes’ walk away.

Every house, whether rich or poor, had a well, some even had two or three, depending on the size of the house plot. All one had to do was draw water from the well the help of a pulley, a long, thick rope and a bucket. Little children and menfolk, those who did not like to bathe either in rivers or temple tanks had their baths by the side of the well, in open air.

There would also be built-in, by the side of the well, a granite stone which would be used for scrubbing clothes. Even pots and pans were washed by the well-side so that one did not have to carry water anywhere else. Of course, for cooking water was carried into the kitchen, in brass or copper pots, called “kodams”. Every household had at least two or three of these.

No household in small towns or villages or agraharams had a pucca bathroom. I am talking of pre-1940 days. For women who wanted privacy for their baths, a portion of a verandah at the back of the house or a small square place in the backyard, was covered by thatched screens, that too only shoulder high, and were called bathrooms!

We had pucca bathrooms in our house in Trivandrum. But when I went to Trichur, to my in-laws’ place after marriage, there was neither electricity nor a pucca bathroom. I managed with the makeshift bathroom in the back verandah for I did not have the guts to complain. And I also knew it was only for a week or so till I left for Delhi.

When I went to Trichur, Ammaji told me the story of another bride who came from Trivandrum to Trichur. This girl’s in-laws’ house did not have a pucca bathroom. She raised such a hue and cry about it that her in-laws had to build one in the shortest time ever. This girl was a schoolmate of mine and the daughter of a colleague of Thatha. Maybe that is why Ammaji told me the story.

The other day I watched a commercial on TV in which the wife tells her husband that she will have her bath only when her bathroom is fitted with a particular brand of geyser. How priorities change!

In the kitchen front also, life without electricity was tough. Since there were no refrigerators, meals had to be cooked three times daily. That meant womenfolk spent most of the day inside the kitchen, cooking the 10 o’clock lunch, the 3 o’clock tiffin and the 8 o’clock dinner. Even in Delhi in the late 1940s, not every household had a fridge, it was a rare thing. Often I had to cook three meals each day, especially in the high summer when we had guests living with us.

Without mixies, all the grinding had to be done on stone, the ami-kozhavi for crushing masala and coconuts for curries and the attukal for making batter for dosai etc. Grinding the masala was not very hard but it took somewhere between one-and-a-half and two hours to make dosai batter, especially for a large family. It was really a grinding experience till wet grinders and mixies started appearing in the 1970s and 1980s.

But it wasn’t all drudgery. The joint family system of those days made life much easier for the womenfolk in the sense that every kind of work was shared equally. Being together in the kitchen meant enjoying each other’s company, talking, telling stories, gossiping, and sometimes, even fighting.

Today’s youngsters will be wondering how people lived without these modern amenities. But people of those times were very simple-minded. They were easygoing in the sense they accepted their place in life, not greedy and not wanting what they couldn’t afford, so living at a leisurely pace and enjoying life to the full. It was a hard life but a happy one.

MY OLD FAITHFUL - THE JANTA STOVE

2008-01-04T06:19:00.000-08:00

Last November my children, grandchildren came from far and near to celebrate my 80th birthday. We all had a wonderful week together, shopping, sight-seeing, visiting friends, watching movies in the theatre, eating out… everybody enjoying each other’s company. We also made a day trip to Agra, a first time to the Taj Mahal for many, the youngest and the oldest among them. I felt great to see the children in this festive mood. Everyone left for their homes back with a peaceful and joyous feeling, having spent precious and quality time with each other.

The birthday girl received far too many gifts, not only from my children and other relations, but also from friends -- of all my children and my own -- at a get-together on the 27th night. But the gift that really tickled me and made me cry and laugh at the same time was a JANTA stove, from my children. It was handed to me with the words, “Can you guess what this is? This was your birthday gift every year from 1965 to 1970. This is to remind you of those days, in case you have forgotten.”

How can one forget those days, when as a housewife I spent the better part of the day in the kitchen, cooking not just two meals for the family, but also preparing dosai, adai, paranthas, pooris etc for tiffin every evening. (This was the main meal for the school-going children and also for the man of the house; breakfast and dinner were not so important for them.) It was with the help of this stove I had prepared delicacies like mysorepak, laddoos, carrot halwa and different types of payasams and also savouries like mixture, ribbon pakodam etc.
And the JANTA stove wasn’t just for cooking…in those pre-geyser days, it was the JANTA stove which heated the water for our daily bath during winters, for the entire family, starting with myself at 5am (in those days you entered the kitchen for cooking only after having a bath!) and then the school-goers.

With such a heavy workload, the life of a JANTA stove was only a year or so. So every year, it had to be replaced. And the day it was replaced every year was the day it was my birthday. The JANTA stove cost only Rs 8 in those days but those were the days when I really struggled to make both ends meet within the household money and a new stove each year was a much welcomed gift.

(In those days, we used to wait for one’s birthday to give as a gift whatever that person needed most. Like, Bala, in his IIT hostel days, used to get a sleeping suit every year on his birthday, and Raji a much-needed sari. For me, it was the JANTA stove.)

Looking at the stove, my little great-granddaughter Arundati might have wondered how I managed to cook on it, given all the modern gadgets in today’s kitchens. But to me, the kerosene stove was a blessing.

I learnt cooking from my mother, whose medium of cooking was wood. If one got the firewood burning bright and good, cooking could be finished without too much of a strain. Otherwise it took a lot of breath – one had to keep blowing into the fire to keep it going – and tears (due to smoke) to finish the cooking. And that too, in twice the time it takes to cook with gas. It was really tough during the rainy seasons, remember, Kerala has two heavy rainy seasons each year.

The firewood was brought to one’s doorsteps by the viraku karan in cartloads; big heavy chunks of trees cut down in the forest, and sold to the regular housewives every month. I still remember the way my mother used to cut the cost of the firewood by haggling and bringing it down to half of the original required amount. It was an art and my mother, like all housewives, was good at that. It was always, and still is, a struggle for the housewife to make both ends meet.

Every cartload of firewood was followed by a woodcutter, the viraku vettakaran, along with his axe, ready to cut the big chunks of wood into the required size and also to stack them inside the woodshed. Another bout of bargaining would follow and by the end of the day, every bit of firewood, big and small, was inside the shed. The woodcutter also was happy for he got, along with his money, ample supply of sambaram and pickles.

If there were coconut trees in the house compound, the dry fronds (leaves and stalks) were also used as firewood, particularly to heat water for one’s bath. In every household, near the bathroom, there was a separate place where water could be heated this way.

When I came to Delhi (after getting married, in 1945) I was surprised to find that in Delhi people cooked with pathar koila (coal) in angeethis. The pathar koila came in big hunks, each one as big as a pumpkin but as hard as rock. It had to be broken to pieces with a hammer. It was a tough task and within a fortnight of coming to Delhi my palms started getting callused. So the paniwallah was given extra money to break the koila, which he used to conveniently forget once every three-four days. (In those days, the persons who cleaned the pots and pans and also the rooms, were called the paniwallahs. They never touched leather and if there were shoes or chappals lying around, they would sweep and mop all around it, never lifted it or moved it).

To get the koila angeethi going, the lakadi koila had to be place inside first. Then the pathar koila was stacked strategically so that air could pass through and get the coal burning. Rolls of paper were kept on the lower half of the angeethi and a matchbox always handy so that in the morning, when the housewife got up, she could get the angeethi going first thing. It wasn’t an easy task, it could take anything up to 15 minutes.

The JANTA stove, with its flame burning on wicks dipped in kerosene, was a huge improvement on that. It made life in the kitchen so much easier.

In the early 60s, cooking gas was introduced and this was an even greater boon for the housewife. But, at the same time, the supply of these gas cylinders was always limited. It took two-three days for the replacement cylinder to come, sometimes even a week. The JANTA stove was a good stand-by then. When there were extra people and guests at home, it was this same old JANTA stove that stood by me to prepare those extra dishes. It never let me down and I always considered it my best ally in the kitchen. How can one forget such an ally?

So when I held that stove in my hands on my birthday I laughed at seeing an old friend once more and cried because I missed those days and some members of my family who are no more.

On the whole, I consider myself blessed for my children are loving and affectionate, care for me and care for each other. What more does one want!

A Train Journey

2007-12-06T02:44:00.000-08:00

A word, a gesture, a look, an action, an aroma, an odour or even a name of a book or an author is enough to stir one’s memory and bring to the surface of one’s mind an incident or a meeting or a journey which at the time of its happening was nerve-racking and frightening, and about which one never gave another thought after it was all over. All is well that ends well is the last line. When one goes thorough the frightening experience mere words are not enough to express one’s feelings and fears.

The name of the author Irving Wallace, which I saw in one of the shelves in the Central Dooars Club library was enough to take me some twenty-five years back to one such train journey. We were coming back from Trivandrum via Cochin to Delhi after attending my father’s first death anniversary. After spending a few days with all my relations Gowri and myself left for Ernakulam. There Babuji joined us for a day or two. He was on his way to Trivandrum from Delhi to conduct an SRB interview. Babuji along with his brothers came with us to see us off to Madras.

After the usual ‘Tata Bye Bye’, ‘Take care’, ‘You too’ ‘See you soon’ and all such sayings the train finally started moving. Once we settled down with our suitcase and holdall in place I started looking around for any familiar faces. Our opposite berths were occupied by a young couple – newly married by their looks and behaviour. The young bride was holding an Irving Wallace novel in her hand. The book got my attention being the best seller of that period. They were in a world of their own and the outside did not exist for them. In their eyes I was an old woman nearing fifty and Gowri a mere child of ten or twelve. So there was only silence amongst us – unusual in a railway compartment. We had our dinner at Trichur station and got ready to settle for the night. On our way back from the toilet I met one of Babuji’s cousins with his family in the next division and exchanged some formal news and good wishes with them.

After a good undisturbed sleep I got up the next morning to find we were nearing Arkonam. So another two hours and we would be in Madras. I was looking forward to the hot tumbler of good South Indian coffee one usually got at that junction. The train finally entered the station. And to everybody’s surprise the station was very quiet – no porters rushing into the compartment to help the passengers getting down there, no ‘kapi kapi’ in a sonorous voice or no ‘chai chai’ with the cups clanking against the steel bucket they were carried in, no vendor shouting, ‘Hindu, Express, Ananta Vikatan’ and lastly no announcement in the loud speaker. It was very unusual and spooky. On enquiring a passerby told me that there was a lightning strike by all Railway employees.

Actually the strike by the Railway employees all over India was to start from the 8th of May only and our plan was to be back in Delhi by the 6th after spending two days in Madras.
Time passed and there was no indication of the train moving out of the station. By 9 a.m. most of the passengers started getting off the train with their luggage to find out other means of transport to Madras. And soon our compartment was empty but for Gowri and myself.
Babuji’s cousin with his family too got down without even a look at me or a word and I was really saddened. Maybe in such situations every one was responsible for oneself only – what a thought. And I was soon proved wrong.

By that time the train from Bangalore stopped at the next platform and I was told that this train would be leaving for Madras soon. So Gowri and myself moved ourselves across the platform to that train with the suitcase and holdall and got into a compartment which was occupied by only two persons, an elderly one and a youth. We waited for the train to move but no luck. Those two men seemed good people and on asking I was told they were in the army and going home on leave. I felt I could trust them. So I asked them whether they could help us to get to Madras in any other alternate way. The older man sent the younger one to find out about this. We were all feeling hungry and thirsty and poor Gowri started voicing this. I felt so sad and bad for her and for our plight. Luckily a vendor came selling ‘Sambar Chatham’. I promptly bought two at the atrocious price of Rs. 12 per packet. Normally it cost only Rs 2 or so. We all four of us shared those two packets which appeased our hunger to a certain extent.

Now what next was the problem. The elderly man suggested that if I could trust them we could all share a taxi and reach Madras. Taxis were available to Madras at Rs. 50 per head the younger one had found out and I really jumped at the idea and thanked them. So we got out of the station with those two army men who carried our luggage too without even my asking. In one of the compartments I found my nephew sitting and waiting and I asked him whether he too would come with us. He readily agreed and here too the army men helped him out of the compartment as he was physically impaired and helpless, and carried his luggage too which consisted of a chakkai (jackfruit) too.

We all piled into a waiting taxi with all our luggage when the taxi driver asked for an extra Rs. 50 for the chakkai which was refused outright by my nephew and the taxi wallah refused to budge. I offered to pay that extra Rs. 50 but was shut up by others saying it was the principle and not money that mattered. I was vexed and fuming. What was Rs. 50 at such a situation. But no one listened to me. So we all trooped out of the taxi. What next! The elderly man in no time arranged two bullock carts to take us to the bus stand hoping we could catch a bus to Madras. On reaching the bus stand we found it was really crowded as if a temple festival or a political meeting was going on, with so many people and so many vendors and no bus in sight. I was bereft of all emotions, hope, fear, anger, or expectations. Somehow I just trusted those two men. They were kind enough to treat us all to Sambaram – light lassi, which tasted like nectar to me at that moment.

After waiting a long time a bus en route to Madras stopped. It was overcrowded. For the one-two that got out of the bus there were ten-twenty people to get in. Somehow the young army man managed to get into the bus and the older one just picked each one of us bodily and thrust us into the bus through the window into the younger one’s arms. There two men then piled all our luggage also on the roof of the bus and they too got in through the window. They did not stop there. They found seats for the three of us though they were standing throughout the long hot stifling trip of long four hours to Madras. Though the bus was chock full it stopped whenever and wherever anyone waved it to a stop and took them also. It was a wonder we all reached Madras without the bus bursting at the seams.

At Anna Nagar where the bus stopped again it was these two kind men who not only helped us to get down from the bus but also got down our luggage from the top of the bus without a murmur. I really don’t remember how much I thanked them for their help. All I remember was they soon got inside the bus and I did not have enough strength or time to thank them properly. They were the real army men kind hearted and helpful to the needy without expecting anything in return. God bless them and theirs.

From a nearby store my nephew contacted his parents by phone and in no time we reached my brother’s place in Anna Nagar itself. Soon I contacted Raji and an hour later we were all back at her place.

That day is well etched in my mind and memory. I have forgotten most of the details of the bus journey but I cannot, will not forget those two army jawans who were a godsend to me who help in such a situation. I don’t know their names or where they are now alive or dead! What ever may be by this writing I am conveying my heart felt thanks to them. I am grateful to them for ever.

Music in My Life

2007-09-23T06:04:00.000-07:00

I have always loved singing and listening to music. In my younger days we had a gramophone at home and quite a number of records. The records were known as plates. Our collection contained both classical and film songs plus Desh Bhakthi songs. These songs were very popular because of the freedom movement which had reached its peak in the 1930s.

The gramophone was just like the record player which came out two decades later. It was operated manually. The spring inside was to be wound up for each side of the record. The unwinding rotated the disc on which the record was placed. The stylus held a needle which was not even a centimeter long. This needle had to be changed for each side of the record.

Tamil and Telugu films were produced in Madras. There were no Malayalam or Kannada films at that time, that is, in the 1930s and forties. Before the films were released the songs recorded were on sale, as well as small booklets with the story (without the ending) and all the lyrics.Each film had at least twenty songs and all of them were set to classical ragams.

We had records of all the films dating from Balayogini, Thay Bhoomi, Chintamani, Sevasadanam, Sakuntalai, Street Singer, Devdas, Achhut Kanya and Amar Jyoti. When these songs were played at home a huge crowd collected outside our gates to listen to them. Like today, the common man was very much interested in film songs. Because of these songs, the films became popular and were watched for many weeks, sometimes up to a Silver Jubilee week or even longer. Hindi pictures were crowd pullers with Saigal, Ashok Kumar, Devika Rani, Leila Chitnis, Khursheed, Shanta Apte and others.

We also had a collection of plays like ‘Seetha Kalyanam’ and Pathuka Pattabishekam’, both from Ramayanam and ‘Bhama Vijayam’ from Krishnattam. These were a set of four to six records and they came in beautiful flat steel boxes. In no time I learnt all the songs and dialogues of these plays by heart and reproduced them to whoever was willing to listen and watch.

My grandmother Karamanai Ammai was the President of my fan club. Whenever I visited her place she collected all her neighbours and friends to listen to her wonderful granddaughter who was not even six years old at that time. She made me feel great. Maybe this was the foundation for the love and affection I had for her – a good bonding for ever. Later on in life when Bala was four or five years old, whenever we visited our place she used to make him sing the then popular ‘Kalyana Samayal Saatham’ from the film ‘Maya Bazar’. Bala, don’t you remember Karamanai Ammai and those days?

Only later on I came to know that though I was word-perfect while showing off, I was not at all perfect in my singing, but always out of tune and off key. But who cared? I enjoyed singing!
My three elder sisters used to have music lessons at that time. A ‘Bagavathar’ came home every evening to train them. Even now, though they are all eighty plus, they have good voices and sing well, never out of tune or off key. My eldest sister learnt to play the harmonium (and she still plays).

So in right earnest, my mother started my music lessons too. That started my elder brother teasing me and my singing, which I was not able to handle. So I played truant from my music classes, hiding myself in the neighbour’s place. My mother, sensing my misery, stopped the lessons. But that did not stop my singing or my interest in singing. I learnt by heart all the film songs and sang to myself roaming in the backyard where the only listeners were the birds, flowers, plants and trees. Those were the most happy times of my younger days. The trees, plants and flowers were never bothered about my way of singing. So who cared?

After marriage when Babuji heard me singing for the first time he requested me not sing any more – not for my supper; not even for peanuts. I did not mind. The bathroom was always there with the shower running. So who cared?

When I became a mother I enjoyed singing lullabies to my children. Maybe even they could not bear my singing because from the very beginning these babies of mine used to go to sleep without much trouble.On the other hand Babuji used to sing very well and he had a good voice. I was very proud of the fact and in the early days of our marriage he used to sing very regularly and sometimes only for me. In the evenings there was always a gathering of friends at our place and the music and coffee flowed till late at night. My three daughters sing very well – both classical and light music—though all of them had only basic training. My sons are also very much interested in Carnatic music. All of them are interested in Western Music and have good collections with them. So wherever I am now there is always music. So who cares whether I can sing or not?

