7. To the Skies
Travel was an integral part of growing up. It meant hugely that we had Fun, lots and lots. The Long Summer breaks from School meant going to the Hills from the Plains. Holidays also meant lots of jotting notes, own and dictated.
Here are some I found: June 59 Kashmir – by Babuji
-The memories of that visit I still cherish, as they reside with me permanently.
Himalayas meaning “Abode of Snow” cover the entire northern part of India, nestling five major states within it, Kashmir being the best region.
It is therefore not at all surprising that it has had, bestowed on it such glowing panegyrics, in prose and verse.
Its attractions are many, varied, and also both useful and interesting. To an invalid it gives health, to an archaeologist, exploration and research, to an artist, nature’s loveliest and sublimest sceneries, to the sportsmen it presents one of the best hunting grounds in the world, while last, but not least, to the lot of us, it offers surroundings which are unsurpassable. No holiday maker should consider his days in India complete without a visit here.
-We set off on our journey by road DLD 2554. Reached Pathankot and had Tea with Mrs. Pran Nath which was quite refreshing. Without loosing time we reached Jammu the next day.
-After visiting an ancient temple at Jammu, started for Srinagar hoping to reach by the evening but about a distance of 7 miles before Banihal, our car failed. To our luck Dhan Singh, got the car towed with a truck and got it repaired with great effort.
-Steadily we crossed the tedious journey and reached Srinagar where it was raining heavily.
-We stayed at Uncle Dr. Pahwa, the famous eye doctors’ big Kothi. It was sprawling with trees loaded with Cherries and Almonds. Uncle Pahwa, I believe had cured the Cataract of the dog of the Prince of Kashmir who paid him by offering that big Sprawling Kothi. In the dining room there were always 20 plus guests along with 20 plus members of his family. Lavish Punjabi meals with hot Nans were in constant supply along with the Pahwas’ affectionate hugs to all of us children and the adults.
- We drove to the beautiful Mughal Gardens landscaped by the rulers of the Mughal dynasty which were Chashmashahi, Nishat and Shalimar Garden.
- Went to Dal Lake which counts amongst the most splendid lakes in the country. It was the day when Ravi Uncle who was now into Documentaries was filming ‘Spring comes to Kashmir’. I remember that the Heroine, a flower girl was to give a bunch of Lilies to the family in the House-boat. Her Shikara moved away and she almost fell in the waters.
-Mom had an extra bucketful of fresh Cherries on our way to a picnic to Char-Chinar; she had huge vomit in the car, much to the embarrassment of us kids.
- Father got bitten by a Mosquito one night and next morning his eyes disappeared and cheeks bloated out to our horror—it took 3 days to retrieve him back.
On a previous visit some years ago, I remember we were huddled in a tent by the side of River Jhelum at Pehalgam. The loudly gurgling water was rushing down, in immense quantities. It was much colder there. Duni Chand would light the fire in the stove and get us hot steaming milk and Buns. Mother had been pregnant with Vikram to be born, precious awaited son, following us three sisters.
From Pehalgam we would ride our horses, Shashi and I, to Khillanmarg and then the Glacier near Chandanwadi- We would return but pilgrims lined up to go to Amaranth, land of the immortal Lord of all.
We had also gone to Gulmarg by coach, the Himalayas surrounding us everywhere.
That was the year of the floods and rains in Kashmir. Our return journey had stretched from 2 days to 10, what with fractured bridges and jubilant overfilled Rivers trespassing the roads. Dhan Singh, the driver, certainly was big and strong. Along with some help he would often bodily lift the car and get us across.
Another memory is that of a slaughterhouse. It was behind the small Hotel we stayed in at Pathankot. Goats tied to poles, pools of blood, meat, butchers with black big knives—causing horrible, horrible cramps in stomach. It was many years later that I dared to go inside a Kroger’s meat counter in the US to get lamb steak chopped for cooking mutton curry that I saw, how cleanly they did it like cutting cucumber, the difference between 3rd and 1st world.
Kausani on way to Nainital-May ‘63
-We are on top here this evening at the spot where Gandhi Ji sat and wrote his “Anashakti Yog”.
Every moment is inspiration. Ascetic natural surroundings, delightful atmosphere, most pleasing breeze embraces us all round. This peak commands a close view of the silvery majesty of the Himalayas. Most unexpectedly, it got clouded here this evening and instead of the unique view of Sunset, we got heavy drizzle, so we await tomorrow.
- We got up at 3:30 am as was always done by Gandhi ji. The inspiration and joy of the moment was to watch the sun-rise beyond Himalayas beautifully visible from here. We drove upward and higher still ahead of the Rest house, and saw the clearest morning sunrise. Jhalal shah was the guide as we clicked our cameras, the Sun glittered its earliest rays. The snowy peaks of Nanda Devi and Trishul shone bright as the sun rose. The scenic beauty threw up all its hidden secrets as the sun broke through. In moments, the full sun came up high in the sky making it the most memorable morning.
Kausani is 50kms north of Almora in Bageshwar dist. of the Kumaon region of Uttarakhand. It is an ideal spot for an escape from the big cities. Famous Hindi poet Sumitra Nandan Pant belonged and composed her early work here.
-Started return journey via Almora, from where our faithful Duni Chand came. It was a bad road and we reached Nainital by 3 pm.
Nainital
-Had rest after our hectic visit to Ranikhet and Kausani. In the evening saw the picture ‘Dil ek mandir’ with Rajendra kumar and Meena kumari. It was very good but a tragic story.
