Episode 4  -                                
                          GYPSY WANDERINGS

                                NAUCHANDI KA MELA

                                                                   AND

                                                       THE WELL OF DEATH

                         

               
                

                
......Our Uncle was commissioned to start the construction of a ‘kothi,’ as small bungalows were then called.

However, some hurdles stood in the way. My grandparents did not want to accompany us. They were attached to their home in the village and spent only a month or so with us, every year. Although my grandmother had not treated my father well as a child, she was very loving towards the grandchildren. I looked forward to her visits because of the delicious , beaten silver foil covered  ‘pedas’ she used to bring for us from the village ‘halwai’, packed in a colorful cardboard box. (Plastic was nowhere on the planet then!)

The night of a terrible storm, when lightning struck a dead tree, standing near the outer wall, my grandmother insisted it was a bad omen and an inauspicious time to start building a new house.

Daddy however brushed aside her misgivings and plans to move to Dehra Dun were drawn up. The bungalow was still in the initial stages, but Mummy wanted to be there to supervise work herself.
From that bungalow onwards, I do not remember any time in her life when she was not getting some construction or the other done, up to her death at 85. It is surprising that she did not become a construction contractor herself, so fond was she of being present on the construction site and supervising all the work herself!  She would sit on a ‘moorha’ watching each worker, when she was not walking around, getting the best out of them. She loved the smell of freshly mixed cement and wet bricks and would supervise each step personally. Woe to the laborer who walked or worked slowly or the mason who set a brick out of line!

Before my grandparents went back to the village, they were treated a visit to the much awaited local annual fair- ‘Nauchandi Ka Mela.’ It was held in a very large ‘maidan’ and attracted large crowds from the town itself and villages around.

The small town of Meerut took on a vivacity of its own for the whole month that the ‘mela’ carried on. Spread over acres it catered to all types of entertainment and fun. Bright lights, loud speakers and the glitzy glamour of all types of novelties for sale along with delicious food and sweets, attracted young and old, as the crowds milled to it. Men, women and children came in droves with families and friends, dressed in colorful clothes,out to enjoy themselves. Some came from far off places on foot, by bus, cycling or even on bullock carts.  Raising clouds of dust, they thronged around stalls of eatables and entertainment mostly, while children cajoled their parents into buying balloons and balls that were flung in the air and shone fluorescent in the darkness of the night.

 Mummy being a great sport, always knew how to keep her children and elders happy and sat us down to a feast of 'chaat' and something I was drooling for - 'jalebis' ! The golden yellow, syrupy sweets were my favorite and I had enough to fill my need and my greed. She herself loved both - it was a good thing Daddy wasn't with us or else he would never have allowed us to eat by the roadside like this.

                                         

                              

                                                             

      Although I was too small to remember many details, I have a memory of stalls of eatables vying for space with those selling curios. Bawdy film songs on loud speakers mingled with the loud raucous voices of hawkers as well as those shouting  to attract people to certain shows.

   
       I trudged along with the elders, my tiny hand held tightly by Didi, my sister. Kaka, my younger brother was happily perched on the shoulders of our cook, who, Mummy thought, deserved an outing too. My elder brother, Bhaji, walked along, on the lookout for things not made at home, like the ice balls drenched in many colors and flavors.                                             

 

Stalls with colorful goods for sale, stood in rows, decorated with buntings and balloons ; gas lamps strung in rows, enhanced the light of a solitary, although large electric bulb. One particular stall with colorful bangles and artificial jewelry sparkled and glistened in the neon lights and my girlie heart  yearned to buy them all but  didn’t ask, knowing well enough I’d be told I could get them once I grew up! The fetish stayed put for a lifetime and even now I love visiting ‘melas’ and ‘bajariyas’ , feasting my eyes on such baubles, though having no use for them.

                        


But another stall caught my mother's attention where an old Chinese man was making toys and figures of plasticene(called clay by children today).There were some of historical and religious figures, humans, animals, flowers and other things at random. She liked a cycle which the old man made in a few minutes . It decorated the mantelpiece in our drawing room for long, till the clay dried so much that it became friable and started crumbling.

                                                           

While different rides for children and adults were fun, I enjoyed the mini circus in which the hall of magic mirrors made us squeal with laughter, seeing the distorted faces and figures of others, till we saw our own. But got scared, clinging to my sister when seeing a girl with two heads and another one whose head was visible but body wasn't  and yet spoke normally.