My grandchildren, luckily, have not taken after me. Thank God for that!They all have an ear for music, appreciate good music and sing well. One plays the bass guitar in his band. Another is the lead singer of his group. Another is winning prizes left and right in all inter-college and university meets and promises to become a very good musician.One of my great-grandchildren, who is not even four, has got an ear for music and has a sweet voice. Maybe she will blossom out to be another good singer in the family!!I am lucky with my family. So, who cares?

The Pill-Grimage

2007-08-23T05:40:00.000-07:00

The word pilgrimage came into my mind like a flash when I was coming back home from the CGHS. I met one of our neighbours and he asked me where I had been. Without a doubt, or a second thought, I came out with, 'My weekly pill-grimage'. When I explained, he had a good laugh. Going to the CGHS and getting one's medicines or pills was as religious and tedious as going to the famous temples of Guruvayoor or Tirupathi and having a darshan of the Gods and getting the prasadam. Let me explain.

The CGHS, that is the Central Government Health Scheme, came into existence in the 1950s. By this scheme, every Government employee was entitled to check-ups and free medicines in these centres for a nominal fee of rupees eight per month. I have no idea whether this scheme is still going on and if so, how much money one has to shell out, or what are the privileges. I stopped availing of this facility some twenty five years back.

Every Government employee was given a card with a number for identification. This was a boon to every Government servant, particularly for those with some serious illness. Hospitalisation and surgery, if necessary, were also taken care of. House calls were also made by the doctors if the patient was too ill to go to the Dispensary. Every Government colony had one CGHS centre and in every centre there were three or four doctors, including a lady doctor. There was always a doctor on duty at night also. This scheme was well applauded by everybody.

In 1955, I had been to this centre in Pandara Road once or twice for check-ups when I was expecting Raja. The lady doctor was very efficient and friendly. I do not remember her name. She was the only doctor resident of Pandara Road at that time. In the beginning in these centers everything was ship-shape. The patients were treated with kindness and care, not only by the doctors but also by the registrars who handed over the tokens after entering the name and the card number in their registers. The compounders were quick at dispensing the medicines, sometimes with instructions on how to take the medicine; and if it was a lotion, how to apply it and how many times.

As time went on, a kind of apathy and carelessness became part of this system too. I noticed the difference when we came back to Delhi in 1963 after a period of eight years. Raja was born in 1956 when we were in Trichy. Gowri was a seven-month-old baby when we returned to Delhi. She was born in Pondicherry, where Babuji was working for nearly six years. Soon after our return to Delhi, I had a nervous breakdown. Because of this, my blood-pressure shot up. I was put on lifelong medication. This started my weekly pilgrimage.

We were in West Kidwai Nagar and the CGHS Dispensary was just across the road -- just walking distance. As I entered the dispensary for the first time, I was wondering who the doctors would be and what kind of treatment I would get. I was surprised at the indifference of all the workers there. The lines of patients (one for men and one for women) at the counters were ten deep. Both the registrars were busy discussing important world matters or narrating to each other what took place among their children the previous day in school. The sweeper, a belligerent woman, was adding her views and comments in between, with one hand at her hip and the other holding her broom readily poised over her shoulder as if to hit any body who dared to disagree. All this while the patients had to wait -- patiently -- for the registrars to come back to do their duty. There was no point in becoming impatient. Once a registrar started to do his work, it took not even a minute for him to enter the name and number and hand over the token. Without the token, one could not enter the doctor's room. Mentally, I started calling the Registrars the 'dwarapalakas', that is, the figures guarding the entrance to every temple.

The doctors were really kind, friendly and efficient, listening to the patients' complaints with much patience. If there was not much of a crowd waiting outside, they even exchanged a few pleasantries with one. I still remember Dr.Mrs Singh, a very nice, pleasant and wonderful person. Whenever Gowri accompanied me to this centre, during her pre-school days or her holidays, this doctor used to admire her frocks and sweaters, all made at home.

After getting the prescription, one had to go to another counter for the medicines. Here also, a lot depended on the compounder's mood. If he was in a good mood, the medicine would be handed over in no time. But if he was tired and resting his feet after attending to one or two patients, the poor, tired, listless patients would have to go on waiting for a long time. Sometimes the compounder could be very curt, flinging the prescription back at you with 'Come in the afternoon!' or 'Come back tomorrow!' or even 'Come after two days!' with the excuse that it was either closing time or 'Stock nahin hai'. Because one was entitled to the medicines and because some of them were too expensive to buy, one just had to make another trip.

There is a saying in Malayalam which translates 'Even if God bestows his blessings on his devotees, the pujari stands in the way.’ In the CGHS, the compounders always reminded me of the pujaris and doctors of gods. Don't you agree with me when I call this my weekly pilgrimage?

I used to make this trip for many many years. When Ammaji was there, I took her with me every week to the centre for she too had hypertension and the various aches and pains of old age. Ammaji really loved going to the centre and having her BP taken, and she was fascinated by the multicoloured capsules and pills prescribed for her. She was not that old when she passed away. She was only sixty-seven.

Last Days in Pandara Road

2007-07-31T21:43:00.000-07:00

The open space opposite Sujan Singh Park and Khan Market was a heavily wooded area in the early 50’s. The howling of jackals could be heard at night. There were rumours of someone having spotted a leopard, someone else seeing a tiger, or a wolf having lifted an infant. One could not say how much truth there was in these rumours, but we had seen snakes at night crossing the roads.

So it was no wonder when one or two American ladies asked me questions like, ‘Do tigers and leopards roam about in the streets of Delhi? Do snakes crawl all over the place? Do you have thunder and lightning in your country also?’ I had met these ladies at one of Bala’s friends’ places when we both visited Bala in the U.S. for the first time, in 1975.

New Delhi’s lifestyle started changing gradually. There were more people on the move with more buses, cars and cycles. Prices also started going up. Instead of eight seers of milk per rupee, we got only four seers. A seer was a slightly smaller measure than a kilo. Vegetables costing an anna a seer also went up to four annas, sometimes even double that.At the same time, vegetable vendors started coming to one’s doorstep, which helped the housewife to a large extent. The ‘pani-wallah’, a regular feature carrying water in his goatskin bags from place to place started disappearing.

Indian products like soaps, talcum powder etc started appearing in shops. Binaca Toothpaste, which came in a bright yellow and green tube, was the first with sales promotion. Each tube contained a golden trinket to be attached to a bracelet which one got as a gift when ten empty Binaca Toothpaste Packets were sent to the company. I collected the bracelet and many trinkets for my daughters. Binaca Toothpaste just vanished from the scene some ten years ago. I remember the washing soaps ‘Dip’ and ‘Det’ were brought out by Godrej and they were very good. Godrej started the promotion of their products with gift offers in the early sixties. The detergent ‘Det’ in a 2 kilo pack came in a beautiful white plastic bucket with lid. They turned out to be very good for storing provisions. I collected quite a few of them.

In the winter of 1953-54, ice-skating rinks appeared in the open ground opposite Sujan Singh Park for the first time. Huge crowds collected, especially at the weekends, to watch stunning performances by very good skaters. It was a crowd-puller, for that was the first live ice-skating performance for the Delhi crowd. It was a new, wonderful and fascinating experience for one and all, including our family.

Another attraction was the wrestling bouts that lasted for nearly two months. All the participants were from Europe. Maybe there were two or three Indians too. I am not very sure. I still remember the names of a few European wrestlers. ‘The Flying Dutchman’ literally made a flying attack on his opponent to make him fall on the ground and unable to get up within the count of ten. Another was the ‘Red Scorpion’ dressed completely in red, who felled his opponent with a back kick which gave him the name ‘Scorpion’.

Then there was this ‘Masked Angel’ who never showed his face in the ring saying that he would only be unmasked by the wrestler who defeated him, which never happened. I can tell you that this wrestler was no angel once he got inside the ring.
Babuji and I did not miss even a single one of these bouts. We did not have to worry about the children for Annaji-Ammaji were there with us. Going to the movies had come to an end with school-going children. Raji’s and Bala’s school bus came to our gate by 6.15 in the morning, winter or summer. That meant early nights for the children and for us too.

According to the Hindu calendar, one cycle of life means sixty years. Any person who lives up to sixty is considered very lucky, having lived a full life with children and grandchildren. Once a person completes sixty years, he re-enters the cycle a second time. That is why when a person completes sixty years of age, it is celebrated as an achievement.
Annaji completed sixty years of age in November 1954. Personally, Annaji did not want any celebration. But we both along, with Chitthi and Chippachi were very keen to make an occasion of that day. So we had a ‘homam’ in the morning and treated our friends to a sumptuous lunch. Babuji’s youngest brother, who was working in Bombay, also joined us. We all felt very happy and fulfilled.

In December of the same year there were two plane crashes, both BOAC, and both flying from Rangoon to London. Those days there were no non-stop flights. Hop-stop- hop from city to city was the procedure. The first crash occurred when the flight from Rangooon was landing in Calcutta. It was a total loss. One lady missed the flight at Rangoon. The radio, the press and the man in the street congratulated her on her lucky escape. Well, this lady reached Calcutta by the next flight from Rangoon. She was on her way to London, and the next stop was Delhi. This plane too crashed at Palam Airport while landing and there were no survivors! Now the very same radio, the press and the common man all pointed their fingers at her saying that she should have died at the Calcutta crash and because she escaped death then, this crash had to follow. Just imagine!!

Among our group only ‘Nada Shoes’ Mama had a car. He was a very generous person. Though he was living in Karol Bagh, he used to visit us often in South Delhi and take us for long drives. A visit to the River Yamuna in September with us was a must for him.It was wonderful seeing River Yamuna overflowing both the banks.

As he was working with Burma Shell Oil Company, he was free to go anywhere inside Palam Airport. He took us to the crash site at Palam to see the remains of the plane there.Whenever I read about a plane crash, this picture comes to my mind. This friend’s name is Ranganathan and it was Raji who started calling him Nada Shoes Mama. He used to tease her about her canvas shoes, which had laces, as ‘Nada Shoes’. Raji was just two years old at the time.

In the last week of December, Babuji had to make an emergency trip to Bombay. His youngest brother, Kunjappa, was admitted in a hospital, with a serious attack of typhoid. This news was conveyed to us by telegram by my younger brother who was also working in Bombay and staying in the same hotel as Kunjappa. Telegrams were the only and the quickest way of communication in those days and they usually carried only bad news. We were shocked to know about Kunjappa’s illness. The same evening, Babuji took a flight to Bombay – his first flight. Naturally, we were all worried, troubled and very frightened, praying for Kunjappa’s recovery and Babuji’s safe landing in Bombay, for it was too close to the two crashes.

Babuji, as he later on told me, had conditioned himself mentally to carry his brother – twelve years younger than himself -- in his arms to… if something unthinkable happened. But God was great. All that happened was that Babuji had to walk a distance of three or four miles to Kemps’ Corner and back to the hospital in the middle of the night to get the life-saving drug from a medical shop there. Those days, roads were deserted after 10 p.m., with no buses or taxis. Auto rickshaws had not yet entered the picture.

Well, to make the story short, Babuji stayed in Bombay for more than six weeks till Kunjappa was well enough to travel by train to Delhi. He stayed with us for a month or two to get back his original health. In Delhi, he suffered a relapse and the doctor gave me the responsibility of taking care of his diet. Kunjappa just hated his insipid diet, and hence, I was at the receiving end of all his tantrums, anger and bad temper. But did I care? No. I just wanted him to get well and back at work.

Delhi:1950 Onwards

2007-07-06T22:05:00.000-07:00

While the British were ruling our country there were only two buildings to contain Government offices: the North Block and the South Block which were on either side of The Viceregal Lodge (now Rashtrapati Bhavan).Till 1942 Simla was the summer capital of the British Raj. The offices and the officers were shifted to the cool place of Simla every summer. This practice was given up once the war stretched to the East thanks to the Japanese.

Once the Congress came into power and started governing the country many new ministries were formed. This meant more buildings and more manpower to work in these new ministries. This created housing problems also. People started sharing flats. There was the problem of resettling the refugees as well. And on top of all this came the shocking event of Mahatma Gandhi’s murder.

The one-and-odd year old government did not lose heart or courage. New residential areas were planned and built. The first ones were the small flats in Kotla and Sarojini Nagar first named in those days as Seva Nagar and Vinay Nagar and later changed to their present names. That was the time when New Delhi started to expand and it still goes on with the process of expansion. Part of the Pandara Road flats were built at that time and again we were one of the first occupants of those flats in 1952.

If my memory can be trusted, Sujan Singh Park and Khan Market were already well-known landmarks at that time. Khan Market was upmarket when compared to Lodhi Road Market. It was in this Khan Market that I was first introduced to the English Magazines Woman and Home, Woman and Woman’s Weekly. From then onwards these magazines became a part of my life till about 2001 when they became too costly for me to afford, nearly Rs. 100 each .When I started collecting these magazines in 1952, the prices of all the magazines were within Rs.One and eight annas. Apart from good serials and short stories these magazines also carried many household hints and recipes for baking and cooking. The main attraction for me was the knitting patterns.
Babuji got these magazines regularly for me. When we moved over to the South in 1955 for a period of eight years we found that we could get these magazines only at the Higginbotham’s counter at the Railway Stations. So every week wherever we were we did not miss a visit to the Railway Station to buy them. Thus my knitting also started and gradually this became a passion also. My children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren as well as friends benefited from this passion of mine.

The magazines also helped me to improve my knowledge of English and understand other people’s life styles too. Babuji was an avid reader of magazines and good writings of well-known authors. He had a good collection of P.G.Wodehouse works and it was he who introduced me to such writers.

Here I have to tell you of an incident that Babuji experienced before we got married. He was in the Home Ministry and as an Assistant his job was to draft official letters and to provide information in condensed form from all official files to his immediate boss, an Englishman. One day this boss sent for Babuji. Babuji, while narrating this incident to me at a later date told me that he lost his composure and started shivering in his shoes before he entered the boss’s room, for this was the first time he was facing the boss.Seeing Babuji in such a nervous fright the boss told him, ‘Young man, relax! I am no Bengal Tiger to eat you! I merely wanted to congratulate you on your good knowledge of the English Language and your style of writing. Keep it up!’

The 1950s saw a lot of events taking place for the first time. The first General Election was held in 1952. So were the first Republic Day Parade and celebrations related to that, the first Air Force Day, and Air Mail Services were introduced. The first ever election in Independent India was in 1952. Every one was excited and happy to see his or her name on the Voters List and was waiting impatiently for the Election Day to dawn. It was like a festival day with one and all moving towards the voting booths with pride and happiness written all over their faces. Looking back it seems so funny. For there was only one single party, the Congress. The fight was among its own members. There was no Opposition party. Still, there were people who were interested to pick and choose whom they considered the best of the lot to represent them in the Parliament. Maybe this was the only election in which the whole country as one used the right to vote.

Gradually this enthusiasm gave way to indifference. Many rich people and high society members started thinking it below their dignity to stand in the line with others who did not belong to their class and wait for their turn to cast their vote. I am not exaggerating when I say some women-- then and now-- could not stand the indigo ink on their nails!! Then came indifference; a kind of apathy among many people. It did not matter to them and did not make any difference to these people whether it was Rama Rajyam as promised by the Congress where milk and honey flowed or whether it was Ravana Rajyam where there was goondaism and everything ugly and evil happened!

If only all the intelligent and educated citizens of India who can think with a level head and distinguish between good and bad and who have the ability, the wisdom and the right mental attitude came forward to use this franchise, India would have been a better country now.
A lot of changes took place in our family life also. We moved to Pandara Road flats in 1952 when Viji was a six month old baby. There were only about thirty to forty flats in those days. Compared to Lodhi Colony flats, these flats were bigger, with a drawing-cum -dining room, two large bedrooms with attached bathrooms, a spacious kitchen and a front and back verandah. Babuji’s brother who was staying with us till now had got married and moved out. Babuji’s parents left Trichur for good and joined us in Delhi to spend the rest of their lives with us.
Life in Pandara Road Flats was very different compared to the Lodhi Colony. Lodhi Colony was like a community kind of life with everybody walking in and out of everybody else’s flat.It was there that I learnt cycling and had my first salwar kameez suit made. Some forty years later I switched to salwar kameez to make my life easier, when I was in Singapore with Raja and in U.S. with Bala.

In Lodhi Colony in winter months the ladies of every block gathered on the lawns with their small children once the men folk left for office to enjoy the sun along with Gol Guppa, moongfali and oranges supplied by regular vendors. And in summer by dusk all the charpoys were out on the lawns and the people dined, gossiped and played Pithhoo till midnight before they fell asleep.
Here in Pandara Road flats rank distinction was very much evident. Mostly everybody kept to themselves, like the Americans who occupied about six flats. Our downstairs neighbour was an Englishman who was a Press Reporter. He was a friendly type, not overly friendly, but just on a hello hello basis whenever we met.

Six years later when we were in Pondicherry, we came to know that this same reporter Mr. Atkinson was murdered. It was a shock for me to know that he was gay. That was a very hush-hush word which was not openly spoken in those days.It seems he had picked up two boys from Khan Market and brought them to his place. Those boys murdered him for a sum of Rs.25 which they found in his purse. What a shame. Rs.25 was a big amount in those days.

Another foreign reporter, an English lady, was occupying the flat below that of my neighbour Mrs. Sharma. This reporter was a very unfriendly and a querulous type, always picking up a fight with Mrs. Sharma over petty things like children playing or the sound the stone grinder made while making batter for idli and dosa which was a must in all South Indian homes. As Mrs. Sharma was not very good with the English language, many a time I had to fight her battle of words with the English lady.Anyway this lady moved out of our locality very soon.

I made friends with one Mrs. Uppal, a very refined lady who was a grandmother. We found so many things in common to talk about. Even now after so many years when I think of her I get a warm feeling. It was a short but pleasant friendship.