-Went to the boat club, enjoyed ‘housie’, boating at Naini Lake, chaat with Lunch.
In the evening, saw an English picture ‘Hitler and his life and loves’ and went to boat club again because it was a dance evening.
-Went to chaltek mall at Nainital club, attended a charity ball where a young Anglo India girl got the crown for Miss Nainital.
-Went for hiking towards Tallitaal side and saw Munshi kuteer. Sunita and Vikram went for skating.
-We all went to see a fete which was fun. Vikram sat on an elephant too
-Late night went for a walk to the Lake to see in the moonlight.-Visited Naini temple in my morning walk. Also visited Hanuman Garh near which was an Astronomical observatory, one of the most modern in India.
- Visited Gita Satang Ashram and met Swami Vidya Nand who gave a good discourse on Gita.
Later years-
Young, married to Rakesh, we crossed the ferry from Dover and drove with the Sabharwals through Europe staying in ‘Bed and Breakfasts’ and sometimes in the car by the roadside.
Often lost in the ‘heavenly fog’, we traversed the Alps, Salzburg, Innsbruck, and ‘boated’ in waters of Lake Geneve at Geneva in Switzerland.
With daughter Divya, drove up the low lying Lush Green Hills of Scotland dotted with white woolly Shetland Sheep. Unlucky to see the ‘monster in lake Loch ness’, saw many castles, cathedrals and palaces of the British royalty. Also the aroma of ‘Scotch’ the ‘loved of all’ Whiskey in the Scottish breweries could not have been missed, to stay for posterity.
In the Southern United States, as they grew up, took them skiing on the slopes of the Appalachian Mountains. Got tangled in the ‘Skies’, tangling a knee ligament, never to forget my limitations. And of course in the West we toured the mighty Grand Canyon.
Back Home- The reasons why people have been so fascinated by the Indian Himalayas is because of the Hindu pilgrim routes, the low valleys that abruptly rise up in high mountain ranges, the lovely trekking hikes, densely forested areas lying just a mountain range away.
There were many a trips to Mussourie walking on the ‘Camel walks’, Simla on the Band Stand, Chail and Kufri, Kasauli to the Monkey point and Dharamsala and McLeod Ganj a hamlet of the Buddhist community headed by the peace Nobel Laureate ‘the Dalai Lama’.
Took the children Divya and Karan to the Valley of Flowers and Badrinath where Karan jumped into the Hot Sulphur baths only to survive getting burnt. How I did the 14 Km. Hike to Ghangria on way to Hem Kund I cannot fathom now. Those were the days---
Kusum my Hostel mate and I stayed at the Fish lodge on the River at Pokhra valley when we visited Bimla Sreshtha by now, a doctor of Mother and child settled with an Ophthalmologist at Kathmandu, Nepal. Instead of a dozen kids she had dreamt of having, she had one daughter who is now in the US of A. There were more Japs, sr. sr. by age, than any other tourists going up the Hills loaded with Sony digi-Cams while I sat to catch my breath every few steps to Kusum’s annoyance.
Much later, after the Calcutta Psych. Meet, the other Veena and I flew to Guwahati, Shillong in Meghalaya and Arunachal with bountiful waters of the Brahamaputra almost drowning us.
Tirupati’s ‘Art of Psychiatry’ meet followed Kodaikanal in the South and Manali, to the glaciers of the ‘Rohtang Pass’ in the North.
And of course how can I forget our Filming at ‘Tagores’ summer resort, Ranchi. Shubhadarshini ‘the explorer and recorder’ of Medical history, took me to the first ‘Mental hospital’ of India which still remains in the Annals of Indian Psychiatry.
NOW- the ‘grand kids’ take me. I am looking for my Hat, Sunglasses, and special Dr. Scholl’s’ shoes while they are in their world of I pod, laptop and other Cyber gadgets galore.
Veena
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Schooling to life-Queen Mary's
6. Queen Mary’s School
School was like school, cool, fun, part of life.
Shashi and I were together, 2 years apart. When she was taken the first day, she slapped the poor “Nun’ who quietly shooed my parents away. You see, she was always the pampered one and I, the?? Inhibited, introverted, ‘not my moms preferred one’, or so I felt.
I thought she got the bigger half of the Apple when we each got our halves. Early on she gained in size and mother made sure to get the clothes stitched to her size and I would get her hand me downs later.
Once she stubbornly stood under the cold water tap in winter and as mother pulled her out, she bit her. Watching, I froze but my Bladder lost control and I froze some more.
The Chaprasi (peon) would take us to the School on his Bicycle, Shashi on the Danda in front and me at the back. I must have been swaying my legs and one got caught in the spokes of the wheel. For many a days, I had suffered.
Shashi somehow was always lacked in ‘Immunity’ and got the fever. She would then really get special treatment, off from School, Fresh Orange juice and a lot else.
I the elder sib had to look after her when Miss Frogett (or some such name) came to report that the Bell had gone for going home and she was still asleep. As I woke her, I remember her undies showing, in her slumber and me totally embarrassed.
Later in High School, she had also fainted on one occasion with the smell of Alcohol during a Science experiment and I was called, to do what I do not remember.
We remained each others’ shadow throughout till today and somewhere subtly; she started to take care of me, not just me but all family, in all kinds of ways, actually behaving like the elder.
At School the Teachers were mostly nice.
