Episode 1
                                               GYPSY WANDERINGS              
                                                                

    
                                Old age togetherness having shared a great life !

                                 

                              DEDICATED TO MY PARENTS

                        

                                        

 

My mother, married at the early age of ten, came to live in my father’s house as a child bride of twelve; she never had the opportunity of a formal schooling. However, her intelligence and common sense proved that academic education has nothing to do with wisdom and a life well lived. At four feet ten she often stood taller than many others. The youngest of ten siblings and having spent her childhood in a large household which was both prosperous and well established she was a pampered and cheerful child. Taking on family responsibilities with a step mother- in- law must have been both challenging and intimidating but it honed her into a determined, courageous and enterprising woman who was the wind beneath my father’s sails

                                                   

                                                                 

 My father on the other hand, was an only child who lost his mother at a very young age, while my grandfather was almost an absent figure, serving in the British Army. Having remarried after my grandmother’s death, he presumed that his son was well looked after. But that was not to be, as the second mother had no love or caring for my father who grew up lonely, uncared for and with only one goal- to better his lot in life. Without the emotional support of a family, no parental guidance and hardly any financial backing he went out into the world, to carve his own destiny, with the support of his matriculation certificate and my mother’s unconditional love.

Together, on appearance they looked an odd couple for my father was six feet tall, but my mother kept pace with him physically and mentally; they brought us up as a team with great confidence. Having joined the army during the Raj, he was soon promoted after Independence and got the perfect platform from where he could launch on his journey to change his life.

 EARLY MEMORIES - Part one

 Daddy was authoritative not only at work, but at home also. As his jeep entered the gates of our home, my mother would scuttle all of us into our rooms, not to be seen or heard till lunch was laid. Having been built for the needs of the previous British occupants, these bungalows were large, so it was easy for children to be invisible to the strict parental eye.

 Meals at our place were always hearty affairs with my mother whipping up wonderful recipes with the whole world’s love to lace them with, into pots of wholesome, mouthwatering Punjabi food. The aroma of freshly cooked vegetables and ‘dal’ tempered with oodles of ‘ghee’ mingled with that of mint chutney, tangy spicy mango pickle, served with fresh, hot  buttered ‘rotis’, whipped our appetites; the four of us would tumble into the large dining room—quite a hungry lot ! To wash it all down were large glasses of frothy ‘lassi’ with dollops of white butter floating on top. Our cow ‘Mangala’ was generous enough to provide large quantities of milk for our large household’s needs to the full and for the servants as well.

Golden delights with a touch of green or saffron colored ‘dussehri’ or ‘sindoori’ mangoes, chilled in large tubs of iced water would complete the meal and we could not ever have enough of those. But, we waited for Daddy to finish and go for his afternoon siesta. Mummy would put a ‘durrie’ or mat on the floor and join us, remove our top clothing and set us free to eat the succulent fruit with the juices slathering our mouths and faces, dripping down the chin and flowing from our tiny hands up to our elbows, squeezing the last drop of the sticky, sweet thick pulp out of a small hole bit into the mango skin. Then the stone would be attacked with a relish that only Indian children have tasted, smacking and sucking till the seed shone bare. Stuffed and satiated we were washed and changed, happy to sleep for an hour or so in our rooms cooled with ‘chiks’ and wet ‘khus khus’ shades which the orderlies would keep wetting from time to time.

Five in the evening, we all trooped into our study after a wash and a glass of milk shake. Two hours later we were free to play for an hour till dinner was served at 8 PM. Daddy always liked a well laid table, so my mother who was a simple lady from a small town, Nurmahal, had a tough time. But the sturdy little woman did not give him any chance to look down upon her, either from his physical height or mental acumen. He had joined the army during WW2 and been commissioned an officer; he wanted to change his standard of living. So Mummy steadily and laboriously learnt the ways and mannerisms of the snobbish and sophisticated army culture prevalent during the fifties, a hangover from the colonial rule. He would regularly take us out for dinner to one of the best hotels every month, so that we learnt table manners and felt confident to socialize. It paid us well as adults.

While posted at Pune, when I was around three, Daddy employed an Anglo Indian ayah who would teach my mother to wear a sari and experiment with different hairdos. Mummy’s stylish, high heeled sandals and our shoes were custom made by Chinese shoe makers (the best during those times). Daddy would bundle us all in a station wagon( an army van),taking us for this special ritual twice a year, select the softest calf leather for each one of us and put his signature on the reverse side to ensure that the leather was not changed by a crafty shoe maker. We were never allowed to wear ‘chappals’ or open sandals; this was to ensure that our feet grew correctly shaped. In spite of or probably because of all these precautions, I’ve had problem feet and can rarely find a pair of well fitting shoes or sandals!

An English tutor was also hired. After a few lessons Mummy terminated her services. Having learnt the English alphabets and to sign her name, she said she was well equipped to get along in the world, which she proved true later.

 MEERUT AND OTHER CITIES

Because of Daddy’s frequent transfers we were fortunate to see many cities including hill stations like Kasauli, Srinagar and Shillong, but more of that later.

I have vague memories of cantonment life at various places like Lucknow, Jhansi, Meerut and many others.

            .........To be cont.