The first Air Force Day was celebrated on April 1st, 1954. It was held at Tilpath Range, a distance of about ten kilometers from New Delhi. Rehearsals were going on for more than a month. One mid-morning there was a big booming sound which was frightening and which rattled all the window panes. I heard Mr. Atkinson shouting for me by name and telling me to rush downstairs with the children thinking it was an earthquake. It was my turn to tell him that it was only the rehearsal for the Air Force Day. In those days earthquakes were common in New Delhi immediately after the monsoon, and there used to be minor tremors by the end of winter. I was really touched by Mr. Atkinson’s concern for our safety and thanked him profusely.

There were more changes to come in our life which we were not aware of at that time.

Cricket, Radio and Music

2007-06-01T04:12:00.001-07:00

Cricket in the early days was given just the importance of the sport that it was and was played with a sporting spirit among the world teams – England, Australia, West Indies and South Africa. South Africa never played with India. West Indies visited India once or twice in the nineteen forties and early fifties. England and Australia visited each other in alternate years. Whichever team won was given the trophy called the Ashes. This continues even today. As I write this I remember that day in early 1965.

As was our habit we were having our dinner listening to the nine o’clock English news. DeMellow was giving the headlines which ended with ‘There was a huge fire in Singapore. And Australia retained the Ashes.’That was De Mellow with the tongue in cheek attitude as usual and did we enjoy it and a good laugh over it!!!

The English team and the Australian Team while visiting each other used to come ashore in India and play three or four tests when their ships docked either in Bombay or Ceylon -- today’s Sri Lanka.

I was introduced to cricket by my elder brother when I was fourteen or fifteen. He was interested in the game and he also played the game with his friends, as a pastime. He was also interested in following the tests played between the world teams, and in knowing the final scores of the day. When he started working it fell on my shoulders to get the final scores of the day’s play, be it in England or Australia.

Poor me, unlike today’s children, or should I say toddlers, I had no idea how cricket was spelt or played. Since I held my brother in so much awe and respect he being elder to me by eleven years, I diligently listened to the final score of the day’s play read out at the end of the news and noted down the same for him. A ‘thank you’ from him meant a lot to me and my brother in his turn did a lot for me. He introduced me to Rider Haggard, Sir Walter Scott, Marie Corelli and Thomas Hardy and created the reading interest in me and discussed with me all the topical news, even if it was from the yellow press. We are friends even today.

When I came to Delhi after my marriage, I found not only my husband but his brother who shared our flat for seven-odd years and their whole circle of friends mad about cricket. They talked cricket, they breathed cricket and I am sure they dreamt cricket. My husband, that is Babuji, even started a cricket club in the Ministry of Home Affairs where he worked from 1940 till the day he retired. These people never missed a Test played in the Feroze Shah Kotla grounds.

Having no radio at home was a big handicap to Babuji. He was unable to afford one in the first two years of our marriage. To tell the truth we never missed one. Babuji depended on his friends who had radios to know the day’s score and for the detailed news there were newspapers. We, our group of friends, were a very happy-go-lucky type and never worried or brooded about what we didn’t have or could not afford. Our main entertainment was the cinema and a picture a week was a must for us. We never depended on public transport or the tongas. The men folk sat their wives either on the pillion or the front rod of their cycles and cycled to wherever we went. That was the way we visited Qutb Minar and many other places.

One shocking incident made us feel the absence of a radio at home and that was the murder of Mahatma Gandhi. That day, January 30, 1948 Babuji cycled to office as usual but came back home at about 3p.m. with a splitting headache. I gave him a painkiller with a cup of hot coffee, which he had gratefully and took to bed to sleep off the headache. After cooking the evening meal and feeding my eighteen month old daughter, Raji, I lay down with her and we too went to sleep. I was carrying my second baby, Bala, and I was naturally tired. Unlike some lucky women who breezed through their pregnancies, mine were always tiresome from the beginning, so any chance to have a shut-eye was very welcome to me.

Well I got up about 8p.m., and Babuji was still resting. We decided to wait for his brother to have dinner. He was late in coming home and we started worrying. Anyway he came home by 10 o’ clock howling, crying and weeping all at the same time and told us that some mad man had shot at Gandhi when he was going for his daily prayer meeting at 5 p.m. and killed him. We were shocked. The whole world was agog with the news in half an hour and we both were the only exceptions.

That day Babuji very much felt the absence of a radio at home and he very much wanted to get one. But our financial position was not all that encouraging with the monthly remittance to his parents and another child on the way. So we waited for his next promotion which came by the end of 1950.

So, on a Sunday evening -- 31st December -- Babuji announced that he was ready to get that long awaited radio and took us all to Connaught Place. I did not understand him. With only a rupee and 12 annas in the purse, how could anyone buy a radio? That amount was just enough for our bus fare and either coffee for us or cool drinks for the kids. I did not raise my doubts and decided to watch how one could buy a radio with just a khali purse.

We went straight to the well-known shop for radios and started looking around. There were many types--- all foreign makes naturally-- priced from rupees two hundred onwards. We both fell for the costliest radio there: an English make Pye encased in off-white and brown. It was lovely. It was priced at rupees five hundred and odd. Babuji said that was the one we would have and went to the shop owner to have a chat while I waited with the children outside.

After some time Babuji came and told me that we were taking the radio home and he had to pay for it in installments as and when possible. No signed papers, nothing. Such trust in people which is a rare commodity in today’s world!!

So that radio we had been wanting and waiting for was at last at our home. Babuji put one condition for me before inaugurating the radio. That was when ever the Ragam Kapi was played over the radio, whether Carnatic or Hindustani classical or light, filmy or instrumental music, he should get a cup of coffee whether night or day. He had such a weakness for coffee. I took the challenge in the right spirit and produced that cup of coffee for him whenever the Ragam Kapi was aired: I never let myself down.

There was and still is music in my life ever since the radio became a part of our household. Babuji is not there and the radio is also not there but all the Carnatic classical music Babuji had taped in those days is still with me and even after twenty years of Babuji-less life those tapes keep me company every day.

Delhi, 1947 to 1950

2007-05-01T01:43:00.000-07:00

The talk of self-rule and the partition of India into a Muslim state and a Hindu state was very much in the air in a big way when I came back to Delhi on January 22nd (1947) with my six month old baby Raji. I was with my parents for nearly nine months in Trivandrum. I could sense a lot of changes everywhere -- people opting for Pakistan already on their way there or just waiting to move out. Even in Lodhi Colony one could sense the antipathy between the Hindus and Muslims. Our downstairs neighbours, a Muslim family, had already moved out. Their thirteen year old daughter Nazreen used to spend her free time with me whenever possible and we sort of became friends though I was older by five or six years. My bookish Hindi and her pure Urdu was never a problem; we somehow understood each other. She was looking forward to see and play with our first born. I at times used to wonder what happened to her and her parents.

There was another Muslim family from Peshawar; a young couple with two babies who were living in one of the flats directly behind us. We were only nodding acquaintances. Theirs was a lovely, beautiful family. They too had moved away. Babuji also told me that many Muslim families in Old Delhi as well as in New Delhi had also moved out.

No one had any idea of what Partition would be like and what would follow. Every one from the top British officials to the Indian leaders was of the opinion that this revolution by which the English were handing over the power of self rule to the Indians was to be unique: a bloodless revolution. The transfer of power was not by fighting but by signing papers. But nobody took into account the blood spilled, the common man's blood, when they started killing one another.

The common man did not think like the leaders. Somewhere, somehow, somebody started the fire of hatred between the two communities and the fire burnt away all the rational thinking and behaviour of everyone with the result that everyone was afraid of the others. Hatred and distrust increased day by day. One started hearing of rumours of a Muslim killed there and a Hindu killed here.

Generally people make the mistake of thinking themselves to be safe from any calamity that befalls others. That is the way the human mind works.

We in Lodhi Colony were also under that impression, being in the southernmost tip of Delhi and with every flat occupied by mostly young government servants. We were proved wrong.

I remember that Friday, August 8th of 1947, very vividly. After Babuji left for office, I, along with Raji, went to a relative's house to attend a Pooja. Their house was just a few blocks away from ours; a walking distance. As the Pooja was going on there was a sudden commotion outside. People were running, shouting slogans and chasing one another with sticks and knives. We were told that the Muslim shops in the market were set on fire and looting was going on. Someone said that the Muslims in retaliation were on the warpath, entering every Hindu home to loot and plunder. On hearing this I got worried about my own place and I wanted to be there. I did not even wait for the Pooja to end. So I left with Raji and nobody stopped us. With much fear in my heart and much false confidence and bravado outside I walked back to my home.

On entering our block I saw my next door neighbour's brother, a college student, following me. He was carrying a radio. He told me that looting was still going on in the market and he had already reached a sewing machine home and the radio was his second. He said he would be going back for more. I just could not believe what I saw and what I heard. Well, in later years this same boy became Secretary to one of the Government of India ministries.

After reaching home I did not know what to do and I just could not contact Babuji in any way. Having a phone at home was a rare thing. Very very few had that privilege. So I did the best I could manage and looked for any weapon I could find. The only thing I had was the 'Arival Manai', my vegetable cutter. So along with some chilli powder I had this cutter placed near the front door and I thought I could manage whoever entered my home. Thank God this situation never arose. We, the women-folk used to worry about the safety of our men-folk till they came home in the evenings. Anything could happen. Anybody could kill anybody and get away with it.

One afternoon I witnessed a murder in our locality from the safety of my home. Many people were chasing a youth belonging to the other community with sticks. They caught up with him and had him beaten to death. I just could not believe it. It happened in front of my eyes. The police came a few seconds later and dispersed the crowd with tear gas. My eyes also started watering. This was my first experience of tear gas.

August 15th, the day India became a free country, dawned as usual -- like any other day. There was a slight drizzle throughout the day. But in the evening the sun came out bright and dazzling, giving a silver lining to the few remaining clouds. There appeared a beautiful rainbow brilliant with all the seven hues in the Eastern sky. One and all welcomed this as a good omen from Heaven and were of the opinion that India as a free nation was going to have a great future, that milk and honey would be flowing everywhere and everybody would be happy and prosperous. Wistful thinking! People had no idea what would follow.

What followed was unexpected. It was looting, arson and killing. Women were disfigured and raped and even small children were not spared. It was barbaric.

Train loads of refugees started moving both ways and half of them got killed en route. People were on the move, walking with whatever they could carry in bullock carts. Maybe half of them reached the other side with their families intact. Refugees started pouring into Lodhi Colony also and our once beautiful colony became a refugee settlement. They pitched tents on the wide footpaths. Most of them were Punjabis, and they were a proud and die-hard set. No begging, no thieving and no weeping. They held their heads high and started living again. They got whatever they could from the wholesale dealers and started selling these things from their makeshift shops on the footpath -- clothes, pots and pans and vegetables. Some enterprising men started making sweets like jalebis, and savouries. The jalebis were a hit. 'Gurrrrrrrrum' was the way the seller advertised his sweets and he collected a lot of customers. In our group that 'Gurrrrum' became a signal call - a doorbell, whenever we visited each other.

There was another youth who was selling material for frocks, skirts, etc.; pure glazed cotton prints called chintz. The prints were like phlox and verbena flowers. We got quite a few lengths of those materials to make frocks for Raji. That was Babuji's way of helping those people. Even today when I see the phlox and verbena flowers in Gowri's garden I am reminded of our evening walks and all the refugees trying to rebuild their lives.

I know of one boy who really made it. This was this young boy of ten or eleven. He was from some small village in West Punjab who reached Delhi with one brother and a sister. En route, he had lost his parents and another brother in the riots. This boy started life by selling small celluloid toys carried on a tray from door to door. When he came to my door for the first time and begged me to buy something I felt so sorry for him. On being asked he told me his plight, that he had to take care of a younger brother and sister. I bought one or two toys from him. The price was not much, just an anna (six pice) for each. He started coming every week and I collected quite a few toys which I used to adorn my 'Bommai Kolu' a Navarathri festival. There is still one of these toys in Raji's place on top of the fridge.

After a gap of nearly twenty years, and fifteen years after we had left Lodhi Colony I escorted my elder sister and her family there .They were looking for a watch to gift somebody. So we entered the shop that showcased different types of watches, radios, sewing machines and also some toys. We were discussing which one to buy and which one looked good when all of a sudden the shopkeeper looked at me, kept on looking and then called out, "Aunty is that you? How are you? Where are you nowadays?” I was taken aback. A big built man, nearing thirty years of age, smiling at me and asking these questions! I could not recognise him! He then reminded me of those days in 1947 and how I never used to send him back without buying any of his toys and how much that helped him. I recognised him then and I was happy to hear how he had educated his brothers and sister and how all three were well settled in life. I was happy for him- to know that by sheer hard work and will-power he had come up in life.

To make place for the sea of refugees that arrived in Delhi in waves, Purana Qila was transformed into a refugee colony as also in Timarpur the Kingsway Camp was formed. So many people had fled their homes and villages with nothing other than what they could carry on their persons. And the newly formed Indian Government had a tough time feeding and clothing these people and re-settling them. Some refugees who had arrived early had the good luck of occupying the havelis and homes from which the Muslims had left.

Even today the animosity and distrust that continues between communities hangs over everybody's head like the Damoclean sword. Where it falls there will be killing and looting. This will never end, it seems.

Amidst all this, there were some good God fearing people in both communities who saved the lives of many belonging to the rival community by hiding them in their homes or by adopting them as their own family members. God bless them.

Delhi, 1945 to 1947

2007-04-01T21:20:00.000-07:00

New Delhi in those days was a beautiful, quiet, neat, clean city with people leading a peaceful life and at peace with each other. I still remember quite a few ways of life of those bygone days.

I was taken by surprise when I got down at New Delhi Station for the first time in 1945 to see that there were no taxis around. We went home in a tonga, which was the main form of transport in those days other than a few buses. Private cars were very few. We used to travel by road always in Travancore in our own car. Ever since I could remember, my father owned either a Chevrolet or a Buick or a Dodge which he would change once in two years. And a new car cost only Rs.300 or Rs.400. India had not yet started to manufacture cars.

The early mornings in Delhi started with the milkman at our doorstep with the daily requirement of fresh milk straight from the cow or buffalo, and if one needed extra milk it was there for the asking. In the evening also the same milkman came again with the evening quota of milk. And at dusk, all the milkmen, known as gwalas, gathered at one point to return to their village. It was a beautiful sight when dusk set in – all these people riding their cycles with some musically inclined youngster riding pillion on one of the cycles and playing on the flute some pahadi ragam which took one to the far off hills and lakes, villages and lovely maidens. And the empty milk canisters making different sounds clanging against the cycles added to the wistfulness. Those days are gone for ever.

Another scene I remember is a sea of cycles coming down from the Secretariat in the evenings, wave after wave of cycles going in different directions. It was something to be seen to be believed. In those days, New Delhi was known as the city of Babus.

New Delhi ended with the Lodhi Gardens in the south and beyond that it was all jungle. Safdar Jung Airport was only a Flying Club, and Safdar Jung Hospital a Military Hospital, with only single storeyed hutments. Yusuf Sarai was just a Sarai, and nothing more, and the Kutb Minar was so far off with only a kutcha road leading to it.

Lodhi Colony was the last residential colony the British built in 1945 and the first of its kind, self contained, with about 2,000 two and three roomed flats and a few chummeries also. Chummeries were for bachelors; eight or ten single rooms with a common kitchen and bathroom and loo. The flats were well furnished. The furniture included a ventilator operator, a polished wooden stick of 3” diameter with a brass ventilator opener. Every door and window had ventilators, the walls being more than 12 feet high.

There was also an Enquiry Office always ready to do any repair one wanted to be done in one’s flat. And we were one of the very first people to occupy these flats. We moved into our flat 22/1054 on 31st December 1945. Till then we were living in a flat allotted to one of Babuji’s colleagues. We had our house warming dinner with Ayre Thatha and Pappu Mama, both good friends of Babuji. As payasam was being served the lights went off. ‘Light or no light, payasam is excellent!’ was Pappu Mama’s verdict. And I beamed from ear to ear and that made up for the darkness.

Those days were very simple ones and our needs were also very few. We were a group of five or six newly married couples from our own part of India and we were all in Lodhi Colony but in different blocks. Almost on all evenings we used to meet at each other’s places, and almost on all days it used to be ours. We both were good hosts.
Once a month we used to throw a ‘milk pail’ party for these friends and a few bachelor friends/ colleagues of Babuji. It was Babuji’s idea ; instead of cocktails we treated our guests to Pal Payasam and Aloo Bonda prepared by myself in plenty, and these friends made sure that not a single bonda or a single mouthful of payasam was left over. This was continued till we left Lodhi Colony for Pandara Road flats in 1952.

Another incident I remember is how I learnt to make Mysore Pak. It was wartime, and though the Second World War had just ended, there was rationing for all essential food items like rice, wheat and sugar and also for koila: both patthar and lakdi, our medium of cooking. It was a tough job breaking the patthar koila and lighting the angeethi. The less said about it the better. We had all sorts of people as neighbours, and one of them was a gentleman from Madras with two wives who were very friendly with each other. They ran short of patthar koila just a day before their child’s first birthday. So one of the wives – the younger one – came over and asked for a basketful of the same as a loan with the promise that it would be returned as soon as they got their ration. I did not like the idea of a loan of Koila. So I offered my own burning oven to her saying she could come over and prepare whatever she wanted in my kitchen. She came over with the ingredients needed for Mysore Pak and by watching her I learned to prepare it, though it took a few attempts to master the art and make it perfect. I also learnt from this lady that since her husband’s first wife did not conceive for four or five years after marriage her husband married a second time. And in her own words, ‘Wonder of wonders, within a year the first wife gave birth to a baby boy’. It was his birthday they were celebrating. And we were NOT invited to the same!! Years later I learnt from Mohan that the said gentleman was very distantly related to his father!

Our main entertainment was going to movies. Connaught Place had the same four movie halls which are still there today (I hope so!), Regal, Rivoli, Odeon and Plaza, where only English movies were screened. We used to watch a lot of movies those days. Then the Race Course contained a theatre and also the National Stadium near India Gate. These two halls handled Hindi movies. Going to a movie was a simple matter in those days. Any time one felt like watching a movie, ‘just walk in and get your tickets.’ It was not so easy after a few years. One had to buy the tickets at least three or four days in advance. Now what with TV and DVD many people can watch movies in their own homes.