One of my favorites was the English, Mrs. Ramsden, who we later heard, was Mrs Ram Sadan till her trip to UK. ‘She’ would actually favor me, reading my essays in class to the class. She wrote in my autograph book when we went to the next class, “Veena you are a good student, you can be a leader too. Develop this trait in yourself”. It always stayed in my mind and somewhere I have always heard those words ring in my ears when my Heart has palpitated in front of a group for no reason at all.
Another was Mrs. David, the one of Higher Math. One day I made some mistake, she asked me to wipe off ‘Theta’ from the Black board and throw it out of the window, in a fit of fury.
I cannot forget the Lunch breaks. A bunch of us including Nandini would sit under the Tree, shielding our Tiffin boxes from the Crows and Cheels that were hovering around for their share of the Paranthas with mango Pickle. There were loud narrations of PG Woodhouse and the like, and much merry laughter.
Parents didn’t have to go through home work much but Babuji knew what we were upto. He encouraged language and Sciences. He would also encourage us to write essays, Diary of events, detailed description of holiday travels etc.
He chose our Subjects and he chose our clothes when shopping, often to the resentment of our mother. He domineered, he had humor, and he was revered by all extended family and was affectionate to us. Every one slept on Charpais outside on the roof or baramda in the summer. He would stealthily watch over us children when he woke during the middle of the night and pull up the sheet or adjust the ‘Machhardani’ (Mosquito-net).
He was also by then, the Principal Income Tax Officer of Central Delhi. Being children of senior govt. employee we always had special privileges like movie passes, going to the best Restaurants, staying at Hotels in special rooms, lots of domestic help etc. which all seemed wonderful then. However as I grew I felt father flaunted his powers and we would be embarrassed and began to rebel somewhat.
Growing up, I always knew I was a girl ????? –
As tiny buds started growing out of the chest I was perplexed and tried to press them down.
As they started to swell I was directed to wear ’Chunni’ for cover.
The hair in the pits of the arms and the place below were emerging and I wished I could stop them or pluck them away forever.
The spots of dark blood in the ‘Salwar’ was excruciatingly confusing, embarrassing, an
un-understood leak from a private place.
When mother discovered, she expressed ‘sympathy and sadness’ that I was now grown like all others and my body was going to get rid of ‘dirty’ blood every month continuously for 5 days. I was to hide it. I was to use pads to be discarded by me in the garbage when no one was looking.
I was also to wash my own underclothes during those days; the more I rubbed the more the red spots turned yellow. Where could I hang them to dry? ----Where could I hang my growing pains????
My Music classes were in the evening. I would walk via a crowded Square. Some men harshly brushed passed. Some men peered at my hidden breasts and I would pull my ‘chunni’ over them. Once an unknown man grabbed my one breast quickly and then disappeared into the crowds in the Square. Feelings of ‘shame’ would surface later in life only to disappear in the Square of my consciousness and then recede to some inner depth.
My friend Prabha was wearing a Bra, which gave her firmness as she ran on the net-ball field. Mother brought it up when Shashi, who was growing fast to catch up with me, required it also. Once chosen, the Bra would thoroughly choke me, damn the Breasts I thought.
Little did I realize the importance of the most important part of the female Biology, not just the ‘nurturing the baby’ but a lot else too.
I wonder now, why Mrs. Gogia who made us dissect Frogs pinned to a waxen Board did not enlighten us, girls, on this, so vital an education about the most vital part of not just our Anatomy but how it would effect us , everyday of our lives in some way or another.
Mrs. David’s math, Physics, Chemistry, Biology, Panditjis Shudhh Hindi and of course the Essays all got over soon. I beat Prabha and topped. Prabha had been my best friend who went away to Bombay, graduated from famous Elphinstone College, met Suresh, a Handsome Maharashtrian Boy on Marine Drive, married and lived happily ever after.
What we did was a lot different after ‘Queen Marys’.
Veena
School was like school, cool, fun, part of life.
Shashi and I were together, 2 years apart. When she was taken the first day, she slapped the poor “Nun’ who quietly shooed my parents away. You see, she was always the pampered one and I, the?? Inhibited, introverted, ‘not my moms preferred one’, or so I felt.
I thought she got the bigger half of the Apple when we each got our halves. Early on she gained in size and mother made sure to get the clothes stitched to her size and I would get her hand me downs later.
Once she stubbornly stood under the cold water tap in winter and as mother pulled her out, she bit her. Watching, I froze but my Bladder lost control and I froze some more.
The Chaprasi (peon) would take us to the School on his Bicycle, Shashi on the Danda in front and me at the back. I must have been swaying my legs and one got caught in the spokes of the wheel. For many a days, I had suffered.
Shashi somehow was always lacked in ‘Immunity’ and got the fever. She would then really get special treatment, off from School, Fresh Orange juice and a lot else.
I the elder sib had to look after her when Miss Frogett (or some such name) came to report that the Bell had gone for going home and she was still asleep. As I woke her, I remember her undies showing, in her slumber and me totally embarrassed.
Later in High School, she had also fainted on one occasion with the smell of Alcohol during a Science experiment and I was called, to do what I do not remember.
We remained each others’ shadow throughout till today and somewhere subtly; she started to take care of me, not just me but all family, in all kinds of ways, actually behaving like the elder.
At School the Teachers were mostly nice.
