13- Back to Roots- Delhi

13-Back to Roots -New Delhi

Back in my parents home! We celebrated my 42nd birthday with them, Vikram, Shashi, Sunita and our 7 kids. It was wonderful. Towards the end of the day Martha called from America. We used to celebrate our birthday together on Ward 1st East. She sort of connected me to my life a month ago, just a month ago. It seemed so, so far away in the past- unbelievable that I actually was living in it. There was a strange amnesia about it and equally about the future. The present felt sheltered and cared for, warm, I needed now.

Karan was admitted at Delhi Public School, Mathura Rd, near Babuji’s home. Thanks to the ‘spade-work’ he had done and Karan’s good academic records from Mountain Brook. The adjustment was difficult for him to say the least. He did not speak Hindi, had not done a year of French or Sanskrit and spoke American and not the Queen’s English. Although he was an Ace Swimmer for the School team, he refused to join because of the ’Green’ pool and stinky toilets, for that matter lot of other stinky stuff around too.

‘He’ became my first ‘goal’.

Our ’20 ft. Container’ from the US had reached the Shores of Bombay. This turned out the first horrendous task in India, ‘a trailer’ for every attempt to achieve any thing in future here. Thanks to Vikram and Rakesh’s family to assist with ‘Customs’ where we made regular trips for a whole month, dealing with the ‘Workers Hartals’, the ‘under and over the table’ handing of ‘number 1 and 2 monies’.

In spite of Fathers’ protests and assurance that there was always going to be ‘room’ for us with him, I signed the lease for a small flat in Greater Kailash 2, my home without Rakesh. A tear trickled slowly, that sense of separation, although I was looking forward to the move, to start life again……… to move into the future…………..to live again.

It was close to where Shashi lived, Shashi with whom I had shared a life bond of togetherness. I furnished it like an American Home and the car, Jetta Volkswagen stood in the Driveway. We joined ACSA, club for local US citizens where Karan could feast on a Burger or a can of Coke and we could Drive the Car on Shanti Path to breathe some clean air. At DPS he was with Indian kids, here he joined the Boy Scouts of America to be able to run and camp around with ‘the familiar’.
Understanding his intense craving for any thing American and accepting his sensitive criticism of India, I wanted the transition, gradual.

Nov. 4-84
Indira Gandhi was assassinated. The world was shocked. Hindus were killing the Sikhs. Delhi was under curfew. More news came from B.B.C. than AIR. World leaders stood up at Shanti Van to pay her ‘the greatest woman and statesman’ of this time, homage, as the pyre on which she lay was lit by her son Rajeev who became the Torch bearer to carry India on, on, to carry India on……. On…… where ………. How …….
“India so rampant with corruption, poverty, steeped with immorality … it had become a passive nation- each individual struggling to survive at the cost of others…….. At the cast of all others till that cost becomes unbearable ……. What is wrong? Why is it so?” I thought.

I was here. Having this experience was frightening. Clean shaven Sikhs on the streets with Machine guns to ‘get’ the Hindus……….. I felt part of this turmoil, a witness of this whole scene, and yet sort of at home, for ‘this’ is where I ‘belonged’.

A year got over, Karan went to class 8, did great and became the PREFECT (sort of Monitor).
I also felt good during the year- having an amazing inner strength and peace of mind. Never did I regret this Move or my decision to return. No one of course, understood this.

It was time for Divya to finish School and join College. I wanted to spend time with her and be part of her decision making. So Karan and I went, Eastwards via the Pacific, via Expo ’85 at Tokyo. After all Japan was the leader now. Little did I anticipate then, that he would take up his first assignment with Mitsubishi upon his own graduation.
We traveled via Tokyo, LA, Las Vegas, Grand Canyon and then home to Birmingham.

It was difficult family time emotionally. Divya was negative and angry towards me- ‘this’ I tried to resolve constantly. My heart wanted to reach out to her- but as I tried she would reject. We did better later but I really felt sad leaving her. She felt close to Rakesh.
I was glad of that. He was mostly quiet and passive. It was difficult to put up with his almost ‘no communication’-

Well, she was going to pursue Art at Univ. of Alabama, Mobile and go there after summer.

Next summer we took a week off to go to Mussourie with Karan, Shashi and daughters Deepa and Ruchi. We stayed in a ‘time sharing apartment’ bought by Vikram where the management was poor but tolerable.

Across, at various levels were ‘the some what shoddy looking multistory buildings’ with clothes on washing lines, trash littered in heaps, smell of horse dung, poor hillside people in rags. A little away were neater looking, private homes with sloping Brick Red roof tops, and surrounding lush green, in and around them. There was the famous ‘Woodstock school’, its courts and an impressive circular structure in the middle. Beyond and away were the mountains, range after range, green, grey, shades merging into the sky. Thick fog creeping out was hovering, clouding, misting, curling and ‘softening the strength’ of the Mountains. And above, jutting, arose the bare steel structure, the TV tower.
It inspired me- it filled me with strength. The tower rising above the squalor, dirt, neat residences and the Mountain ranges.

I felt good emerging out of my ‘past’. It had been almost 2 years since the return back to Delhi. Some moments of loneliness, panic and mild lows but mostly, good.

Veena