Those days other than foodstuff, everything else came from outside India. Toilet articles like soap, powder, perfume, face cream, then biscuits and chocolate, cloth and motor cars were all imported. Right from our childhood we were used to Italian soaps, Swiss chocolates, English biscuits, American face powder, French perfumes and Yardley products. Pens like Waterman and Parker were the pride and joy of students. The British did not allow the Commonwealth countries to have any industries other than cottage and handloom industries.

The mentality of the common man was also laid back. He was happy with what he got. And also his needs were very few. There was no peer pressure (such words were not known at that time) there was no one-upmanship. Each one was happy with what he had. One’s needs were also very few; no ambition, no greed for material possessions.

Coming from down South and a very protected way of life, I was really surprised at the way my husband treated me as his equal and we did so many things together along with our friends. All of us were newly married and we all missed our people down South. We missed our language and our customs, and our own family’s way of celebrating festival days.
We women felt we were really cosseted and pampered by our menfolk. They treated us with respect and on equal terms with them. They looked after all our needs and helped us in the household work when needed. I got used to doing all the shopping on my own and no questions were asked if an extra rupee was spent here or there. Babuji was great that way.

‘Men Only’ and ‘Lilliput’ are the names that come to my mind when I think back. These were two magazines published mainly for the soldiers fighting in the Second World War to bring them some comfort and solace and to remind them what was waiting at home when they got back. These magazines each had pictures of pin-up models who were very scantily dressed, looking very sexy and inviting. But I can honestly tell you that those pin-up models looked more well-dressed and well-covered than most of the film heroines of today.

The kind of life we had was too good to last. All this came to an end with the Partition, the looting, killing and arson that followed, and the influx of refugees.

Those Bygone Days

2007-03-10T17:53:00.000-08:00

I was in Mumbai this time last year with Viji. I met so many of her friends and spent a good time talking with them. When I told one of them, Rinki, that I am originally from the erstwhile state of Travancore, she could not understand. She had never heard of that place!
So I had to explain.

Most people know that before India got freedom from the British, there were many small and large states ruled by Maharajas. These states were self-ruled, but were under a British supervisor called the Resident. States like Kashmir, Jaipur, Gwalior, Patiala, Kapurthala, Hyderabad, Cooch Behar and Mysore are all well-known for they were, and still are, in the news all the time. When India became independent, the whole country was divided into states according to the language spoken. So, Travancore's Tamil speaking areas of the South were merged withTamil Nadu and in the North, Kochi, Kozhikode and other Malayalam speaking areas from the then Madras Presidency were merged together to form the state of Kerala.

Travancore was one small state in the South-West corner of India. This state nestled between the Western Ghats in the East and the Arabian Sea in the West. The three seas, the Arabian Sea, Indian Ocean and the Bay of Bengal joined together at its Southern tip called Kanya Kumari. In the North, there was Cochin, another small princely state. Travancore was also known as Kerala Bhoomi : the land of coconuts, because of its abundance in coconut trees. The state is laced with backwaters and many rivers and the main form of transport was by water in those days. Small boats called 'Vanchi' were used for this. So this state was also known as 'Vanchi Bhoomi'.

In those days, under the rule of Maharaja Sri Chitthirai Thirunal, Travancore was a prosperous state. People of all religions lived together in harmony. Onam, the great festival of the Malayalees, was celebrated by everybody, including Christians and Muslims. Likewise, during Christmas and Moharrum, Hindus also joined in the celebrations and processions.and participated. This is how I remember those days.
Every year on Christmas Eve, the young men of the Christian Association used to visit almost every home singing Christmas carols, equipped with the organ. We used to wait for
them with gifts.

Now for a brief history of Travancore State.

This state was consolidated in the early fourteenth century by the great ruler Marthanda Varma. He defeated the Ettu Veetu Pillamar. Ettu Veetu Pillamar were eight Nayar chieftans who wanted to put an end to the Marumakkal Thayam or hereditary system in which the sons had no right to succeed the father. Their nephews, that is, their sister's sons, were the inheritors. The Ettu Veetu Pillamar who supported the then ruling king's son started fighting and finding ways and means to kill Marthanda Varma, the Maharaja's nephew. But Marthanda Varma defeated them and put an end to this uprising. Even today, the Maharaja's children have no right to succession. And thanks to the Indian Government, it is only a title, which the Royal family today upholds with pride and dignity by keeping away from politics and unwanted publicity. There are only a very few families today to remember the glory and splendour of the Royal family and of the days of that era.

Marthanda Varma Raja did something quite unique after he became the Maharaja. He dedicated his kingdom to the ruling deity of Travancore, Padmanabha Swamy, and called himself ''Padmanabha Dasan'' and he ruled his land as the Lord's representative. This custom was carried on by all his successors and even today, the Maharaja starts his day with a visit to the temple to take His blessings.

Another unusual custom in the Royal Family is that the members are all referred to by the stars under which they were born, like Maharaja Swathi Thirunal, Moolam Thirunal, Ayilyam Thirunal, Chitthirai Thirunal, Karthika Thirunal, Anizham Thirunal and so on. According to the Hindu calendar, there are twenty seven such stars, one for each day of month. The Royals' names are rarely mentioned and if at all they are, it is only after the affixation of the star, like Princess Aswathi Thirunal Gouri Lakshmi Bayi.
The Royal Family of Travancore is one of the oldest in India and its members, both men and women, are well known for their courage and good administration. Yes, Travancore was at times ruled by women known as Maharanis, who did a lot for the upliftment of women, encouraged them to have higher education and more liberal views. This state produced the first woman High Court Judge, Anna Chandy, and also eminent lady doctors and good women legislators.

The Royal Family for generations have been patrons of art and culture and some of the Maharajas themselves were good in different forms of art. Raja Ravi Varma's paintings are world famous and Swathi Thirunal's musical compositions in almost all Indian languages are no less. And today's Princess Aswathi Thirunal is a good author.
During my young days in Thiruvananthapuram, Sri Chitthirai Thirunal was the Maharaja. He was loved by one and all of his subjects, being very unassuming and very humble. And he had created many flutterings in many a young maiden's heart. But the Maharaja never married till the end.

Thiruvananthapuram was the capital of the state. It was a clean, beautiful city with well-maintained roads. Even in the heaviest of rains no road was water-logged. Starting from the Padmanabhaswamy Temple, an example of beautiful architecture and a tourist attraction, a temple where pilgrims come from all over India to worship, Thiruvananthapuram boasted of many such beautiful buildings. Then, the Railway Station built of huge blocks of granite, the Museum, the College of Arts, Engineering College, Science College, a Public Library well-stacked with all types of reading materials and the Maharaja's Girls' High School all of them built with red brick outer walls.
And the High Court, in white, was in the centre of the city. It was a very beautiful building with a very big garden in the front with many different kinds of topiary : creepers cut and shaped like peacocks, deer and elephants. I don’t know how it looks today. It is now the Secretariat. I used to admire the garden every day when I walked from my school to my father's chambers in the High Court to have lunch with him. That, to me, was an honour.

The two Royal places the Kaudiyar and the Kanaka Kunnu are real works of art; really majestic and beautiful in their looks.

The Travancore State had its own monetary system and its own postal system. The Sarkar rupai-chakkaram-kasu were in use side by side with the British Rupee, anna and pices. The difference between the two was only eight kasu. Sixteen kasu made a chakkaram and twenty-eight chakkarams made a rupai. Whereas twelve pice made an anna and sixteen annas made a rupee. Two annas were equal to three and a half chakrams. This was a major head-ache in the Arithmetic classes where the students had a tough time converting the British Rupee into Sarkari Rupee and vice versa. The state postal system was known as Anchal and it had its own offices, officers and stamps. Anchal money saving system offered all the facilities as of the Postal System. But many people had more trust in the Anchal system where their money was concerned.

The most vivid memories I carry of those bygone days are of the royal splendour, and the many many Royal processions. And our parents ensured that we watched them all. The Maharaja Sri Chittirai Thirunal's birthday processions in the month of Thulam, coinciding with Diwali was the most attractive.

It was a beautiful sight to see the Maharaja sitting in a palanquin clad in a kasavu mundu and a sparkling emerald necklace round his neck; a very small and demure figure with folded hands. He was a Maharaja who was dearly loved by all his subjects.

The two Aarathu processions in the months of Thulam, and Medam, on the tenth day of the Padmanabha Swamy temple festival had the Maharaja carrying a sword, walking in front of the 'Utsava Moorthy' in a palanquin, from the Padmanabha Swamy temple to the beach. He would be followed by the Elaya Raja, Deewan and other high officials. It was a distance of 8 to 9 kms and they would have a dip in the Arabian Sea irrespective of the weather, rain or shine. If I am not mistaken, the Arathu procession continues still.

Another procession I remember was on Vijaya Dasami day when the Maharaja used to go to puja perai for a token hunting expedition.
Travancore state was first in many things like the temple entry proclamation in 1936, with the temples being opened to people of all castes.
I can go on writing like this for I truly belong to Travancore. I love my state, worship the ruling deity and above all I admire the members of the Royal family with respect and love. May God bless them!
"VANCHI BHOOMI PATHE CHIRAM"

Brave New Woman of the 20th Century

2007-02-06T08:40:00.000-08:00

Mrs. Krishna Iyer, my mother's Mami, and also her contemporary:
how she created a stir in the early twentieth century, when women's liberation and financial independence were things unknown and unheard of.

Before writing her story I must give a short picture of life in those days in the Brahmin community. Life was very rigid for women both inside and outside the homes. Would you believe me if I tell you that a woman was not supposed to sit in front of a man, be it her husband or any male member of her family ,or any male (including her sons-in- -law) other than her own sons? I have seen my mother getting up when even my Athimbar entered the room she was in. But we children, after we grew up, put a stop to this. And today men get up when a lady enters a room!! Well some progress!!

Boys and girls were married off before they attained maturity -- boys before fifteen and girls before they were ten. In 1902, when my parents got married, my mother was just eight and my father fourteen. In 1926 when my eldest sister got married she was twelve and my Athimbar eighteen. But from then onwards things started changing gradually.

My mother had five mamas, but we used to know only the youngest two and I have a faint memory of the third mama, though my mother had told me about his going to Kasi after quarrelling with his parents. He was very much against marriage and when his parents forced him to marry at the age of nineteen he refused and left home in a huff and a puff, and walked all the way to Kasi, a distance of more than 1500 k.m. from Thiruvanthapuram. Kasi, the most sacred place for all Hindus, was the place in those days where anyone who wanted to attain 'Moksham' -- that is eternal relief from further births and deaths -- used to spend their old age in prayer on the banks of the river Ganga. So this Mama of my mother's also went there and approached a Sanyasi and requested that he be initiated into 'Sanyasam'. But on knowing that he had left home after ghting with his parents the Sanyasi asked the young man to get his parents' permission first.

So the Mama walked all the way back home, but this time, his resolution being unfulfilled, he took lifts from bullock carts, which were the only way of transport in those days, on some stretches. He reached home rejected and dejected, depressed and not at all impressed. Catching him at his most vulnerable moment, his parents got him married off soon.

But his two younger brothers, Krishna Mama and Bagavathi Mama, were just the opposite. They not only married the girls chosen by their parents at the chosen time but went a step further to have sammandham (relationship) with Nair women. It was a commonly acknowledged fact in those days for a married man to have a relationship with Nair women belonging to a good 'Tharavadu', and the Nair women also felt great about having a Brahmin husband. It was an accepted custom and nobody gave it a second thought or talked about it, either critically or otherwise. But I have to add that only these two uncles, either on my father's side or mother's side, had this kind of relationship. My father-in-law's uncle and one of his cousins were in the category of these two mamas, and we also used to know their children and be friendly with them whenever we visited Trichur.

Well, Krishna Mama's wife just did not tolerate her husband having a relationship. She was made of different mettle - a very strong minded person with her own views on what her life should be when she came to know about her husband's affair with another woman did not take it sitting down. But Mama did not bother about her feelings. So she left her home and went back to her parents, who did not approve of her leaving her husband. They advised her that whatever the matter her place and home was with her husband, and to live with him, good or bad. This Mami did not like the idea of going back to her husband and at the same time did not want to be a burden to her parents. So on being advised by some well wishers she went on to get training and in due course became a nurse.

In those days married Brahmin women used to drape themselves in a nine yard sari (nearly eight metres) in a very cumbersome way. Even today one comes across either a very old woman like my eldest sister, who is ninety three, or some pundit's wives wearing these nine yards' saris in the traditional way. Annam Mami was also no exception. She used to go to the Nursing School and later to the hospitals where she worked clad in the nine yard sari, changed into her uniform, and before coming home changed back into her sari so that nobody outside her workplace saw her in her nurse's uniform.

My mother liked her Mami very much and was on friendly terms with her, though Manni herself believed in all the strict Brahmin traditions and conventions. Mami was invited home for all the functions and she used to attend every one of them including my marriage in 1945. By 1945 Krishna Mama's three children by his Nair wife, two daughters and a son, were also grown up, and the eldest, Kamalammai, had become a doctor.

My parents were very friendly with Krishna Mama who used to visit us often and we children were very fond of him, for he was always full of jokes and stories and in due course the whole family was welcome to our home. Our parents were that broadminded. And the doctor daughter Kamalammai was our family doctor too. It was this doctor who delivered my second child.

But the irony was that Annam Mami had to work under Doctor Kamalammai when they were both employed in the same hospital. We used to wonder how Mami and the Doctor used to feel about it, but it made no difference to Mami. As she once told Manni, 'Work is work. She is the doctor and I the nurse. I carry out her instructions. That is all.' That was her attitude.

Till the end, she lived alone, with her work, and herself. She died with her feelings, thoughts and wishes, all bottled up inside her. She never spoke a word against her husband, or blamed anybody, but showed in action that a woman with will power and strength of mind could stay single and survive without a husband and without any help from anybody. The hospital and the one room where she lived till the end was her whole world.
And all this happened some fifty-sixty years back.
I do admire this lady.

Republic Day, 1953

2007-01-27T07:33:00.000-08:00

One evening in the first half of January, my husband came home from office brandishing an invitation card but not allowing me to have a good look at it. After teasing and taunting me for a long time he at last gave the card to me to read. And lo! It was an invitation to attend the Republic day Parade with a Car Pass, the Gate Number to enter from and our seat number. As it was, we were in a state of euphoria -- as my husband had recently been promoted to Under Secretary. And now this invitation too! I felt my cup was full!
For the next one week I spent my whole free time making plans for the big day; what and how to cook, and to finish all the house work by before 7a.m. and washing and keeping ready the children's woollies etc.

And on the 26th morning everything was done as I had planned. I cooked rice, sambar and 'phoolgobhi subzi' for lunch, gave baths to Raji, aged six and a half, Bala, aged four and a half and Viji, six months old, the youngest, whom we left at home with our own Jeeves called Bhagavathy. We did not have to use the car pass as we had no car (and we never felt its absence). Anyway we were staying at Pandara Road and India Gate was only walking distance. so we were in our seats by eight a.m. as directed in the card. All the children were seated on the ground covered with durries at the front.
Pandit Nehru, the Prime Minister, was walking up and down the footpath waiting for the arrival of the President, shaking hands with a child here, patting another, cutting a joke with yet another and rumpling another child's hair, and all the children were pleased as punch. Later on we were told that Raji and Bala were also among those who had their hair rumpled by Nehru and with whom he talked.

Compared to today's procession ( I am writing this after watching today's, i.e. the year 2007's )Parade on TV, what we watched was nothing great, but that one being our first one, our being a part of it, and that it was India's fourth Republic Day, we were feeling very proud just for being Indians.

Back home, all of us feeling pleasantly tired and hungry were ready to eat and sleep, so I asked our own Jeeves to heat up the food cooked in the morning. Pat came the reply, 'Food? What food? There is nothing to heat up!’ And then he narrated how two of our friends had come home asking for us and when told where we were they made a beeline for the kitchen to see if there was anything to eat and seeing all that I had cooked they polished off everything and left, telling Jeeves to convey their thanks to us.

At first I was very angry, but then saw the funny side of it and we had a good laugh. Somehow I managed to put some lunch on the table without much delay and that was that.

There was no phone at home those days, so it was after a week, when we met them, that we came to know that our friends Sundaram and Rangarajan, whose wives were down South, had to go hungry on that day, because their usual eating place, the chummeries kitchen, had been closed because of Republic Day. Since they knew there would be food at Ramakrishnan's place, they came over and there was food, though the Ramakrishnans were not. And they ate whatever was there, knowing that we wouldn’t mind. That was (and still is) how strong our friendship was. Though the Rangarajans are no more, the Sundarams and myself are still very good friends.

I can never forget that day in 1953. Putting down all this on paper I am living those days again and that gives me so much comfort.

.

Mrs Daisy Ayre

2006-12-11T06:20:00.000-08:00

An Englishwoman whom I admire so much. How -- having married an Indian (in the early 1930s), that too a South Indian Brahmin, steeped in orthodoxy and conventions and rituals, she stayed with her husband against all odds; through thick and thin, bore him four children, and cared and nursed him to his last days when he was struck down with paralysis -- is beyond anyone’s imagination today
I first met Mrs Ayre and her husband (my father-in-law’s cousin) in Delhi in 1945 soon after my arrival there as a young bride, young in every sense, I was not even 18 then. Mr Ayre and my husband were very good friends in spite of their age difference. (When we got married Babuji was just 25 and Ayre was in his late 40s or early 50s. I can only guess at his age, all I remember is to me, he looked very old.) So we used to meet often. What a surprise I had when we visited the Ayres and I saw Mrs Ayre for the first time – an Englishwoman, about my height, slightly built, as fair as any North Indian woman, maybe 10 years younger than her husband, but dressed in a sari, her auburn hair in a bun, with kumkum on her forehead and “thali” too (thali is thirumanglayam which the groom ties around the bride’s neck during the marriage ceremony). Her mother-in-law told me that like any other South Indian daughter-in-law, she used to have a bath every morning before entering the kitchen and for those three days when she had her periods, then too she followed the Brahmin custom of keeping herself away from the kitchen and the pooja room. And I, not even out of my teens, was most impressed by the way she had acclimatised herself to the Indian way of living, cooking and eating habits. And their four children too were more Indian than English, and they all had Indian names.