One of my favorites was the English, Mrs. Ramsden, who we later heard, was Mrs Ram Sadan till her trip to UK. ‘She’ would actually favor me, reading my essays in class to the class. She wrote in my autograph book when we went to the next class, “Veena you are a good student, you can be a leader too. Develop this trait in yourself”. It always stayed in my mind and somewhere I have always heard those words ring in my ears when my Heart has palpitated in front of a group for no reason at all.
Another was Mrs. David, the one of Higher Math. One day I made some mistake, she asked me to wipe off ‘Theta’ from the Black board and throw it out of the window, in a fit of fury.
I cannot forget the Lunch breaks. A bunch of us including Nandini would sit under the Tree, shielding our Tiffin boxes from the Crows and Cheels that were hovering around for their share of the Paranthas with mango Pickle. There were loud narrations of PG Woodhouse and the like, and much merry laughter.
Parents didn’t have to go through home work much but Babuji knew what we were upto. He encouraged language and Sciences. He would also encourage us to write essays, Diary of events, detailed description of holiday travels etc.
He chose our Subjects and he chose our clothes when shopping, often to the resentment of our mother. He domineered, he had humor, and he was revered by all extended family and was affectionate to us. Every one slept on Charpais outside on the roof or baramda in the summer. He would stealthily watch over us children when he woke during the middle of the night and pull up the sheet or adjust the ‘Machhardani’ (Mosquito-net).
He was also by then, the Principal Income Tax Officer of Central Delhi. Being children of senior govt. employee we always had special privileges like movie passes, going to the best Restaurants, staying at Hotels in special rooms, lots of domestic help etc. which all seemed wonderful then. However as I grew I felt father flaunted his powers and we would be embarrassed and began to rebel somewhat.
Growing up, I always knew I was a girl ????? –
As tiny buds started growing out of the chest I was perplexed and tried to press them down.
As they started to swell I was directed to wear ’Chunni’ for cover.
The hair in the pits of the arms and the place below were emerging and I wished I could stop them or pluck them away forever.
The spots of dark blood in the ‘Salwar’ was excruciatingly confusing, embarrassing, an
un-understood leak from a private place.
When mother discovered, she expressed ‘sympathy and sadness’ that I was now grown like all others and my body was going to get rid of ‘dirty’ blood every month continuously for 5 days. I was to hide it. I was to use pads to be discarded by me in the garbage when no one was looking.
I was also to wash my own underclothes during those days; the more I rubbed the more the red spots turned yellow. Where could I hang them to dry? ----Where could I hang my growing pains????
My Music classes were in the evening. I would walk via a crowded Square. Some men harshly brushed passed. Some men peered at my hidden breasts and I would pull my ‘chunni’ over them. Once an unknown man grabbed my one breast quickly and then disappeared into the crowds in the Square. Feelings of ‘shame’ would surface later in life only to disappear in the Square of my consciousness and then recede to some inner depth.
My friend Prabha was wearing a Bra, which gave her firmness as she ran on the net-ball field. Mother brought it up when Shashi, who was growing fast to catch up with me, required it also. Once chosen, the Bra would thoroughly choke me, damn the Breasts I thought.
Little did I realize the importance of the most important part of the female Biology, not just the ‘nurturing the baby’ but a lot else too.
I wonder now, why Mrs. Gogia who made us dissect Frogs pinned to a waxen Board did not enlighten us, girls, on this, so vital an education about the most vital part of not just our Anatomy but how it would effect us , everyday of our lives in some way or another.
Mrs. David’s math, Physics, Chemistry, Biology, Panditjis Shudhh Hindi and of course the Essays all got over soon. I beat Prabha and topped. Prabha had been my best friend who went away to Bombay, graduated from famous Elphinstone College, met Suresh, a Handsome Maharashtrian Boy on Marine Drive, married and lived happily ever after.
What we did was a lot different after ‘Queen Marys’.
Veena
Monday, May 17, 2010
home to parents-Gumthala
5. Home to ‘Parents’- Gumthala
Jhai says, Babuji came to see her and proposed instantly.
Nana needed time to think. Babuji insisted it had to be ‘yes or no’ right then.
Well, ‘so he was, all along, mostly his way’.
Born in 1919, his own Father another Advocate, Sr. member of the Judiciary, about to be appointed as Judge of the High Court at Haryana, died of Tuberculosis when he was around 12. His mother, my dadi and he grew under the protection of his Taya and Tayiji at Gumthala.
The realization that he was the only son who had lost his father when young came much later as I grew up. Perhaps that is why while the big HAVELI in Gumthala lay deserted in the village, he would often visit and dream ‘Dreams’ of doing some thing big with it.
He left us suddenly, without telling us ‘what exactly’. So my mother Sarla and Brother Vikram drove to it in 1987 in our small Maruti through the dusty roads into Haryana, Karnal, Kaithal, Pehowa and then Gumthala Gadhu. Hoards of kids peeped through the windows of the car as we carefully stepped on the cobbled stone path.
The HAVELI, more like a Fortress complete in itself stood, a strong reminiscent of ‘our past’.
Ralla Ram Babaji the last of my grandfathers then, was living with Sushil Uncle at his farm at Dhampur. He told me the story of one Asa Ram who lived in Shahpur some 200 years ago. Following a squabble over Chess with the Muslims he moved to Pehowa and then got anchored in Gumthala Gadhu- a Rajput Muslim habitation. His son Khyali Mal built 2 Havelis in 1828 for sons Jassa Mal and Hazari Mal. One is ours and the other is called Parli Haveli Our ancestors were rich farmers and money lenders. 40 families lived at one time in the Haveli with a 100 servants. Ganga-jal used to be stored in big Ghadas and an elephant could pass through the front gate carrying goods.