                                 MAUT KA KUAN or THE WELL OF DEATH’

                    

        

                                                     

But, the high point of the evening was watching the dare devil act called ‘Maut ka Kuan’ or the ‘Well of Death.’

A young girl in a glossy black leather jacket and tight pants, embellished with shiny and frilly trimmings, descended into a huge circular pit in the ground into which was sunk a metallic cage. The upper half was open. She mounted a motorcycle which stood at the bottom of the cage. With a deafening spluttering and booming she started the engine, revving it up and slowly wheeling it into motion going around in concentric circles; the crowd whistled and hooted and some watched spell bound, wide eyed and gaping.

I myself stood open mouthed in fear and fascination as the speed kept getting faster and faster while the machine took bigger circles in its stride, at every round moving up higher in the round cage, in a jaw dropping act. My head kept spinning along with the bike, trying to see it, but it soon became one fuzzy, blurring movement and my head like a spinning top. Then, reaching the highest point, it started moving downwards, gradually slowing and coming to a halt at the bottom. I stood rooted in awe, dumb struck and admiring. I had met my role model and with the steely determination of a five year old I made up my mind to join the circus as early as possible!                                                                                           

Images -courtesy Google
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Episode 3 
                                                 GYPSY WANDERINGS

(The photographs in color were taken many decades later, by my younger brother, P.S.Gill (Kaka), who was a passionate photographer. We have very few photographs of that period, as they got destroyed in a fire. The few that remain are the ones in black and white.)

                                      

                         

                                                      CLEMENT TOWN                          

                                                           

                                                                

                    APRICOT AND PEAR BLOSSOMS IN CLEMENT TOWN

 
This uncle of ours, after retiring from the army as a colonel, had started working as a construction contractor. He told Daddy about some land for sale in Clement Town, a small settlement, nestled in a valley, on the outskirts, about 8-9 miles before Dehra-Dun, coming from the Saharanpur side by road. Daddy had heard about the wonderful schools there, some of the best in the country. He also thought of how we kids would be studying in one place instead of the nomadic army life and how the salubrious climate would be good for our health. So, he decided to go and see the land for himself, although as a young cadet on joining the army he had undergone training there and had fallen in love with the unspoiled beauty of that place. But a man's perspective and priorities change with a family of growing children.

Clement Town was a pretty little suburban cantonment. It was a quiet and peaceful settlement then. Not only was he impressed by the place, but grateful as well, that the Universe was helping him realize his dreams, with amazing synchronicity.  Excited about the chance that life was offering him, he went with Uncle to meet the owner of the land at Dehra - Dun.

Mr.Graham, a retired British officer, a widower, with only a dachshund called Dash for company, was desperate to sell the land, as he was into bad times. He had just won a case, winning back his land after a decade from the Cant Board. Army officers did not have large salaries, so their savings were also meager. My father, then a captain, with four children, did not have the resources. Daddy told him about his monetary constraints. Finally, the deal was struck for Rs. 30,000, quite a princely sum those days, to be paid in monthly installments of Rs 300 per month, for two plots; one, a large tract of land around eighty 'bighas' ( almost twenty acres) ,along with a smaller plot of ten 'bighas' ( around two and a half acres). What happened after that trip was a dream fulfilled !

It so happened, that as a young cadet, on joining the army and undergoing training at the Joint Services Wing, then placed at Clement Town, Daddy had gone on the first day, for horse riding practice. Many decades later, he related to us his thoughts about what he felt on that day. The words are mine but the thoughts and feelings are his:

“Coming to a narrow 'kutcha' lane, turning from the undulating road from Bharuwala side, I came to a small wooden bridge spanning  a brick culvert, under which a stream flowed. In gratitude, I bowed my head, as I spotted a Gurudwara next to it, thanking the Almighty one more time, for His blessings for my selection in the army and the immediate commission.  Crossing the bridge, I rode onto a large practice ground and looking around, noticed what an enchanting place it was. All around the large grassy 'maidan',were fruit trees, peaches and pears in full bloom with pink and white blossoms, almost like a Japanese canvas, the blooms lending their fragrance to the crystal clear air. The mist rolling down from the hills, and the sound of water tinkling downstream, was like a soothing balm to my jangled nerves, taut with the prospect of having to learn the army protocol and undergo the rigorous training, under the stringent rules of the British Army. 