Ayre was the eldest son of his parents, Seshan (Seshan Kunjappa, Annaji’s father’s younger brother) and his wife Ammalu. He had four brothers and three sisters. But for the youngest sister who ran away with a barber, such a scandal and unheard of thing in those days, I think I have met all the family members, and we were friendly with the immediate younger brother of Ayre, called Amby.

Ayre, Suryanarayana Ayre, named after his paternal grandfather was brought up in a strictly Brahminical culture and orthodox ways. Very conventional, even to the point where cow’s milk, when being boiled, had to bubble over thrice before being removed from the fire. (I came to know of this trait in him at a later date, when Mrs Ayre was staying with us for some days and she was surprised to see me remove the milk from the fire as soon as it started boiling over.) Ayre though did not marry young as convention would have demanded. His marriage was put off till he was 35, as some astrologer had predicted that if was married before he completed his 35th birthday, his bride would die as there was “Kallathra Dosham” in his horoscope.

Mrs Ayre was born in Jamalpur, in Bihar in India, to a Scottish father and an Armenian mother. She was one of four daughters and one son. When she was only 13 years old, she lost her mother. She was first married to one Mr Marshal and had two daughters by him. He died when the children were very young. Then she met Ayre and got married to him. (Not even their daughter, Jasmine, named Parvati at birth, after her grandmother, has any idea of how or where they met. Jasmine is a good friend of mine and I am putting all this on paper after getting certain facts from her. All I know is that Mrs Ayre was working as a stenographer in some army department and Ayre was also in the army, as a member of the Geological Survey of India.) But her married life was not a bed of roses. Ayre did not take kindly or lovingly to the two fatherless girls. So their mother sent them to her only brother who had by this time gone and settled in England, along with his other sisters. (By the way, we met one of these sisters at Jasmine’s place in the 1970s).

Ayre was a jovial, handsome and carefree man with the army bearing stamped all over him. But at the same time, he was no different from the men of that time, mainly their attitude towards women and more specifically, their wives. Wives did not deserve any kindness or sympathy or help at any time or in any circumstances and were there mainly to cook and feed them, and serve and accommodate their husband’s needs under any condition and bring forth children! This is the only aspect in men which has never appealed to me. For, there are many men today also, in good and high positions in society but having the same attitude towards women. What a shame!

Within three of four months of our marriage, life started changing for the Ayres. The boys were sent to school but Ayre thought Jasmine being a girl did not need any education and was not sent to school. Reason One. Reason Two: the Ayres were staying in a friend’s quarters (house allotted by the government), which Amby and his wife also shared for some days – and had to vacate it all of a sudden. So they were homeless. Amby refused to have them with him in his house. So Mrs Ayre left for Calcutta with Jasmine and the youngest son Tim (Narayan) where she had some missionary friends who gave her a home. Both Jasmine and Tim were sent to school and Mrs Ayre started working there.

Ayre and the two elder boys Sonny (Subhash Narayan) and Micky (Mahesh Narayan) came over to stay with us (our place too was not “ours”, it was a friend’s quarters) along with a Malayali cook. They were welcomed with open arms. We all had a nice time and I became very close to the two boys. I was also happy because Ayre along with the cook took charge of the kitchen. After two months of this life we moved to our own new quarters, leaving Ayre and family to continue staying in the house we all shared, for the owner of that house was in no hurry to come back there.

After we moved, we learnt that Ayre was getting friendly with a WACCI (Women’s Auxiliary Cadet Corps of India) girl called Malati, from Kerala. She was nothing much to look at but somehow they both started seeing each other more and more and when Ayre was allotted a hutment (temporary army barracks) in Pandara Road, she also moved along and started living with them. And these two boys, Sonny and Micky, in their teens, resented the woman being with them. But they had no say in this matter for they were really frightened of their father, who never had a soft word for them. They used to turn to us for comfort and complain about Malati and her way with their daddy. But we were helpless, could not do a thing.

Five years later: December 1949:

It was a Sunday. My husband had gone for a haircut and I was at home taking care of the cooking and washing and getting the children, a girl (Raji) and a boy (Bala) ready for the day. I had the greatest of surprises when my husband returned home with a lady whom I had no memory of having met before. She was every inch a foreigner, dressed in a skirt and matching sweater, and with short hair. And I just did not believe it when she was introduced as Mrs Ayre. Oh, what a change! She told me that she was visiting Delhi to see her sons. As there were no rooms available in the YWCA, she had come to Lodi Colony to see if she could stay with her brother-in-law, Amby.

By chance and by luck, I would say, it was my husband who spotted her as she stepped out of a bus. After hearing what she had to say, he invited her to our place telling her that she could stay with us as long as she wished, an offer she accepted gratefully.

It was during her stay with us that I came to know Mrs Ayre very well and we became good friends. She was the first Englishwoman – the first foreign woman -- I had come in close contact with, though in Delhi at that time there were many foreign people. I felt she was well-educated and very knowledgeable. We talked about and discussed anything and everything, and talking with her in English helped me to express myself more fluently. She very soon adjusted to our way of life and eating habits, never made any demands and was never stand-offish. We were living in a two-roomed flat and Chippachi (Babuji's brother ) was also living with us, but we never felt with Mrs. Ayre living with us that there was one too many in the house. After all these years I don’t remember what arrangement there was for sleeping but I can tell you honestly we were all happy to have Mrs Ayre with us.

She was a great help to me in all ways. In the kitchen, for example, she helped in cutting vegetables and grinding masala. In those days, let me tell you, grinding masala was not any easy job. There were no grinders or mixers. One had to squat on the floor and do it with the ammi and kozhavi. The masala was placed on the ammi -- a flat stone made for the purpose, one-inch thick and 20 by 10 inches in size -- and it was ground into a paste with the kozhavi, a triangle-shaped stone, 4-inches long, 2-inches high and one-inch wide. Once used to it you become very adept in the job. (I used to do the grinding with that, not only the masalas and coconut but also for adai and neyyappam.) Some days, Mrs Ayre and I used to do the shopping together, and she used to babysit one-year-old Bala when I had to escort Raji to and from school. Staying with us influenced her also; it opened her eyes to the way Brahmins had started to make adjustments to their traditional way of living in many respects and was she surprised to know that my three-year-old daughter Raji was attending school!

During her stay with us, Pappu Mama, a very good friend of ours as well as Ayre, along with my husband, started talking to the two of them separately and at different levels and made them realise that the children, all four of them, needed them both, and at least for their sake, they should live together and set up a home, a loving one in the real sense, for them. It was like talking to a brick wall at first. But simply filling their heads with the children’s welfare, their education, their future, by talking to them every day, they managed to convince them to meet and talk it over.

But the audacity of the WACCI girl, Malati, took Mrs Ayre back to square one. You know, this Malati came over one afternoon to my place and, after greeting me, went straight to Mrs Ayre and said that she was there to invite Mrs Ayre to her house. And to her husband. Oh my god, how this angered Mrs Ayre. And you know she answered Malati not in words but with her chappals, on all parts of her body, and when the chappals broke, took the girl’s head in her hands and started banging it on the wall, and this girl wailing like a banshee all the time. Somehow, I pacified Mrs Ayre and sent the girl away. After this happened, Babuji and Pappu Mama had to exert more pressure on the Ayres and at last they agreed to meet. Gradually they agreed to live together and make a home for the four children. Malati was packed off to her homeland in Kerala. And life went on for the Ayre family as it did for everybody. We used to meet often and we all used to have good times together.

In 1954, we went South and were there till 1963. When we came back to Delhi, we learnt that the Ayres had left Delhi in the meantime and somehow we lost track of each other. We learnt from Jasmine, who was by now married to Jain Uncle and the mother of three lovely kids, a boy and two girls, that Ayre had taken voluntary retirement from the Army as he was not keeping good health and had moved to Bhilai where Jasmine was living. We learnt he had taken his wife to his hometown Trichur for the first time, to meet the members of his family there and then to Bombay also, to meet his brothers and sisters. He had suffered one stroke by that time but he was not much affected. In 1963, he had another stroke which affected his right side. Three years later, he suffered another one, this time affecting his left side. He was completely bedridden.

All this news saddened us, particularly Babuji. But however much he wanted, he was not able to go and see the Ayres as he had too many responsibilities, at office and at home also.

And we were very much grieved when we received a letter written by Mrs Ayre herself informing us of the passing away of Ayre Thatha (that is what the children called him) on the 24th of May, the very same day Jasmine’s second son Tunu was born. She herself wrote the letter for she knew how much we both loved and cared for them.

But the saddest part was – and this Mrs Ayre told me at a later date when we met -- that till the end, both Malati and Ayre Thatha were communicating with each other with the help of a Malayali friend of his, and that Ayre Thatha even had a gold chain made and sent to that woman. And for the lady who married him and was with him till the end, nursed him in his last days and was there at the receiving end of all his moods, anger, temper and frustration and what not, there was nothing. Nothing, but a life of worry, misery and fighting, for the survival of her children and herself.

After Ayre Thatha’s death, Mrs Ayre came to Delhi to spend some time with Jasmine and to meet us. Then she left for England where her sons, Sonny and Micky had settled down, and stayed there for a long time, but not with her sons. She lived in her own small apartment in London and, with a little help (financially) from her children, she was able to manage and live comfortably. And peacefully.

In the early 1990s, Sonny migrated to Australia and Mrs Ayre came to Delhi and stayed with Jasmine and was there till her end in 1996.

What a life she lived and how much she suffered. But her willpower and her strength of mind and character helped her to sail through the rough waters and keep her head high, very high, above all these. I am sure she has found peace and comfort in the afterlife.

May her soul rest in peace.

MAIJI

2006-09-26T00:06:00.000-07:00

Also written in 1990-92, as a continuation of Babuji, the early days

I was born on the 27th of November, 1927, as the fifth daughter and eighth child of my parents. My father was an advocate at the time of my birth. I was named Lalitha. My grandfather, like Babuji’s, was also an advocate. He too died when my father was in his early 20s. Unlike Babuji’s grandfather, my grandfather was not very successful in his profession; all he left my father was a house and his six sisters – three of them married – and two brothers, both minors.

So my father had the responsibilities of not only raising his own family but also of taking care of the education of his two brothers and the marriage and settling down of his three younger sisters. From what I have heard he carried out his responsibilities not without any trouble or difficulties, yet he did those things. He was a school teacher when his father died but he studied law in the evening college and started practising at Nagercoil; by that time he was the father of two children.

My parents got married when my father was only 14 and my mother 8. My mother (Manni) was the eldest daughter of her parents. She had two sisters and one brother. A small family by those days’ standards. Manni’s father was a schoolteacher and he was earning only Rs 10 per month as salary. But those days, the Indian rupee had more value. And can you guess? The one rupee coins were made of solid silver. One rupee was broken into 28 chakrams and one chakram was broken into 16 kasu. And mind you, one could buy so much with 8 kasu or 4 kasu. So 10 rupees was enough for a middle-class family.

Though my parents got married when they were only 14 and 8, they started living together only after 8 years. My grandmother (Thatha’s mother) did not take kindly to Manni. By the time Thatha and Manni had their fifth child – by this time they had lost their second son at the age of 2 – Thatha left Nagercoil and came back to Trivandrum to practice law. And Lady Luck started favouring him.

The first thing I remember about my parents is an event that happened when I was 3-plus. In those days every citizen, from the very old to the newborn, was supposed to have vaccination (against small pox) once every year and the municipal people used to come to every house and do it. I remember the occasion when I had my first vaccination. Thatha was by my side and Manni was somewhere inside, near the kitchen, washing dishes. I ran up to her complain and even today after 60 years I vividly remember how she consoled and comforted me.

As was the custom those days, I was taught basic arithmetic and basic reading and writing at home by a private tutor. I started going to school at the age of 7 and passed my school finals at the age of 14. Thatha, by this time, had become a High Court Judge. All my elder sisters married and also my elder brother, who had a B Sc degree from the Benares Hindu University, while my two younger brothers were in school. In school, as a student I was not very bad, just about average. I had by quota of childhood illnesses also, like chicken pox, measles and typhoid.

My first interest in nature was aroused when I was in bed with jaundice, when I was just six years old. My bed was near a window and through that I was able to get glimpses of blue sky, cottonwool clouds, and at night the very same clouds chasing the moon. After that, I used to spend as much time as possible outdoors, watching the trees, and the shadows they made, the plants, the flowers, the birds and the butterflies.

After school, I joined the Women’s College to do my pre-degree, known in those days as FA. I very much wanted to continue my studies. My innermost ambition was to become a doctor. One of my mother’s cousins was a doctor and I was terribly fascinated by her. Thatha wanted me to be a graduate. You see, my three elder sisters got married when they were 12, 13 and 14, respectively; none of them completed their school finals. Socially, times were changing, changing for the better. Girls were getting married late, they went in for higher education, and started working also.

In college, I was a good student – history was my subject – and I passed with distinction. But about doing my BA, Manni was very much against it, the reason being one had to study with boys. As it would be, only the previous year one of the girls in our neighbourhood – a student of the co-ed college – got involved in a scandal and it created so many waves and counterwaves the whole of Trivandrum city was buzzing with it for a long it. So Manni was very much put off with it and my education also came to a stop.

But instead of sitting at home and doing nothing, I started learning Hindi. You know, this was in 1943-44 and there was the Quit India movement, with the Congress party trying its best to create patriotic feelings in everyone and promoting “khadi” and Hindi. With the help of Dakshin Bharat Hindiprachar Sabha, the Congress was giving Hindi lessons to every willing learner. So I also joined the gang and within two years reached the finals, when my marriage was fixed.

You see, dear children, what a contrast there is in my younger years and Babuji’s. I grew up in a carefree, worry-less world, with always a retinue of servants to see to our comforts. We were driven in style to school and back, a private tutor to help us with our school homework etc. But at the same time my elder brother saw to it that I was not at all spoilt.

Thatha had no time for us. He had his own way of life. He had become a High Court judge when I was 10. His morning and the whole day were taken by his work. In the evenings, he used to go to his club for playing tennis or bridge. He was also a Freemason. And Manni was busy with kitchenwork and her own puja and things like that. So whenever I wanted anything it was to my elder brother I turned to. Even today, I have so much respect for him.

In my marriage too my elder brother had a hand. It was he who went to Trichur to get to know Babuji’s parents and invite them to our place to “see” the girl. My brother was very much impressed with Annaji and Ammaji – what he said about them created a lot of respect for them in me, even before I saw them.

So, on a pre-decided day, Annaji and his elder brother (known to the whole family as Kunjanna) came to Trivandrum. They were treated with a feast and given all that is due to the bridegroom’s people. They stayed overnight and left the next day, agreeing to the match. They were pleased with everything they saw, as also what little of me they “saw”. I was there as one in a crowd.

So the date was fixed and Babuji also got the information that his fate was sealed. Then a problem came: Thatha’s father’s “shradham” which was just two days before the fixed date. Thatha wanted the marriage to be put off by two months but Annaji was not for that. That was when Babuji got his second telegram. Annaji was really not keen to proceed with this match when the problem arose. But Thatha was equally keen not to miss the alliance. So after much head scratching, consultation with so many astrologers and others in the family, another date was fixed for the marriage, two weeks before the first date. It was not all that auspicious, but for everything there is this “prayachitam”. So, again Annaji was informed, who in turned informed Babuji, hence the third telegram. So both parties got busy, preparing for the wedding on 27th June.

So Babuji left Delhi and came to Madras and from there, as directed by Annaji, came to Trivandrum, with his cousin Madras Kunjappa, to see the girl. It was only a formality as everything was fixed -- and even if he did not like what he saw, he had no way out. Oh, how I used to tease him on this. But where I was concerned he came, I saw, he conquered. Yes, I fell for him and felt so happy. And so was everyone else for, you know, even at that age, Babuji had a knack of pleasing everyone who met and talked with him. Even my grandmother was full of praise for him.

So my home became a hive of activity with only a week for the big day. You know in those days marriages were conducted in one’s own houses. There were no kalyana mandapams. A pandal was erected on the front compound of the house – its size depended on the size of the courtyard, and the decorations and lights depended on the purse of the bride’s father. The bride’s father had to meet all the expenses of the marriage, apart from providing the bride with gold ornaments, diamond earrings and nose-rings, silver and brass vessels (those days, stainless steel was not invented), bed, furniture, in short, whatever she needed to set up a home.

The bridegroom’s people usually came a day before the marriage and stayed one or two days after the function. All their needs, whims and fancies had to be taken care of. My eldest sister’s marriage was a four-day affair, ending with a procession of newly-weds on the main roads of the city, followed by nagaswaram and gaslights. The bride and groom were on a palanquin, carried by four men. Those days there were no cars and no electricity. My other sisters’ weddings were cut short to two days, as also my brother’s. Ours was a one-day affair. The groom’s party came on the 26th and left on the 28th. Babuji stayed back in Trivandrum for a week then we both left for Trichur.

BABUJI’S EARLY DAYS

2006-09-23T09:25:00.000-07:00

This was written in 1990-92 for my grandchildren, especially the ones who were too young to know him.

Babuji was born on the 11th of April, 1920, as the second child – first son – of Annaji and Ammaji. He was named Ramakrishnan and affectionately called Ambi. Even today, his childhood friends call him Ambi. In those days, Annaji was a very rich man – was doing business, owned a shop, a big house and had enough land to produce his annual need of rice, and all this back with good capital in the bank.

Annaji had four brothers and three sisters. Their father, that is, Babuji’s grandfather, was a lawyer. He had to start his legal practice from scratch. He had nothing to call his own other than what he earned. But he was very good in his profession. He was able to make a lot of money and when he died – and he was not very old when he died – he left for each of his sons enough to provide for their lifetime. So whatever Annaji owned, he inherited, like his brothers, from his father.