Babaji had been witness to the fading grandeur of vast arable land comprising many villages and the largest Haveli of the area which even now, is also a landmark on army maps. None could portend the decline. 20,000 acres of land was confiscated under Land Ceiling Act, promulgated after Independence of India in 1947. The Muslims to whom money used to be lent, by our ancestors had migrated to Pakistan. And the Haveli was fated to relic.
NO ONE lived in it any more. From rich farming business men, generations moved to becoming intellectual professional men and women in varied fields, spread all over the world. Tayaji’s eldest, Ravi Uncle took a big leap from Haryana to California in the 40s. Some of us became American, Canadian and British citizens, others, residents of Delhi, Bombay, Lucknow etc. A few, closest to Gumthala still are in Pehowa and Kaithal.
So, the Haveli! Father believed in one thing that was education. My mother, Vikram and I decided to give it to Mr. Sharma, a local Brahmin, who converted it to a School, first primary and now upto 12th class.
Babuji, after finishing School, went to do law and Commerce in Lahore as was customary for most, at that time. All his cousins were younger and he began to be their guide and mentor.
When he married my mother he was 23 and earning about 100 Rs./month at Ambala.
He was selected for the Indian Revenue service early in his career and kept growing professionally till his retirement as Appellate Commissioner Income tax.
My mother ‘Jhai’, who was a Matriculate at Marriage, had to do many exams, go through many ‘notes’ much against her will. No excuses even during her Pregnancies and finally became a ‘Bachelor of History’ at least on paper.
‘The English’ did leave but left the English legacy behind. My sister Shashi and I studied in Convents or convent like Girls’ Schools at Kanpur, Lucknow, Gwalior and then Queen Mary’s, Delhi.
Youngest sister Sunita and Vikram continued with them in Allahabad, Calcutta, Jabalpur and Bhopal as part of his transferred posts.
Thus started my learning, ancestral and intellectual, not predicting then, the future formation of ‘the Yahoo Psychiatrists Literature Group’.
Veena
Jhai says, Babuji came to see her and proposed instantly.
Nana needed time to think. Babuji insisted it had to be ‘yes or no’ right then.
Well, ‘so he was, all along, mostly his way’.
Born in 1919, his own Father another Advocate, Sr. member of the Judiciary, about to be appointed as Judge of the High Court at Haryana, died of Tuberculosis when he was around 12. His mother, my dadi and he grew under the protection of his Taya and Tayiji at Gumthala.
The realization that he was the only son who had lost his father when young came much later as I grew up. Perhaps that is why while the big HAVELI in Gumthala lay deserted in the village, he would often visit and dream ‘Dreams’ of doing some thing big with it.
He left us suddenly, without telling us ‘what exactly’. So my mother Sarla and Brother Vikram drove to it in 1987 in our small Maruti through the dusty roads into Haryana, Karnal, Kaithal, Pehowa and then Gumthala Gadhu. Hoards of kids peeped through the windows of the car as we carefully stepped on the cobbled stone path.
The HAVELI, more like a Fortress complete in itself stood, a strong reminiscent of ‘our past’.
Ralla Ram Babaji the last of my grandfathers then, was living with Sushil Uncle at his farm at Dhampur. He told me the story of one Asa Ram who lived in Shahpur some 200 years ago. Following a squabble over Chess with the Muslims he moved to Pehowa and then got anchored in Gumthala Gadhu- a Rajput Muslim habitation. His son Khyali Mal built 2 Havelis in 1828 for sons Jassa Mal and Hazari Mal. One is ours and the other is called Parli Haveli Our ancestors were rich farmers and money lenders. 40 families lived at one time in the Haveli with a 100 servants. Ganga-jal used to be stored in big Ghadas and an elephant could pass through the front gate carrying goods.
Babaji had been witness to the fading grandeur of vast arable land comprising many villages and the largest Haveli of the area which even now, is also a landmark on army maps. None could portend the decline. 20,000 acres of land was confiscated under Land Ceiling Act, promulgated after Independence of India in 1947. The Muslims to whom money used to be lent, by our ancestors had migrated to Pakistan. And the Haveli was fated to relic.
NO ONE lived in it any more. From rich farming business men, generations moved to becoming intellectual professional men and women in varied fields, spread all over the world. Tayaji’s eldest, Ravi Uncle took a big leap from Haryana to California in the 40s. Some of us became American, Canadian and British citizens, others, residents of Delhi, Bombay, Lucknow etc. A few, closest to Gumthala still are in Pehowa and Kaithal.
So, the Haveli! Father believed in one thing that was education. My mother, Vikram and I decided to give it to Mr. Sharma, a local Brahmin, who converted it to a School, first primary and now upto 12th class.
Babuji, after finishing School, went to do law and Commerce in Lahore as was customary for most, at that time. All his cousins were younger and he began to be their guide and mentor.
When he married my mother he was 23 and earning about 100 Rs./month at Ambala.
He was selected for the Indian Revenue service early in his career and kept growing professionally till his retirement as Appellate Commissioner Income tax.
My mother ‘Jhai’, who was a Matriculate at Marriage, had to do many exams, go through many ‘notes’ much against her will. No excuses even during her Pregnancies and finally became a ‘Bachelor of History’ at least on paper.