                 

Dewdrops glistened on the thick carpet of grass almost like pearls embroidered on green velvet, lending the place an ethereal beauty. On the south this land was bounded by dense forest that rose upwards into the hills; towards the north were the Shivalik foot hills, leading on to the range of mountains, where the popular hill station of Mussoorie stretched across.

A clean mountain stream, the same that I had crossed,  almost 10-12 feet wide at places and  about 4-5 feet deep, flowed all round the land, bound on the south side by thick vegetation, dense trees and large groves of bamboo. Thousands of birds had made their home amongst the trees, their chirping and trilling, filling the morning air with the song of many bird calls, singing hymns in praise of their Creator. I could hear no other sound.

                    

                    

                    

                                        

Most of the land was hedged in by bushes of pale pink roses and the fragrance was overwhelming as the bushes were heavily laden with winter blooms. The petals from the older blooms had fallen to the ground and formed a thick pink carpet bordering the whole land. 


                   

                                                                   

Suddenly, a fluffle of rabbits emerged from under a bush, alarming my horse and themselves, scuttling in fright under another bush. As the horse neighed and stamped its hooves in alarm, a cloud of cacophonic, screeching green feathers flew skywards, as a dozen or more startled parrots flew from the gooseberry bushes they had been foraging. Under large ‘Gulmohars’ a few papaya trees stood straight and staid undisturbed by this  sudden hulabloo, each bearing at least a dozen papayas. The large orange and crimson 'palash' flowers set the skies ablaze, providing a sharp contrast to the pale roses on the ground.                    

                                                                     

                                                                  

                   

                                                             

As I looked up at the alarmed parrots, I noticed the changing colors of the sky and the glorious splendor of the sun rising above the hills; I specially noticed what a clear blue expanse the sky was, broken only by a few fluffy, billowy white clouds hovering over the hills of Mussoorie, now tinged with shades of pink and orange.




                




Never had I seen a more awe inspiring spectacle and a silent prayer to the Supreme arose from the depths of my being, to grant me a place like this someday, where I could make a home for my children and educate them.”

Little did he know then, that he would be buying that very land one day and so began my father’s journey of building up a fairly generous venture of investments in real estate.

He came back full of enthusiasm and a great sense of achievement; impressed my mother with the prospect of providing education for their children in some of the finest schools of the country and own a house in an elite town. He related to her about the peace and tranquility and the unsurpassed beauty of Clement Town, his prayer of years ago being answered in the form of that very piece of land where he had stood and prayed.

But the question of raising enough funds still loomed large over their heads.

My mother pitched in by giving a substantial amount of her jewelry and some of the amount was quickly paid off with enough spare, to build a four bedroom bungalow, with a row of servant quarters, cattle sheds, storehouses and surrounded by a large orchard in front, a kitchen garden and fields to provide enough grains for us, at the back, in the smaller ten 'bigha' plot. The larger eighty ‘bigha’ (twenty acres) land was later developed by Mummy, for growing premium quality basmati rice.

She was a plucky little woman, who all her life looked forward to new ventures and adventures.  Never one to bow before any storm, every situation was an opportunity to prove herself, rising taller every time. She was more excited about this huge step in their lives, than even Daddy was.


Our Uncle was commissioned to start the construction of a ‘kothi’, as small bungalows were then called. Plans to move to Dehra Dun were drawn up. Some hurdles stood in the way. My paternal grandparents did not want to accompany us.
The night of a terrible storm, when lightening struck a dead tree standing near the outer wall, convinced my grandmother that it was an inauspicious time and this was a bad omen.
The bungalow was still in the initial stages, but Mummy wanted to be there to supervise work herself. Starting from that bungalow onwards, I do not remember any time in her life when she was not getting some construction or the other done, right up to her death at 85.

 

……cont. as SHIFTING TO CLEMENT TOWN.

In the next episode……The moonlight shining on the rippling water of the silvery streams below on the left and through the branches of the overhanging trees on the right, created numerous magical illusions. Occasionally a fox or rabbit crossing the road would get blinded by the headlights of the trucks and would stand paralyzed, their eyes two fiery red embers which I found quite scary……..!