Annaji and his two younger brothers were in their teens when they lost their father. So, having nobody to take care of them, Annaji was not able to finish his studies. He took to business and was doing very well for the first few years. Babuji along with his elder sister had a wonderful childhood, enjoyed the best in life for the first few years of his life.

He had his own paid playmate, who was with him all the twenty-four hours of the day. When Babuji started to go to school, the boy would wait outside the classroom. I remember Ammaji telling me that one of the boy’s duties was to take Babuji out in the pram every evening for a ride. You know what Babuji used to do? The moment they were out of sight of the house, Babuji would make this boy sit in the pram and Babuji would push the pram, at the same time threatening the boy not to open his mouth about this at home.

Those were the days when people needed very little to make them happy and be satisfied. There were no movies, no televisions, no telephones, no cars, no aeroplanes, no electricity, no running water. People’s needs were also very few as they were not exposed to anything other than what they had. People used to travel in carts drawn by either horses or bullocks and the very rich traveled by palanquins, carried by human beings.

So for entertainment the people of olden days used to make an occasion of every event. It started with birth and went on till death. The birth of a child was celebrated very grandly, with the distribution of bananas and sugar (instant sweet!) and a measure of unhusked rice and cash to go with it.

On the eighth day, the child had the “kappu” ceremony. It is the duty of the “athai”, father’s sister, to come and present the newborn with gold bangles and silver anklets. Those who could afford it also used to give a chain for the neck and waist. Gold was very cheap those days. All the womenfolk and young children of the neighbourhood were invited and everyone has a merry time.

On the 11th day, there was the “naming” ceremony in the morning and the “cradle” ceremony in the evening. The custom was the first boy and girl would be named after the father’s parents and the second boy and girl after the mother’s parents. (So, Babuji got his grandfather’s name). All the near and dear ones, sometimes from far off, were invited and treated to a good lunch.

When the baby completed six months, he would be given his first morsel of rice (called “Annaprasanam’), a ceremony usually performed in the temple of the family deity. The first birthday, even in those days, was celebrated in a grand style, again with everyone from far and near being treated to delicious feasts.

When the male child completed three years of age, a function called “kudumi” was celebrated. (Kudumi is the name of a hairstyle. Even now in many parts of our country you see many pundits and purohits with this style, long tufts of hair at the back of their head.) Till then, the child’s hair was never cut. An auspicious day was fixed, friends and relatives invited. Pundits performed puja to get the blessings of the gods for the child and the parents. Then it was the barber’s turn, to cut the boy’s hair. The pattern was to shave only the front portion, from ear to ear, and leave the hair at the back to grow. There would also be a lot of merrymaking and feasting, and presents exchanged.

Then at the age of seven, the boy had to go through another ceremony called “poonal”, the initiation of the boy into the “Veda” world and the “Gayatri” mantra. Again, an auspicious day is fixed and friends and relations come from near and far. (Far in those days would be just a 100 miles, but when traveling is done by bullock carts on rough roads, it would take 3-4 days). Gods’ blessings are invoked by performing “homam” and the sacred thread – the “poonal” – is worn on the boy’s neck and the “Gayatri” mantra recited into his ears by his father. This ceremony and merrymaking and feasting lasted for four or five days. The reason: people coming from afar should be ready to travel again; they should get over their “cart-lag”. Again, presents are exchanged and from that day the hero of the day is called a “Brahmachari”.

Oh, forgot something. When the child is five, whether a boy or girl, they are given their first lessons in the 3 Rs. It is done on “Vijayadashami” day, (the last day of the “Navarathri”), also called the “Vidyaramban” day. “Vidya” means arts-learning.

So, you see, all these Babuji also went through. Not only did he have his “Kudumi” till he was seven or eight years old, he had his ears pierced, had studs on them and also was wearing gold bangles and chains. That was the custom of those days. Babuji was also a good student and that helped him very much when disaster struck.

Yes, disaster came in the guise of the “Mappilai Riots”, when Muslims and Christians fought with each other – for their very existence. There was arson, looting, killing, everything. And Annaji’s (Babuji’s father) shop was one among many that was looted and burnt. Among the brothers, only Annaji was the loser. One of his brothers (elder) turned out to be a lawyer, one younger brother was also a businessman, but he was not affected by the riot, and another younger brother became a doctor.

Now a few words about Babuji’s mother, Ammaji. She lost her mother when she was barely three years old. Ammaji had two sisters and two brothers. After her mother died, the mother’s mother took the responsibility of bringing up Ammaji and her sisters for a few years. But this old lady was without any income. Still, with the help of friendly and kind neighbours, she was able to feed and clothe them. Ammaji’s father was a schoolteacher. Ammaji and her sisters also went to school but in those days no importance was given to the education of girls. It was considered enough if they could count up to 100, a little addition and subtraction, and also read and write their mother tongue. But they were trained well in house work in the early ages itself. Another art that was given to them was singing. It was always considered a plus point if a girl could sing. So the girls were given music lessons when they completed five years. And before girls were 10-12 years old, they were married off.

So Annaji-Ammaji got married when Ammaji was 11 years old and Annaji 17. Ammaji got a lot of ornaments – gold – when she got married and Annaji presented her with a lot in the following years. Though girls were married when they were barely 10-11, they stayed on with their parents till they were 14-15 and after that only joined their husbands. By the time Ammaji joined Annaji she had a lot of jewellery and they had a comfortable, in fact “kushi”, life for the first few years.

Now, when disaster came, Annaji started selling his lands and his house and so many things one by one to continue his business. He started by opening another shop but it seemed Lady Luck had enough of him. He did not succeed in his new venture. Now there was nothing left other than Ammaji’s jewels – and, oh boy, what a lot she had. Every kind of item from the head to toe, all in solid gold. Only the anklets and toe-rings were in silver because, it is said, only women belonging to royal families could wear gold on their feet. That was so in the olden days. Nowadays everyone is king of his own house (castle) and can do whatever one wants to do, can please himself anyway one likes. In fact, if things were otherwise, you children would be the proud owners of some of those items.

Coming back to the events by the time Babuji was six years old, Annaji decided to leave Trichur to try his luck somewhere else. So Ammaji with her daughter went to stay with her brother (she had lost her father also soon after marriage) and Babuji stayed with his uncle (Raman Kunjappa) to continue school. Ammaji was only 20 miles away but for Babuji that was a long distance. He missed her a lot. He used to take a bus to join his mother for the weekend and come back on Monday mornings. Babuji used to tell me he used to dread and hate those trips, of travelling all by himself, but he made it every week to be with his mother. (I always feel sorry for him. Maybe that is why, because he suffered so much in his younger days, I used to spoil him in my own way.)

This continued for a year. Annaji came back to Trichur, a failure again, and the family was together again for some days. By this time, Annaji-Ammaji had two more boys, they lost one, just two years old. Annaji now took a very bold step. He, along with Ammaji’s brother and the money he got by selling Ammaji’s last piece of jewellery, went to Waltair (Vishakhapatnam) to try his luck there. Ammaji and Athai and the younger child also went with him. This time Babuji was left in the care of Kuttiappa, Annaji’s youngest brother, the doctor, who was in Madras.

Babuji was there for two years. He went to Christian College School and did his fifth and sixth grade there. So now Babuji was exposed to new people, new life and new everything. As Babuji himself used to tell me they were the best years of his younger days. Kuttiammai really took care of Babuji, as if he were her own child. Kuttiammai was the one who got Babuji his first pair of shoes and socks and also helped him wear them the first time. Babuji never forgot how much he owed to this uncle and aunt – their love and affection also – to the last. He was very, very grateful to them for everything and some of his feelings for them rubbed on to me also. So even now I have so much respect for them and love and affection, not only for them but to their son Raja and his family. The same aunt and uncle were in Babuji’s life again and again. They helped him in many ways.

Well, the same old story where Annaji was concerned. He lost everything in Waltair and came back to Trichur, a defeated man, poorer. Now, he had nothing, not a single rupee to call his own, but he gained one thing. He had by then another son. So with four children, and no money, no education, how was he going to face life? He was brave enough for that. Packing and putting aside all his self-respect and pride, he started working in a bank as a mere clerk, for Rs 25 a month. What a fall for a great man!!

Athai, who was nearing 12, was being married off to Annaji’s cousin. Babuji was in his 8th grade. He had two more years of High School before he joined college. Annaji could not afford to pay his school fees, which was Rs 5 every month. So Babuji, along with his father, met his headmaster and explained the situation to him. The headmaster was a Catholic priest, a very good man. After listening to Annaji’s trouble, he said that because Babuji was good in his studies, he would pay half the fees from his own pocket, the other half Annaji had to provide. Annaji said no, he just could not stretch his budget any more. So it was up to Babuji to make that two rupees 50 paisa every month. He thought of many ideas and at last hit upon some good ones.

Those were the days when India was under British rule. Indians were becoming aware of many things, the world marching forward while they were still under foreign rule. So many great men, like Mahatma Gandhi, Motilal Nehru, Vallabhai Patel, Jinnah, Rajagopalachari, Gokhale, started the national movement. All these great people along with many others were trying to get independence from British rule and form a free India. To make the people aware of it there were many different movements. Pictures (posters as they are called now) of the leaders were printed and sold door to door to collect money for the movement.

Babuji started selling these pictures door to door in the evenings and for this he was paid a small sum. But that small sum seemed a lot. And in the mornings, for an hour before school time, he used to weave and make khadi (handwoven cloth). This was another movement started by Gandhi and followed by many. Even today many people in India wear only khadi. Babuji was paid for this also. This way, he was able to make enough money to cover his fees. And he passed his high school examination with flying colours and got a scholarship when he joined college. And in his finals, he topped everyone and was the recipient of a gold medal, the first one in the family. Two of our daughters also were gold medallists, Raji and Gowri. Now I wonder how many of you are going to have your names added to that list. I want all your names to be there and I’m sure I won’t be disappointed.

Now, a few words about Babuji’s friends. Most of you would know from your own experience that friends play a great role in anyone’s life. They help one to mould one’s character, even if it is a small way. They help each other in creating interest in so many activities and at the same time, if one gets into bad company, the very same company can make one also turn out to be a bad person. Luckily, Babuji got some good friends who really helped him a lot in getting interested in reading, debating and also in music. Babuji and these friends would never miss a concert. They used to walk seven-eight miles to go and listen to concerts. Babuji used to have his fun also, telling his parents that he would be studying with his friends; they all would go for movies. I would say these friends of Babuji played a great part in shaping Babuji’s character and general outlook on life and for that I am grateful to them. Yes, I know them, Babuji used to meet them whenever he came to his hometown on leave.

After graduating, Babuji had to look out for a job. Babuji very much wanted to make it to the ICS, Indian Civil Service (nowadays this is called IAS) but his eyesight (short sight, a family heritage, which has touched even some of you, Babuji always used to say that ours is a spectacular family) prevented him from trying for it. So at the age of 20, he left home and came to Madras to try his luck. Annaji was working in the bank as before and Babuji’s two brothers were in school. So Babuji felt he had to get a job to help Annaji financially. Babuji did get a job soon. He joined Voltas as a junior clerk on a small pay of Rs 25. Babuji again started staying with Kuttiappa and Kuttiammai and cutting down many of his personal expenses used to send Annaji Rs 10 every month.

Those days the rupee had a great value. One could get a pant made for three quarters of a rupee, a pair of shoes (Bata) for the same amount, a good lunch for about one tenth of a rupee and a full meal for a quarter. Those were the days of plenty, things were cheap or rather money had more value and people were much more honest with each other in their dealings and had fewer needs.

While working, Babuji also learnt shorthand and typing and sat for a test to join the Government of India in Delhi. He passed the test – he was good at shorthand and typing also – and got a job in the Secretariat in Delhi. He joined the Home Ministry in 1940 on the 27th of September.

Times were also changing. Electricity and running water had by now become available to all who could afford it and there were many cars on the roads. Gramaphones (record players) were fairly common and even radios were seen in the houses of the rich. And World War II had started. In spite of all these changes, going to Delhi in those days was considered as difficult as going to the moon nowadays. Now, going to the US is much easier than it was going to Delhi in those days. You know, it used to take 56 hours by train from Madras to Delhi and from Trichur to Madras another 15 hours. There was no reservation and if you were traveling third class (that is what the common man could afford) you had to sit for the whole journey. There were just a handful of South Indians in Delhi in those days and they used to take the new arrivals under their protective wings and help them settle down.

Young boys – no, it will be correct to say parents of young boys who had just come out of high school or college with typing and shorthand at their fingertips – thought that getting a job in the Government of India, where provident fund and pension were there, was the ultimate thing and the boy and family were considered as lucky. People in Trichur used to say that now Ambi has got a job with the Government of India, Kittan’s (that is how Annaji was known in Trichur) worries and troubles are over in this life. And Babuji also saw to it that Annaji did not have any more worries or troubles.

As the custom was, as I mentioned before, when Babuji arrived in Delhi on 26th September, 1940, he was taken to “Madras Hotel” by one of the good helpers and made arrangements for him to stay there. He had to share a room with two others, each having the space to have a cot to sleep and to have their trunk under the cot. There were also two meals in the hotel and for all that, the charge was Rs 30. Babuji’s pay was about Rs 75 in the beginning. Even then he used to send Rs 20 to Annaji every month and as Babuji’s pay increased his remittances to Annaji also increased.

Now, when Babuji left Madras for Delhi, Kuttiammai presented him a purse containing Rs 100 (by the way, that purse is still with me) and with that money, Babuji was able to buy a cycle and generally settle down in Delhi. As I told you before, Babuji is of a friendly nature and soon he made very many friends. And all these friends helped Babuji with his idea of renting a house and all of them living there together with a cook. So the MESS was started in 1941 in No 1, Jain Mandir Road and there were always 10 to 15 people staying there at any given time and of course, Babuji was the manager and as a manager he was very strict. That is what he used to tell me. I have my own doubts. But as the manager he had one privilege and that is he alone would have his second cup of coffee, which the cook would give him without anyone seeing it or knowing about it.

Babuji is very fond of coffee and he generally has three-four (half) cups of coffee in the mornings. His manner of drinking coffee is also very unique. He would take one sip and then leave his glass somewhere and after 10 minutes he would remember he had not finished his coffee. Again, he would have another sip and so on like this until the coffee would be over and he would want it refilled. Sometimes he would even forget that he had not finished his coffee and many a time I have had to remind him. So, while in the Mess, most times he would take one sip from his cup and leave it on the table, or somewhere, and attend to other things. A fellow Mess-mate would be waiting for this chance and he would finish off Babuji’s coffee very coolly. Babuji, in all his innocence, would think he must have finished his coffee when he found his cup empty. Until, one day, he caught the other fellow red-handed, or more exactly, cup-handed. And this fellow was a very good friend of Babuji till the last.

In the office front also, Babuji became very popular. He, along with a few others, started a cricket club which was doing well for many years. And I hope it is still going strong. I don’t whether Raji or Bala remember this, but we had gone to watch Babuji play for the Home Ministry two or three times. At the time Babuji joined the Home Ministry his immediate boss was an Englishman. Which reminds me of an incident Babuji has told me. You know Babuji was summoned by this boss to take down dictation and as soon as Babuji entered the room, can you imagine what happened? Poor Babuji, he is meeting an Englishman for the first time – he started shivering all over, his knees knocking, and he could not even answer the Englishman’s questions with a mere Yes or No. The boss, sensing Babuji’s condition, was pleasant enough to say: Look here, young boy, I won’t eat you. Calm down and come back after some time.” After this, everything was okay between them.

As I have already told you, Babuji used to read a lot and this gave him a good control and mastery of the English language and this he used to the maximum in writing notes and putting out drafts, for which he became very well known. Another thing for which Babuji was well known was his sense of dressing. At that time, even though his wardrobe was very limited he had a good dress sense was easily the best dressed man in the whole Secretariat – which he retained for a very, very long time.

So Babuji settled down to this new life in Delhi and was happy, going home every year to meet his parents. Life went on like this for five years by which time he wrote another exam and was promoted as an Assistant. As in every year, in 1945, by the end of May, Babuji was thinking of taking his annual leave and going home, when he got a telegram from Annaji, saying “Start immediately. Marriage fixed.” Babuji was in a daze. But he knew one thing. The telegram meant what it said – it was a reality. Otherwise Annaji wouldn’t send a telegram. Babuji suddenly remembered an incident that happened a few months or a year back. Either he was not well or he was lazy. Whatever it was, he did not write to Annaji for a few days. He was generally very regular in writing letters home and this resulted in Annaji getting worried and sending a telegram to Babuji asking him to wire back urgently about his safety. Well, Babuji very sheepishly sent back a wire home saying all is okay and that he did not write “just like that”. Back came a postcard from Annaji with just one line, “Shame on you, made me spend money on a telegram in these poor times.” Babuji never forgot that incident and after that he was very, very regular in writing to Annaji, till 1953, when Annaji-Ammaji left Trichur for good and came to Delhi.

Sorry, I am rambling. Now back to Annaji’s telegram. Babuji knew it meant business. As I said earlier, Babuji was dazed. He had no idea to whom he was getting married (maybe if he had known he would have refused!). Anyway, he applied for leave and made preparations to go home when all of a sudden came another telegram from Annaji, saying: “Don’t come. Marriage cancelled.” Poor Babuji. He was more dazed. He knew a letter, with explanations would follow, but it would take about a week to 10 days for a letter to reach him. He did not know what to do. Anyway, after much debate, he decided to go home on leave, as he did every year, marriage or no marriage, and planned to leave Delhi on the 15th of June.

Just a day or two before he left, he had another letter from Annaji saying that Babuji is getting married on the 27th of June, the girl is from Trivandrum, and that he should go straight to Trivandrum to meet the girl and then only come to Trichur. More surprises! Babuji did not know what was happening. Anyway, after reaching Madras, he went to Trivandrum with Kuttiappa’s son, Raja, to meet the girl he was to marry.