‘The English’ did leave but left the English legacy behind. My sister Shashi and I studied in Convents or convent like Girls’ Schools at Kanpur, Lucknow, Gwalior and then Queen Mary’s, Delhi.
Youngest sister Sunita and Vikram continued with them in Allahabad, Calcutta, Jabalpur and Bhopal as part of his transferred posts.
Thus started my learning, ancestral and intellectual, not predicting then, the future formation of ‘the Yahoo Psychiatrists Literature Group’.
Veena
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Takia Gujran- no more
4.
Takia Gujran ‘no more’
Unlike MBA today, the then profession of dignity was engineering or medicine. So Balwant, Rattan and Anish mamas all did engineering ‘one way or another’.
Balwant the eldest and Kamlesh’s husband were both ‘Dam men’ who were living and constructing the big projects at Bhakra Nangal and then Talwara, harnessing the waters of Punjab in India’s first few 5 year plans after Independence, finally settling at the upcoming new township Panchkula,a beautiful satellite town near Chandigarh.
Anish came much later, both my mother and her mother Bhabi delivering babies close together when my 2nd sister Sunita and he, the youngest child to Bhabi were born. I never ever saw my nana and nani (Bhabi) together except when she was cooking on the Chulha (fireplace of wooden logs) and he was eating in the kitchen which we all did one or two at a time, sitting on the ‘Pidi’ (low chair) and ‘Tipahi’ the small copper tripod stool. How that got her pregnant all the time I cannot fathom.
Anish being our contemporary moved to Delhi under the guidance of my father, Babuji, who always was the intellectual and academic guide for both sides of my families. He joined Indian Airlines and settled here.
My favourite mama is Rattan mamaji. Thinking about him I feel immensely sad because today he is inflicted with severe Multiple joint Arthritis and is almost immobile living his days at Ludhiana. He is the son who actually looked after my grandparents’ long last difficult years with their Physical, mental and financial inadequacies and requirements. He is the man who earned little, as a civil engineer but has been the largest hearted to spend on all others, the Karta-Dharta (do-er) for the whole family for all big and small occasions. He carried through all the rituals of multiple marriages, births, sicknesses; he was where something needed to be done for some body. His wife Usha cooked and ‘played’ companion with him. Each of his visits meant he had bagfuls under his arms, Sweetest Mithai for Babuji from Chowra Bazar, Best Mangoes for Jhai, fancy stuff for the kids and Balloons for any toddlers. He has been the most affectionate mama, relating to adults and kids alike and forming a strong Bridge between the generations.
Rattan mamaji has truly been the ‘Rattan’ (jewel) of the family.
Bhabis’ big red house(Actually Nana’s) was sold when it seemed dangerous to live in any more, for a meager price and in its place, a small one acquired near the courts where nanaji worked. This is where they died and Rattan mamaji lives, in disputed conditions now. The town’s Vakil (Advocate) left a strange ‘Will’, one room to each son. None other needs the room, nor has the dignity to let go of it for Rattan mamaji who lives in a portion on 1st floor, even difficult for him to climb.
In all this, no one feels like going to my Nani’s house any more, for ‘She’ is no more. She, who used to be up before Sunrise, broomed and washed the house, got the 24 hour Chulha going for all to be fed. She had also fed the Cow, milked her, churned the Lassi for the Chhachh, the Butter and the Ghee. At ‘her’ end of the day, when the Moon had long been up, she would come with Glasses full of warm milk making us all gulp it down though we were half asleep.
Birju her cousin from Mullapur would drop-in some-times bringing a sackful of Kharboojas, Mangoes and News from the village. Who had died, who lived how, rousing her emotions of sadness and glee, thinking of years before, when she had become a bride at 14 to care for Nana and his many siblings, then her offspring, then their offspring.
I inhale deep, as if to inhale ‘my Ludhiana’ and then slowly, try to let go as if to let go of that past which remains vibrant within me and part of me.
Veena
Takia Gujran ‘no more’
Unlike MBA today, the then profession of dignity was engineering or medicine. So Balwant, Rattan and Anish mamas all did engineering ‘one way or another’.
Balwant the eldest and Kamlesh’s husband were both ‘Dam men’ who were living and constructing the big projects at Bhakra Nangal and then Talwara, harnessing the waters of Punjab in India’s first few 5 year plans after Independence, finally settling at the upcoming new township Panchkula,a beautiful satellite town near Chandigarh.
Anish came much later, both my mother and her mother Bhabi delivering babies close together when my 2nd sister Sunita and he, the youngest child to Bhabi were born. I never ever saw my nana and nani (Bhabi) together except when she was cooking on the Chulha (fireplace of wooden logs) and he was eating in the kitchen which we all did one or two at a time, sitting on the ‘Pidi’ (low chair) and ‘Tipahi’ the small copper tripod stool. How that got her pregnant all the time I cannot fathom.
Anish being our contemporary moved to Delhi under the guidance of my father, Babuji, who always was the intellectual and academic guide for both sides of my families. He joined Indian Airlines and settled here.
My favourite mama is Rattan mamaji. Thinking about him I feel immensely sad because today he is inflicted with severe Multiple joint Arthritis and is almost immobile living his days at Ludhiana. He is the son who actually looked after my grandparents’ long last difficult years with their Physical, mental and financial inadequacies and requirements. He is the man who earned little, as a civil engineer but has been the largest hearted to spend on all others, the Karta-Dharta (do-er) for the whole family for all big and small occasions. He carried through all the rituals of multiple marriages, births, sicknesses; he was where something needed to be done for some body. His wife Usha cooked and ‘played’ companion with him. Each of his visits meant he had bagfuls under his arms, Sweetest Mithai for Babuji from Chowra Bazar, Best Mangoes for Jhai, fancy stuff for the kids and Balloons for any toddlers. He has been the most affectionate mama, relating to adults and kids alike and forming a strong Bridge between the generations.
Rattan mamaji has truly been the ‘Rattan’ (jewel) of the family.
Bhabis’ big red house(Actually Nana’s) was sold when it seemed dangerous to live in any more, for a meager price and in its place, a small one acquired near the courts where nanaji worked. This is where they died and Rattan mamaji lives, in disputed conditions now. The town’s Vakil (Advocate) left a strange ‘Will’, one room to each son. None other needs the room, nor has the dignity to let go of it for Rattan mamaji who lives in a portion on 1st floor, even difficult for him to climb.
In all this, no one feels like going to my Nani’s house any more, for ‘She’ is no more. She, who used to be up before Sunrise, broomed and washed the house, got the 24 hour Chulha going for all to be fed. She had also fed the Cow, milked her, churned the Lassi for the Chhachh, the Butter and the Ghee. At ‘her’ end of the day, when the Moon had long been up, she would come with Glasses full of warm milk making us all gulp it down though we were half asleep.
Birju her cousin from Mullapur would drop-in some-times bringing a sackful of Kharboojas, Mangoes and News from the village. Who had died, who lived how, rousing her emotions of sadness and glee, thinking of years before, when she had become a bride at 14 to care for Nana and his many siblings, then her offspring, then their offspring.
I inhale deep, as if to inhale ‘my Ludhiana’ and then slowly, try to let go as if to let go of that past which remains vibrant within me and part of me.
Veena
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Takia Gujran-maternal Ancestors
3. Takia Gujran
I returned to re-live with parents around age 6.
But Bhabi remained my first mother and Ludhiana ‘my home’.
All the summer vacations were spent there and all important family functions in between. We traveled 3rdclass ladies compartment. The arrival of ‘Khanna’ station meant Ludhiana was not far. I could feel the excitement in my limbs and blood gushing to my cheeks every time I saw the chimney of a mill, a dilapidated building probably an Industrial unit or lots of typical Sardar cycle-rickshaw walas huddled across a railway gate as our train went past. The familiar crowd, the familiar shops outside the station, the 2 cinema halls Naulakha and Rikhee on two sides of the road, Nanu halvai with mouth watering Kachauri-aaloo (special bread and potato curry), Dr.Om Prakash’s clinic, the sweatshop with multiple multicolor jars and then the Chowk, Takia Gujran. The Rickshaw would swing right and there we were. My legs shaky I would jump the ‘Thara’ (front step), run in, past Bai’s ‘Dyodi’ (front entrance hall) and reach the Verandah (central courtyard). I would then suddenly stop, peeping through the Brick Jharokhas (lattice) into the Kitchen, hoping I could hide and Bhabi could seek but she already saw and ran out ----then there was the ‘HUG’ the ‘HUG’ and giggles from me, from her, and every one else. She hugged all of us but the one that mattered to me was the one that was mine, the one that sustained me through life, through life---- till August of ’96 when she passed away after breaking her hip and being bed-ridden for 2+ years at about 90, mentally more alert than any but unable to write ‘Poorni devi’ for me any more.
I had started going to an English School around 4. Raj Masi was 2nd of the sisters after mother. She was the best and most versatile in household affairs. She was doing a course in knitting, stitching and embroidery. I became her ‘Model’. She would dress me in the daintiest of clothes, shoes, put ribbons in my hair and feed me roti with Mango when I acted tough with Bhabi. Through the years, even now after she had 2 sons and no daughter, treats me like her own, buying little Earrings and Gold chains for the neck for me, rather than her daughter-in-laws, although I am not the a Jewelry lover.
It was said that she had the best complexion, eyes, nose, lips, body, and qualities that my Nana attributed to get a ‘good prospective groom’. He could not find ‘that’ groom and began to lie about her age to her embarrassment. Finally he agreed to tie the Knot to Gyan Uncle of Nabha who was really Ugly but fitted the criteria of ‘a Post graduate with enough money and small family i.e. ‘no mother in law living’, as my mother’s mother in law i.e. My dadi had been lots of unhappiness for my mother.
I changed my opinion of his ugliness when he started talking about Dickens, Little women, Rebecca and other literary ‘heroes’ of my mind of that time. I even wrote some letters to him as he was English MA and that was ‘good’ by me. When I got admission at medical college, Patiala, Nabha was 17 miles away and often I would go there from the hostel to spend the weekend when I felt home sick. He was a man of refined taste and would like to have Kidney and Steak on toast for Breakfast and fancy non-veg and veg sumptuous layouts for meals.
Raj aunty was quite miserable there. From her stories it seemed he was harsh and mean to her and even physically beat her when she did not come up to his expectations or his 2 sisters’. Once when she was pregnant he had slapped her and she secretly wished God would punish him for it. Many years later Gyan uncle had a seizure due to Brain tumor, due to which he fractured his right arm. He is no more, but she still harbors the guilt for having wished ‘the wish’ she did. After all he had ‘provided’ for her and fathered her 2 sons.