Well, he came to Trivandrum, was received at the station by the girl’s people and taken home, spent a night there, saw the girl – yes, only saw the girl – and the next day left for Trichur. He then came back to Trivandrum with his whole family and friends and near and dear ones and tied the three knots on this girl’s neck on 27th June.

ANNAJI - Babuji's father

2006-09-05T07:22:00.000-07:00

ANNAJI AND AMMAJI - Babuji's parents

Annaji was born in 1894 in Trichur and he grew up in a joint family along with his five brothers (he lost one brother in his teens) and three sisters. It was a close knit family.

When Annaji’s father died – the father was an advocate who started his practice with a single rupee as his fees – he left for each one of his five sons a house, and a big one at that, an agricultural plot of land and a lump sum of Rs 10,000 at the bank. And this shows how good he was in his job.

When Annaji’s father died, the elder two sons had already finished their studies, and married too, and his three sisters married off. Annaji had finished his school and just started college. As there was no whiphand and no dearth of money, he did not pay much attention to his studies. His own words to my father when they met for the first time – just before my marriage – “Oh, I have studied a lot. I have appeared for the FA (Intermediate) eight times. Even then I did not get a certificate.” My father enjoyed the joke, and the honesty behind it.

Since Annaji had not completed his education he started a cloth business and was doing very well with that. So did his younger brother. He also started a cloth shop and was prospering, like Annaji. His youngest brother finished his MBBS and settled in Madras to practice. Annaji’s older brother studied law and was practising in Trichur itself. The eldest brother moved over to Calcutta with his family and settled there in the early 40s.

For the first few years, Annaji’s business was doing very well. Then came disaster, in the form of the Mappilai Riots, between Muslims and Christians. As usual as in any riot there was arson and looting, not to mention murder. Annaji’s cloth shop, located between two Christian shops, was burnt down, along with those two shops and Annaji was not able to salvage anything.

That was the year – 1920 -- Babuji was born, the second child. The eldest was a girl, the only daughter.

Now a few words about Ammaji, Babuji’s mother. She was one of five children. Ammaji was barely four years when lost her mother. Ammaji had two brothers and two sisters. After her mother died, her grandmother, maternal, took the responsibility of bringing up Ammaji and her two sisters for a few years. Though this kind old lady had no income, she brought up the three girls with affection and love, and with the help of friendly and kind neighbours she was able to feed and clothe them.

Ammaji’s father was a schoolteacher. Ammaji and her sisters also attended school but in those days not much importance was given to the education of girls. It was considered enough if the girls could count up to 100, a little addition and subtraction and, also to read and write their mother tongue. And the girls were initiated into the art of singing – vocal – and those who could afford it, some – any – instrumental playing. This was considered a plus point in the marriage market. And the girls were married off very early. Ammaji was only 13 when she got married to Annaji, who was 19. In today’s thinking, both boys and girls of that age group are named teenagers and are considered to be too young to take on any responsibility.

Coming back to Annaji-Ammaji, their first child was born in 1918 and next came Babuji, in 1920. For the first few years of his life – till Babuji was five or six – things were not so bad for Annaji even though he lost his shop and business. He started another shop by selling off the land. When that also did not do well, he started selling his possessions one by one to make his business go forward. But nothing happened. Everything turned out to be a failure.

As a last resort, Annaji started selling Ammaji’s ornaments, all solid gold. And what a lot she had, covering her from head to toe. You name it, she had it. Only her anklets and toe-rings were made of silver, for, women belonging to royal families alone could wear gold on their feet. That was strictly followed in the olden days. Nowadays, everyone is a king of his own house and can do whatever one wants to do. In fact, if fate was not this much unkind to Annaji you – I mean his (great) grandchildren – would be having some of his ornaments.

Coming back to Annaji, it seemed as if Lady Luck had completely washed her hands of Annaji: whatever he touched (unlike King Midas) turned to dust. So, by 1930 or so, having lost everything he owned, he was a poor man, nothing to call his own other than his family – wife, a daughter and three sons. But he did not lose his sense of dignity or responsibility. He swallowed all his pride for the sake of his family and started working in a bank as a mere clerk for Rs 25 a month. With great difficulty he married off his daughter and educated his sons.

As a man Annaji had a great sense of humour. And he was not afraid of anything or anybody. It was the other way around. Not only his family but outsiders were afraid of “Kittan”, as Annaji was known to his friends. For Annaji was honest in everything he did and to everybody, and he could be very blunt in expressing his views. As a young bride, I had been at the receiving end of his jokes. Once, while he was serving food in a marriage feast, someone asked for a pappadum that was not over-fried nor over-puffed nor over-oily. Annaji asked him to wait for a second, went outside and got a raw pappadum for him.

With Ammaji also he was like this. And Ammaji, poor soul, was never able to take it in her stride and give it back to him. She was a very timid person, not able to talk back to anybody, leave alone her husband. Once when Annaji was more harsh with her than usual, she threatened him that she would jump into the well and drown herself. Annaji simply nodded his head and went on doing what he was doing. Ammaji did jump into the well but since she was a good swimmer she simply could not drown – that is why Annaji was so cool and calm -- and was inside the well till the servants helped her to climb out.

In spite of all this, they were really devoted to each other and enjoyed doing things together, like Annaji cutting vegetables and Ammaji cooking.

Annaji was also a believer in Mahatma Gandhi and the Congress party. Once when Gandhi was in Trichur collecting funds for the Congress, can you guess what he did? He gave the gold ring he had on his hand and also made Ammaji give her last pair of gold bangles. He always did what he thought was the right and correct thing to do. And he was never sorry for the life he led. He never once looked back and became morose or angry. He took life as it came and was dignified to the last

A trip to Ruby Falls

2006-07-18T06:08:00.000-07:00

Anyone going on a trip to the US for a holiday with their son and daughter settled there, never comes back to India without seeing the Niagara Falls, Disney Land, Disney World or both. These are the two outstanding landmarks- places to go – that top the list of must-sees on one’s tour itinerary.
But I wonder how many of these people have seen or even heard of Ruby Falls.
Yes, Ruby Falls. Mention Ruby Falls to any woman of Indian origin and immediately her thoughts will go to saree falls – the 4 inch wide three metre long piece of cloth used to line the bottom hem of the sari.. That is exactly what I thought of and what my husband also said as we saw the sign ‘Ruby Falls – don’t miss’, on our way back from Florida to Champaign, Illinois.
It was 1985, and we (my husband, my son Bala, his wife Jaishree and children Kartik and Yamini, who were then only four and two )were coming home after a long vacation covering most of the eastern part of the US, starting from Champaign, going first to Pittsburgh to pay our homage in the temple there and get his blessings; then Washington – where we ‘did’ all a tourist is supposed to do – that is, whatever we could fit in four days. After that we drove down to Atlantic city, where we became poorer by as many dollars as we dared to gamble with, then to Williamsburg where we witnessed 18th century America, and from there through the Chesapeake tunnel and through parts of Virginia and finally to Florida where we spent a week in Disney World Epcot Centre.
Then to Cape Kennedy to take the Challenger taking off – a highlight of our trip.
All told it was a memorable trip- in many ways. That was the last time my husband and I visited the States together. After that, I have made three or four trips alone, for he is no more with us.
On our way back to Champaign, we took an inside and quicker route as we did not want to miss a Cubs game in St. Louis on July 12.. As soon as we entered the state of Tennessee, we caught the sign ‘Ruby Falls – don’t miss’
‘Ruby Falls, 10 miles’, then 5 miles and finally ‘Next right turn’. The signs were intriguing and we started wondering and discussing, and it remained our topic of conversation for that day’s rip.
All of us wanted to know what it was – but we were all tired, having been on the road for more than twenty days. And also we did not want to wander away from our original plan. So we left Ruby Falls in peace and continued our homeward journey.
You may wonder why I am writing so much about what we did not see. But wait a minute – we did see it. Not then , but after four years – in 1989 when I was with my son Bala and family again.
That time there was a wedding in the family, taking place in Orlando in Florida. We decided to drive down and this time through the shortest route.
Even then it took us three days driving from early morning to late evening, stopping only for the bare necessities.
On the second day, we were nearing Chattanooga, where we were planning to spend the night at Holiday Inn where reservations had already been made. There we saw the same signs again, ‘Ruby Falls, don’t miss.’ My thoughts went back to the other trip when my husband was also with us, and what a lovely time we had discussing what Ruby Falls meant
Well, we were nearing our destination and we saw yet another board saying ‘Ruby Falls – This way’.
That aroused our curiosity, and Bala decided that this time we were not going to miss it. So after going to Holiday Inn, registering and freshening up in our rooms, we came down and got into the car and followed the sign ‘Ruby Falls – This way’.

I was shocked to see that the sign stopped abruptly in front of a building. Again I was assailed with doubts, but Bala and my daughter-in-law Jaishree were determined to see the Falls.
I followed them quietly without voicing my doubts.
As we entered the building there was another sign ‘Ruby Falls – This way’- and that sign was towards the staircase. So we climbed up and here we found a group of people waiting near the lift, and we were asked to joining them, after promptly having been deprived of our ticket money!
We waited for the lift, and soon it came up, and disgorged a number of people and we got in. The lift went down and kept going down for about 200 ft. and stopped. When we got out, we found we were in a corridor like place which was dark, cold, and damp. A guide was waiting to take charge of us – we were about thirty in that group – and led us. She asked each person in the group where we were from, and en route if she found any one lagging, she would holler, “You Illinois, come forward!”
She really had a good sense of humour, and that made the underground walk in the dark damp narrow space entertaining, and kept us moving forward. We had to walk for more than half-an-hour, and I won’t be exaggerating if I say we walked for nearly an hour.
That walk , in spite of its condition, was interesting. We were walking through a subterranean cavern which was really a wonderland with stalactite and stalagmite formations – defying all imagination.
It was dark, only the wonderful formations were illuminated very subtly, so that the natural beauty was not lost.
One cannot believe it unless one sees with one’s own eyes figures like Virgin Mary carrying child Jesus, the Leaning Tower, chips and bacon served on a plate, Arabian lace curtain …
The formation of stalactite was the best. It was like sheer lace, done with so much precious care with delicate fingers, an elephant’s foot. These were some of the formations our guide pointed out to us. And there were plenty, the Leaning Tower of Pisa being the oldest formation in the cave – believed to be several million years old. Countless centuries of dripping trickling water in the cave have created a host of rock formations that dazzled and, to use Wodehouse’s English, boggled one’s imagination. Being from India, I could make out formations like Lord Ganesh, Buddha doing penance, and Lakshmi and Saraswathi with waist long hair open, as in Ravi Varma’s paintings.
It was a difficult walk – at times we had to bend down, with water ankle deep flowing at our feet. In fact at places we formed a human chain, hands clasping hands. Yet we went on - firstly there was no turning back, you HAD to keep moving forward; secondly curiosity got the better of us.
Now a few words about these caverns. These caverns, known as Lookout Mountain caverns have been there for centuries, with an entrance on the bank of the River Tennessee, these cavern with their high chambers and weird passages served as shelter and hideouts for the native Indians, outlaws, criminals and even the civil War soldiers.
But the natural entrance was closed when a railroad tunnel was built through these mountains. After nearly 25 years, someone got the idea of opening up he caverns again, and making it accessible to the public.
And as they were drilling an elevator shaft from one side of the mountains, this section leading to the Falls was discovered. The chief engineer, Philip Lambert was the first one to walk through the caverns and for a time, he even lost his bearings. He walked, crawled on and on when suddenly in front of him he saw the magnificent falls. He simply could not believe his eyes. He named it ‘Ruby falls’ after his wife.

Coming back to us, we too were just as awe struck when our party came face to face with this wonder. One minute we were walking in the narrow space, the next we were in the middle of around clearing – in the centre of which were the magnificent waterfalls. It was sheer unadorned beauty, this waterfall – 1120 ft. below the top of the mountain falling from a sheer height of 145 feet, through a large opening above, and disappearing in to the flooring of the cavern.
None of us could believe our eyes!
From where does the water come, and where does it go?
We knew we were watching the handiwork of nature; aided, of course, by human hand for the waterfalls were subtly illuminated very artistically, just enough to magnify the natural beauty. It was something we had not bargained for. We just stood there, gaping and gaping at this wonderful vision, when the rasping voice of our guide urging us to move forward, brought us back to reality.
So we all followed her our return walk in another direction through another passage, which also contained beautiful stalactite and stalagmite formations.
But for us, who had witnessed the unbelievable and most beautiful sights, the formations did not hold a fascination any more.
And this passage being shorter, we were near the lift entrance in no time, and joined the crowd there waiting for the lift to take them back. We came up in no time, and we were still in a state of euphoria.
I have seen many other waterfalls which are in the open, but this one inside a mountain, and how!
I am writing this after a period of three years (!993), and even now while I look back I cannot suppress my feelings of awe and respect, mixed with a sort of fear and respect
I had witnessed one of nature’s hidden glories and I will never forget it. There may be many like this – I mean ‘hidden beauties’, but since I have seen only this, this is the greatest to me.
My only regret was that my husband was not with me to share this wonderful sight.

RAINS!

2006-06-17T04:25:00.000-07:00

Rain!
Water falling from nowhere – as a child I used to wonder how could this be.
On occasions I went to my mother who was as usual busy cooking and feeding us, but the time I chose to clear my doubts was not the right time – she just moved me aside and chided me for disturbing her when she was busy. My cousin, about a year older than me, was visiting us with her mother, my mother’s youngest sister. She heard me and said gleefully “Ayye ayye, you don’t even know that!”
“As if you know,” that was me.
“Of course, I know,” she said.
“Why don’t you tell me then?”
“Why should I?”
“Why not?”
“Why?”
Back and forth we went, making such a din that my mother drove us out of the kitchen.
“Do you really want to know?” that was my cousin again.
“I will tell you if you give me your ‘marapacchi’”
My marapacchi or the wooden doll I had – yes, in those days we had wooden dolls to play with.
I had three dolls to begin with. And this same cousin had already traded two from me on earlier occasions. She didn’t have any to begin with, and how she used to envy me mine. Now she was asking me for my third and last remaining one, and I had no plans to part with this one. But at the same time I wanted to know from where the rains brought so much water
The thirst for knowledge as to the how and why of things was so great to me, I gave in at the end, after a lot of useless pleading with her. Her being older than me gave her all the advantage.
Even now after sixty odd years, I smile to myself when I think back on how she cheated me out of my doll. I must have been five or six then. And her explanation sounded silly to me even at that age. In all seriousness, with her round eyes even rounder, she said, “Don’t you know that the rain comes when the gods in heaven take a bath?” I was not taken in by that answer, and wanted my doll back. But, as usual, my mother sided with her and I lost my third and last doll to her.

I started schooling – started learning History, Geography, Physics, Chemistry, and got the true facts of rainfall, but that did not take away the charm the rains held for me. How I used to enjoy the rains, though I was never allowed to get wet or play in the rains like other children. Watching the rains from the safety of the verandah was really a pleasure in those days – counting the number of puddles in the courtyard, the number of ‘crowns’ the raindrops made in those puddles. Have any one of you ever watched those crowns? They are there the moment the raindrop touches the puddle, the next minute it is gone. I wanted to capture those crowns and keep them with me.
Rain in Kerala when it comes falls with a vengeance, - in the ‘edava pathi’ once, and then the ‘thula varsham’, the two rainy seasons. The ‘edava pathi’ is the South West monsoon and it always coincided with the academic year. The academic year starts in June, that is in the middle of the month ‘edavam’, when the rains too start. We students would be proud of our new books and the new clothes, and would start cursing the rains. If it started raining in the morning it would mean that both our new books and clothes would get drenched, but once the newness wore off, that is within a week or ten days, the charm of the rains returned. Even then I would be the loser – whether it rained or it was sunshine, I always went to school by car, came home for lunch and returned - all in style driven by the chauffeur. And in the evening too, come rain or shine, the loyal retainer would be there to pick me up
How I used to envy all the girls who used to walk home in a group, chatting and calling across to other groups and all the while getting completely drenched by rain, whereas my old retainer would even produce an umbrella to keep me dry from the car to the school entrance and vice versa.
In those days, that is in the late 1930s, the school system was if there was a heavy downpour in the morning, and the children came soaking wet to the school, most of the children walked to school, - all the students would be sent home and no classes would be held.
So the wet children would be even wetter when they reached home, where they could change into dry clothes, so that they would not catch pneumonia, staying in the school in their wet clothes.
I usually used to look forward to those days, but the old loyal retainer would always be two steps ahead of me. On such days he would take it upon himself to walk up to the office and make sure that the classes would be held. Only then would he go back or wait till orders were issued for the school to disperse, so that I was taken home with not a single drop of water on my person.
How I used to hate him then. But looking back now, I am sure one does not come across such loyal people any more. Or does one?
I don’t know. All I know is that even now I have a soft spot for him in my heart.

I really started enjoying the rains when I started college. I stood firm with my mother when I told her I would walk to and from college with my friends. She too agreed, and I promised that I would carry an umbrella with me all the time. I can now tell you I never opened that umbrella, not even once, in those two years. I really enjoyed the rain in the two years, soaking up all the rain as much as a I could, like the parched earth after a long dry summer.