When I returned from USA, I had brought a Jetta Volkswagen car. Foreign cars were not so much on the roads yet. He loved and admired it and would ask me all kinds of intricate questions about its engine, the answers of which I did not know. After a few months when I visited him, he looked at me and laughed an embarrassed laugh and said, “ I recognize that car and you are familiar but I can’t really place you”---- .The Cancer was fast replacing the finest neurons of his brain and tears began to roll down my cheeks. I the Psychiatrist put my arm around his waist and took him inside the house.
He did not live long but being one of the senior, long loyal employees with the Thapars, he left Raj aunty financially secure for the remaining years. This was the least ‘due’ to her after the long difficult ‘life’ she had experienced, leaving her emotionally unstable to say the least.
Amar Nath Wadhera in his recent Book ‘Aey Mao, Behno, Betiyo’ writes “Watan walo isey tum bekas-o-majboor mat samjho/Yehi aurat kisi din mulk ki tasveer badlegi.”
Veena
I returned to re-live with parents around age 6.
But Bhabi remained my first mother and Ludhiana ‘my home’.
All the summer vacations were spent there and all important family functions in between. We traveled 3rdclass ladies compartment. The arrival of ‘Khanna’ station meant Ludhiana was not far. I could feel the excitement in my limbs and blood gushing to my cheeks every time I saw the chimney of a mill, a dilapidated building probably an Industrial unit or lots of typical Sardar cycle-rickshaw walas huddled across a railway gate as our train went past. The familiar crowd, the familiar shops outside the station, the 2 cinema halls Naulakha and Rikhee on two sides of the road, Nanu halvai with mouth watering Kachauri-aaloo (special bread and potato curry), Dr.Om Prakash’s clinic, the sweatshop with multiple multicolor jars and then the Chowk, Takia Gujran. The Rickshaw would swing right and there we were. My legs shaky I would jump the ‘Thara’ (front step), run in, past Bai’s ‘Dyodi’ (front entrance hall) and reach the Verandah (central courtyard). I would then suddenly stop, peeping through the Brick Jharokhas (lattice) into the Kitchen, hoping I could hide and Bhabi could seek but she already saw and ran out ----then there was the ‘HUG’ the ‘HUG’ and giggles from me, from her, and every one else. She hugged all of us but the one that mattered to me was the one that was mine, the one that sustained me through life, through life---- till August of ’96 when she passed away after breaking her hip and being bed-ridden for 2+ years at about 90, mentally more alert than any but unable to write ‘Poorni devi’ for me any more.
I had started going to an English School around 4. Raj Masi was 2nd of the sisters after mother. She was the best and most versatile in household affairs. She was doing a course in knitting, stitching and embroidery. I became her ‘Model’. She would dress me in the daintiest of clothes, shoes, put ribbons in my hair and feed me roti with Mango when I acted tough with Bhabi. Through the years, even now after she had 2 sons and no daughter, treats me like her own, buying little Earrings and Gold chains for the neck for me, rather than her daughter-in-laws, although I am not the a Jewelry lover.
It was said that she had the best complexion, eyes, nose, lips, body, and qualities that my Nana attributed to get a ‘good prospective groom’. He could not find ‘that’ groom and began to lie about her age to her embarrassment. Finally he agreed to tie the Knot to Gyan Uncle of Nabha who was really Ugly but fitted the criteria of ‘a Post graduate with enough money and small family i.e. ‘no mother in law living’, as my mother’s mother in law i.e. My dadi had been lots of unhappiness for my mother.
I changed my opinion of his ugliness when he started talking about Dickens, Little women, Rebecca and other literary ‘heroes’ of my mind of that time. I even wrote some letters to him as he was English MA and that was ‘good’ by me. When I got admission at medical college, Patiala, Nabha was 17 miles away and often I would go there from the hostel to spend the weekend when I felt home sick. He was a man of refined taste and would like to have Kidney and Steak on toast for Breakfast and fancy non-veg and veg sumptuous layouts for meals.
Raj aunty was quite miserable there. From her stories it seemed he was harsh and mean to her and even physically beat her when she did not come up to his expectations or his 2 sisters’. Once when she was pregnant he had slapped her and she secretly wished God would punish him for it. Many years later Gyan uncle had a seizure due to Brain tumor, due to which he fractured his right arm. He is no more, but she still harbors the guilt for having wished ‘the wish’ she did. After all he had ‘provided’ for her and fathered her 2 sons.
When I returned from USA, I had brought a Jetta Volkswagen car. Foreign cars were not so much on the roads yet. He loved and admired it and would ask me all kinds of intricate questions about its engine, the answers of which I did not know. After a few months when I visited him, he looked at me and laughed an embarrassed laugh and said, “ I recognize that car and you are familiar but I can’t really place you”---- .The Cancer was fast replacing the finest neurons of his brain and tears began to roll down my cheeks. I the Psychiatrist put my arm around his waist and took him inside the house.
He did not live long but being one of the senior, long loyal employees with the Thapars, he left Raj aunty financially secure for the remaining years. This was the least ‘due’ to her after the long difficult ‘life’ she had experienced, leaving her emotionally unstable to say the least.
Amar Nath Wadhera in his recent Book ‘Aey Mao, Behno, Betiyo’ writes “Watan walo isey tum bekas-o-majboor mat samjho/Yehi aurat kisi din mulk ki tasveer badlegi.”
Veena
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