The parched earth after a long dry summer – that brings me to Delhi from Kerala. That is where I settled with my husband and started family life.
Delhi had little rains in those days The long summer months were really dry and we would be longing for some respite from the withering heat. The temperature would soar to 110 and even 113 and 114 and sometimes up to 118. and then, oh, the respite – this would come in the form of a dust storm
One doesn’t get that kind of dust storms any more. The western sky would turn into an orangeish red hue – with the sun looking like a fireball and if one watched one could see the dust rolling in towards you in waves, and the afternoon would suddenly changed into dusk. The dust would be so thick and would cover everything, and would hit people caught unawares like small missiles. Yes, it would really hurt, for the dust came with such force, seeping into the houses through unseen, unnoticed spaces between windows, doors, ventilators. This would last for five to ten minutes, sometimes even fifteen minutes. And once the sand and dust got blown off, down would come the rains. Oh, what a lovely sight that used to be. I remember how we would bear with all the dust in the world inside our neat and clean homes, just for that rainfall. The most welcome thing at that time.
I get nostalgic when I think of those days, for when the rains started, my husband and I would go out for a walk in the rain, and how we enjoyed those walks. The first time my husband took me out for a walk in the rain after the aandhi, (dusts storm), I told him about my childhood love for the rains, and how I was always kept dry in the rainy season. After that, he took it upon himself to see that I got a good spot of drenching in the rains. These walks in the rain, which we both enjoyed immensely, we kept on till our children started growing up.
The rainy season in Delhi, the so-called monsoon is, and was, always a tepid one. We never get enough rains. “The rain in Delhi stays mainly in the clouds.”
But even a mild downpour was enough to flood the Minto Road Bridge localities. Even today it is the same.

I have seen and experienced rain in other parts of the country and I can say as far as my experience goes that April May showers in the Dooars is the most frightening one; sometimes with hails stones also coming down. And equally frightening are the electric storms we experienced in Champaign a long time ago. The speed with which thunder followed lightning was amazing.
And the rains in Singapore, the tropical storms with lightning coming down with such alarming speed, that anyone in the open can hardly escape the shock, is also awe-inspiring. But the beauty of the city is that within half an hour of such storms, the roads look so dry. I used to wonder where all the water went.
Back to the heavens to bring more rain??!!!!!

My Parents - Thatha and Manni

2006-06-06T20:39:00.001-07:00

“Why is it that Manni (or any old woman) always talks only about the past, and think only about all her misfortunes and all the sufferings she had gone through in her younger days? Now all her children are settled in life and doing okay. Why can’t she just look at all of us and be happy?”
This was a question put to me by one of my family some years ago.
At that time I did not have a ready or proper answer for that.
Of course it is a fact that Manni (my mother) after a certain age, and after Thatha (my father) passed away. always talked about her entire life to any one who was willing to listen to her.
And I was one who always listened to her without making any comments – I knew all she needed was a sympathetic ear- and since she had no other diversion in life, other than cooking and feeding the family, what else could she do other than talk?
My mother was not an educated person, in the sense that she did not go to school after she got married (I think the year was 1902). Can you guess how old she was when she got married? She was just eight years old.
Manni told me that even from that tender age she had to put up with the wrath of her mother-in-law.
So it was not strange that Manni, who had gone through so much in life, wanted to talk about it.
That was nearly a century ago.
Now I feel I have the right answer to the question at the beginning. It is now some years since Babuji (my husband) died, and I personally lost my home also along with Babuji. Even though I am educated and have various interests in life, like reading, solving crossword puzzles, walking and knitting, I always feel at peace with myself only when I think of the past years of my life, years spent with Babuji, and remembering little gestures, small things we used to share and enjoy, and also our quarrels and moments of friction. These are thoughts I could never voice, which I could not tell anybody – those are mine and mine alone.

Then I think about the hard times I had with my mother-in-law. These thoughts I share with my children.

Manni, my mother, belonged to a different generation. She was a simple and naïve person who did not know to make, and who has never made, any demands on her family and children. She was a sitting duck for one and all. All her life was spent in looking after her husband and children, cooking for them and feeding them, putting up with all their demands. You know something?
Cooking in those days was a very elaborate and long process, not easy or done quickly as is possible nowadays.
In those days eating out meant eating at other people’s places when one was invited to functions like weddings and poojas. Otherwise housewives, or for that matter, any woman going to a hotel (that is what eating places were called in those days) and eating there would have created a scandal. So day in and day out, the housewife used to spend her whole day cooking thee meals a day. There were no refrigerators, no mixies, no gas, no cooking range and no electric grinder,
How could there be, when there was no electricity even?
Cooking was done burning firewood – logs cut into long thin pieces – in mud stoves. And it was difficult job keeping the fire burning for two or three hours at a stretch till the cooking was done. I have also cooked like this for a short period. And since there was no fridge, one had to cook fresh all the meals. Grinding stones, called aattu kal and amee, were used to grind condiments and rice, which not only took a lot of time, but also a lot out of the one who did the grinding.
Another point, which the generation of today forgets, is – today thanks to family planning every one stops with one or two children. But in those days such things were not even thought of. So each family had at least six or more children. Manni gave birth to ten children and lost three. One boy died at the age of two. Then there was a daughter who grew up to be 18 – but was always ill – and another daughter who lived just for three days. All the children were born at two-year intervals – so that means twenty years gone in childbearing alone. And along with that she had to take care of the family and Thatha, and also put up with her mother-in-law.
Thatha was a great man. There is no doubt about that. He was a self-made man, who started his life as a school teacher, learned law in the evenings and started practicing law at the age of 26 or so - I am not very sure – and became a High Court Judge.
His father died when he was twenty-two, leaving behind a large family of six daughters and three sons, of whom Thatha was the eldest. At the time, only three of the daughters were married. So Thatha had to take charge of the family. He had to take care of his brothers’ education and the marriages of his three younger sisters.
Thatha’s father was also a lawyer, but he did not make much money – along with his family, all he left behind was a house, and that too, not a very big one.

So the first few years of his career, Thatha was indeed busy, marrying off his sisters, and educating his brothers. By the time these responsibilities were cleared, his own children were ready for marriage and education.
So Thatha and Manni’s lives were not easy. And Manni was always at the receiving end of all Thatha’s moods and frustrations. I don’t think any one can blame him, either. Poor man, what could he do?
I remember many a time in my younger days how Thatha used to shout at Manni when anything upset his mood. And many a time Manni used to argue with him, but Thatha always had the last word and Manni would be reduced to tears.
Those were times when the wife had no voice against the husband’s in any issue – all she was there for was to cook and see to the comforts of her husband and children.
Even if things they disliked took place, they had no voice to express it. And the womenfolk of those days merely accepted their lot, putting the blame on fate, and the ways of God.
Today for less than one hundredth of these reasons, many women get divorce from their husbands – something unheard of in those days! Men today are more understanding and less demanding – and are ready to accept women as their equals on many grounds – women are equally educated, and are able to do any job they get on an equal footing, if not better.
Manni, in her later life saw how the times had changed. She would compare today’s life with hers and her sufferings. So what is wrong? Being a human being, it is but natural.
The other day, my son asked me “How is it that when we think of the past, we tend to remember the bad and sad times more often than the happy and good days?”
I have been thinking over that and my answer to that is – it may not necessarily be the right one – human beings think that all good things and happiness that come to them are what is due to them and so takes them for granted. Whereas any sad or unhappy event leaves such an impression on them that it seems just impossible to get it out of their system or mind.
Manni outlived Thatha by 14 years. She was 93 when she died. I saw her last when she was 91, when she came to attend our youngest daughter’s wedding. How I wish I had seen her again just one more time to be held by her and comforted by her, after I lost Babuji. How terribly I miss her!
Of course all my brothers and sisters were there with me at that time to share our grief and console me, but I really wanted Manni at that time. And when on a Sunday afternoon the telephone buzzed at my son Bala’s place (in Champaign, where I then was) even before Bala or Jaishree picked up the phone, something told me that I would never see Manni again.
But, thank god, she did not suffer much in the end. I was told that she had a peaceful end. Well, she had suffered a lot in her earlier life.
True, but she had also seen the other side of life – like going to the ‘durbar’ and attending parties in the palace. When I think back I feel so proud of my parents.
My father gave Manni the best of everything in life. Yes, that way Thatha was very remarkable- he was very particular about certain things – he insisted that Manni should wear only Kancheepuram silks, even for daily use – and only diamonds for her nose and earrings, and a chauffeur driven car at her disposal.
I don’t know what Thatha was in his early days, but the Thatha I know was an atheist. But he gave Manni full freedom to follow her way in her belief in God.

Yes, Manni was very much a god-fearing person – not only god fearing, but very very orthodox and conventional as they come (in those days).
She followed all the religious codes that were written down, did her prayers everyday, observed all the fasts and feast days, all with Thatha’s full support. Whether Thatha believed in these things or not he carried out his part in the functions, much to Manni’s satisfaction.
There are a couple of instances I remember very well which really make me laugh even today. .
Of course you must have heard of the story of the person who never had a bath for along time because he did not want to wash the hand that shook the hand of Marilyn Monroe or Madonna. Well, now you hear this.
When Lord and Lady Wavell, the viceroy of India in those days, in the late 1930s or early 40s visited the state of Travancore, the Maharaja gave a garden party for them to which Thatha and Manni were invited. Thatha was dressed as was required in a close fitting leggings and sherwani and zari laced turban. Manni was dressed in a very grand silk saree and flowers in her hair. Manni never used any make up – it was unheard of then – but her daughters persuaded her to apply a little bit of face powder, and wear her hair in a slightly more loose style, than her usual tight one.
Well, Thatha had already briefed Manni that she would have to shake hands with the VIPs when they were presented.
So they attended the party duly, shook hands with both the VIPs, had something to eat and drink.
We waited eagerly at home for them to return. And they came back, with Manni rushing straight to the bathroom to take a bath – to cleanse herself after having been touched by a ‘white’ man.
Oh, it was not only the white man who got this kind of treatment. The same went for the natives too. This instance happened in the late 50s. It was ‘Vinayaka Chathurthi’ day and Manni was waiting, after her bath and other preparations, for the pandit to come to do the pooja. A person who was known to Manni and was going on a pilgrimage came to seek her blessings. He did the namaskaram to Manni, and touched her toes with the tips of his fingers – a gesture of respect. Manni duly did all the honours and sent him on his way. And she went in and took another bath!
That is Manni for you.
Another instance I remember very well was in 1959 when the whole family, with all near and dear, was gathered at our place, Lakshmi Nivas, a few days before my second brother’s wedding. Thatha had gone to Allepey on some work for the day. The whole house was bustling with various activities of the elders and the children adding to the general confusion with their shouts of joys and anger.
Manni was sitting very quietly and noticing it I asked her what was wrong, if something had upset her, or someone. And pat came the reply from Manni that the whole house seemed empty to her without Thatha.
How right and true for Manni to miss Thatha even in the midst of so much confusion.
And Thatha had once confided in me his fears for Manni – as to how others would treat her, because she was so innocent and naïve, and would find it difficult to manage things on her own.
This just goes to show how Thatha and Manni cared for and loved each other in their own way – without any public demonstration of any form of sentiment.

SCHOOLDAYS IN TRIVANDRUM

2006-05-21T09:03:00.000-07:00

A TOUGH PUZZLE IN MATHS
A trader bought a dozen cows for Rs.3,500. After spending about Rs. 30 per month on each cow, he sold them after a year for Rs. 7,600. Find out whether he sold it at a profit or at a loss. And give the answer in Sarkar Rupai Chakram Kasu
This is one of the typical questions we used to get when we were in Std. VI and VII, at my school in Trivandrum.
Those were the days when India was under the British rule (I am talking of 1930s and 40s).
Nowadays children won’t have any difficulty in doing the sum. For they have to only calculate in Rs. and naye paise – a 100 naya paise made up a rupee. But when we were in school it was a different story.

THE MONETARY SYSTEM
Travancore was a small state in the south west part of India and Trivandrum was part of that state.
Travancore state had its own monetary system. Rupai, chakram, kasu. One British Rupee was 28 and a half chakkaram and one sarkar (Government) rupai was 28 chakarams. One chakaram was 16 kasu. A British rupee was made up of 16 annas and one anna was equal to 12 pices.
To a ten or eleven year old child all the conversions from British rupee to saarkar Rupai and vice versa were too much.
But school was delightful.

MY SCHOOL DAYS
Our school was His Highness Maharaja’s School for Girls, and to me the best even today, and even though I have seen many in different cities of India, and also some outside India.
The school was so large and spread out over a large area, so well planned and laid out, with so much open space for games and to run around in, and play all sorts of games – there were two or three courts to play games like tennis and badminton. The school building, which housed classes from I to XI, with their numerous sections, was on three levels. The lowest level was for the lower classes – these classes had no desks or chairs – just mats to sit on and lots of room to run around in.
The second level had two big rooms for the preparatory class where one was started on English and nursery rhymes and easy sums in Arithmetic lessons.

THE SCHOOL CAMPUS
Thiruvananthapuram, corrupted to Trivandrum by the British, is of hilly terrain, and is full of ups and downs – the roads, the buildings and everything. Our school was no exception. The grounds in the school were on different levels, as also the buildings, which housed the classrooms.
I can still visualize the school - as one entered by the front gate there was a portico, and then the staff room, the library and two sections of the sixth form. The other two sections were upstairs with the clerk’s room and the Headmistress’ room. And they were all spacious and airy.
There was a huge assembly hall on one side of this building, where daily prayer meetings were held with a prayer song for each day of the week (two of which I still remember) followed by ‘God Save the King’ since we were under British rule. And the last one, ‘Vanchi Bhoomi pathe chiram’, was for the health and long life our own young Maharaja Shri Chitra Thirunal, after whom the school was named, and whom we all adored and loved with respect.
On the other side a huge rectangle housing about fifteen classrooms, around two inner courtyards. So there was a constant flow of fresh air, and we never felt the heat. Fans were unheard of in those days.
There were two different dining rooms, one for the Brahmin students, and one for the others, where we had our lunch in. In those days, Brahmins were treated with special respect, for the Brahmins followed strictly the rules laid down by the sastras. There was also a watershed, strictly run by a Brahmin water man, where we used to rush for a glass of water in between class periods.
There was a huge science laboratory, where we were taught chemistry. And we were given sound basic education in Biology, Nature Study, Indian and British History, Mathematics (which included Algebra and Geometry) and Geography. Fine arts like music – both Carnatic and Western, and drawing and painting, with needlework, knitting and embroidery, were also part of the curriculum.
There was an annexe to the main building where our needlework classes were held, and our music classes. A couple of divisions of the first and second forms were also housed here.
Going up and down the classes and wandering around the school was a great pleasure. As the classes were on different levels there were many steps and staircases all around, creating nooks to play hide and seek.

MY FIRST DAY
I joined school in this class when I was seven years old. All the elementary education in numbers and Malayalam alphabet was given to me at home by a master. He was so gentle he could not say boo to a goose. I still remember him and the way he looked, after 70 odd years.
On my first day of school we were taught the rhyme ‘Jack and Jill’, and the teacher told us to learn it by heart for the next day. And I, being a novice in these matters, forgot all about it, and did not mention it to anyone at home – not that anyone asked about my first day at school. Two of my older sisters were also in the same school, and they also did not show any interest in my first day experiences. Net result – the following day when the teacher asked me to recite the rhyme, I just stood there gawking. As a punishment I had to stand upon the bench for a full hour.
What a start in school for a young child.

ROUNDED EDUCATION
With so many subjects in the curriculum, by the time we left school we had a basic knowledge of everything. But though I was above average in studies (despite my first day’s experience) I was very poor in needlework, and embroidery.
We had seven periods a day - four in the morning from 10 am to 1 pm, and three in the afternoon from 1.45 pm to 4 pm.
My sister, who was in a class two years senior to me when I joined school, failed in two successive years, so that we were both in the same class by the time I reached Second Form (Class VII). It was a godsend to me that she was also in the same division, for she was very good with her needlework, and also good at drawing and painting. She helped me out in these classes. And I am sure that the teacher was aware of this, but turned a blind eye to us sisters. Ramal was also very good at singing, whereas I was at the bottom of the class in this too.

MY TEACHERS
Most of our teachers dressed traditionally in Mundu neriyathu and chattai mundu; just three or four of them wore sarees. One teacher, known as Mammy teacher was our second form class teacher; she wore really colourful sarees – many in red, and she always wore a red rose . Our arts teacher was a Brahmin lady and she came dressed in nine-yard saree worn the traditional way. Today this is a rare sight; one can see a nine yard saree clad woman only on her wedding day or at a pooja.. Our headmistress was nicknamed ‘kaakkai’ (crow) by our senior girls, because she used to tilt her head to one side while talking to or looking at someone.
I can never forget the farewell party our teachers gave us on our last day - a sumptuous feast served on banana leaves, and the teachers serving us themselves – a fine gesture by the finest set of teachers one could wish for.
I remember other incidents too that happened when I was in form III. That was in the year 1942, and Mahatma Gandhi was leading the Quit India movement. The husband of our class teacher Mrs. Thanu Pillai, was arrested for he belonged to the national movement. The students staged a silent Dharna, that is not paying any attention to the teacher who came to the class to take classes, by hiding their faces in the desks. Only three students sat upright in the class, my sister, me and a girl called Kalyani Amma. My father was in the Government service, as was hers.
The teachers would come in, look at us with a frown and sit silently in the class till the bell rang.
I must mention here that when India became independent, the husband of our class teacher, Pattom Thanu Pillai , became the chief minister of Travancore-Cochin, as Kerala was called then.
Another incident I recollect happened in our needlework class. We were given materials to sew and knit by the school. Our craft teacher was a matronly, kind soul. During one class she distributed to all the students pieces of white cloth and strands of embroidery thread and needles, and instructed us to embroider a flower with two leaves. After awhile, one of the girls in the class stood up and complained that she had not got any thread. The teacher simply looked at her, told her to sit down, and carried on with her instructions. When she was done, without pausing she asked the girl, “Now what colour was your thread?” Pat came the reply “Blue.” And that was the end of that!

BREAKING UP
Even at this age, when I look back after all these year, I feel so proud of my school. I really had a good time there.
And as it turned out, we were the last batch of students to pass out of the school, for the very next year the school building was taken over by the University (the University Science College was just across the road) to add more departments and classes. The students of the school were divided and sent to the Fort High School and Cotton Hill School in Vazhuthakkadu.
I don’t know how many of my school friends remember my school as I do. But I feel a thrill as I write about my school, and feel I am giving it due homage. Unlike today, when children keep in touch not only with their school and college mates, but also their teachers and college professors, we were not able to maintain contact after school. But some of my classmates continued studying with me in the F. A. which was a two-year course, and for which we had a separate college for women. F. A. stands for Faculty of Arts, the equivalent of today’s Plus Two course.