Episode 2

 

                                          GYPSY WANDERINGS 

                                       
                                             
                                                  MEERUT- 1950

 
My first vivid childhood memories date back to the winter of 1950 when I was around five years, and our life changed into an adventure, that appealed to the gypsy in me.
Daddy was stationed at Meerut where we lived in a typical army bungalow, large and sprawling, with a drive that could accommodate around twenty cars at a time.

Rows of potted plants lined the driveway. A well manicured garden with flower beds full of winter blooms, hugged the semi- circular front lawn. Tall dahlias with flowers larger than saucers, stood at the back, nodding their large yellow, pink and mauve heads in the cold winter winds. Next to these were the rows of sweet smelling and fragrant sweet peas, trained on a trellis of reeds anchored with hemp string. The deep purple, magenta, white and pale pink flowers with tender tendrils curling around the leaves, were my favorite for their lingering scent. Lower down grew the brilliant red poppies, a profusion of  many colored asters, golden nasturtiums bordered with the snowy white candytuft which shone like spangled stars, as the dew nestled in the tufts, glistened in the rising winter sun.

Large ‘gulmohar’ trees canopied part of the lawn; under their shade, encircling the trunk, I discovered a bed of shy violets, peeping from beneath their large round leaves, lending their heavy perfume to the air. Rose bushes and jasmine dotted the compound all round, vying with each other to enhance the fragrance. Large, tall palms grew next to the wall and besides the two gates. The deep, long verandahs running all around the house, had pale cream colored rose creepers growing along the round pillars and the archways between them. At places where there were bamboo trellises, the creepers grew thick and the fragrance wafted inwards into the rooms also, when a breeze blew. Brasso polished, shining brass containers with potted palms placed in them, stood on high wooden pedestals in the porch and lining the steps to the verandah, and on each side of the doors to the drawing room, where also stood a wooden hat-stand, with a mirror fitted on it. Daddy's collection of walking sticks hung on this.

An arched bower with bunches of small pink roses trailing on it, formed the entrance to the lawn from the porch. The garden looked like a picture book illustration and ever since I have been fascinated with flowers and gardens.

 

                      

                                                OUR MEERUT HOUSE

My younger brother Kaka, not yet three, and I, spent hours chasing butterflies that flitted all over, their colors adding to the riot with their magnificent bright wings.  Once I managed to catch a large, black winged one with multi-colored spots and rings on them. Mummy told me that I should free it as it would die if I held it for long. So, I decided to put it in a shoe-box in which I put some leaves and flowers to create a garden for it. I was heartbroken when I saw it dead after some time.

Sometimes I would pluck a handful of sweet peas and thrust them into a vase on my study table, forgetting to put water in the vase. When the flowers drooped I would sit and cry wondering why they were perishing.

A very high wall ran all round the large compound with a hedge of thorny ‘karaunda’ shrubs. Brambles and burrs grew underneath and we were forbidden to go near them or pluck and eat the sour, red berries which were used to add some more tang to the mango pickle mummy made. Of course, this added to my sense of adventure and I never missed a chance to spice up life with doing the forbidden, resulting very often in a sore throat. Kaka was an innocent accomplice to my escapades.

Our only deterrents were the monkeys that jumped and frolicked all over the walls; when not noticed they would carry off any shoes lying outside the kitchen and the servants would have a tough time chasing them. Very often, I was the cause of the monkey’s wrath, making faces and pelting them with stones when they growled and screamed, baring their teeth,  jumping as if to attack me. Running indoors I would hide in my grandmother’s arms. Being a quiet child, nobody suspected me of being the cause of this brouhaha! Now I wonder if the monkeys didn't think it peculiar, that a two legged monkey could make worse faces than they could!

The baby monkeys were so cute, I wanted one for a pet. My granny then explained to me that monkeys being monkeys would tear my books and clothes. This put me off, for books were my most precious possessions; besides, the idea of the babies growing into angry, growling big brutes did not appeal to me.

The demand for a pet however continued, till one day, my father brought a wicker basket and told me to open it. Out tumbled a fat, fluffy, adorable brown puppy and another black one. I did not take a second to decide in favor of the fat one because I liked her color. Daddy named her Whiskey. I was one happy child. She had not even opened her eyes till then and she lived with us for eighteen years, like the fifth child, till the day she shut them forever. Even now my heart overflows with love, every time I think of her. To describe her role in our lives needs much more space than a para or two!

On the side of the left gate were two garages. At the farthest end of the compound, behind the bungalow were the servant quarters, around ten in number, where lived two orderlies, the driver, cook, washer-man or ‘dhobi’, and sweeper. One room was for our two dogs—Rana an Alsatian and Whiskey, the retriever. The cow and buffalo with their calves, had a large shed to themselves.

In today’s world, I cannot imagine living in such abundance with so many in-house servants. But at that time we knew no other way of life and took it for granted, not knowing how all this was to change very soon, very drastically!

These servant quarters were surrounded by large fruit trees, usually mangoes, ‘jamuns’ and an occasional guava tree. The whole day, monkeys would be incessantly chattering and gamboling on these trees, messing the fruit, wasting more than they ate. They would crush the ‘jamuns’ to take out the stone or fling them down turning the ground below, pock marked in purple. Scared only of men and slingshots( ‘gulel’) they attacked women and children. Occasionally some ‘langurs’ would come and invade their territory and a lopsided battle would ensue between these two hierarchies of simians. Being smaller, the monkeys were scared but being more in number they screamed and growled from a safe distance till the ‘langurs’ were routed, the monkeys victorious by sheer dint of numbers. While the ‘langurs’ were around, it was ensured that we were kept safely indoors, otherwise I would have happily ventured closer to witness the excitement from the front row!

The washer-man came to the house daily, picked whatever clothes he thought needed washing, including my ribbons (!),and brought them backed washed and ironed. Near the servant quarters was an oven like brick construct with a chimney on top. Beneath was a space where a wood fire was lit. White clothes were steamed in this before being washed. This was called a ‘bhathi’ or kiln. Those were the times when there was no Bombay Dyeing or any other linen companies; no trend of colored or printed bed linen or towels. With the advent of washing machines, terry-cot and colored linen, the washer men slowly dwindled in numbers and are almost extinct now. Gone also is the era of crispy, rustling, white bed-sheets.

Invariably, these bungalows had a grave at the rear end of the grounds, among the fruit trees. Those areas were out of bounds for us, but nevertheless aroused our curiosity all the more. One of the servants would light an earthen lamp at the grave every Friday. From the safe distance of our rooms we watched in fearful fascination, mystified and scared, as the lamp flickered, casting eerie and weird shadows on the white washed compound wall. All types of shapes, created by the swaying branches of so many trees and the rustling of leaves as the winter winds whistled and swished through, would add to our heightened sense of danger! I would imagine white figures, floating and hovering among the trees, having been fed on stories of ghosts and spirits by my grandmother and the servants. Probably they did this to keep us away from parts of the compound not safe for little children. This fired my wild imagination to conjure up stories of the worst ghoulish nature a little five year old could cook up!

I was studying in Sophia Convent probably in kindergarten in the year ’50-’51 as the above photograph of mine taken out of a class group photograph, shows.  Whenever I did not want to wear a uniform I would tell the nuns that it was my birthday! This picture is of one such birth DAY!

One day a distant uncle of ours came to visit us from Dehra-Dun.

       

To be cont. as….. Clement Town.
                                                                        

 In the next episode ….

 All round wafted a sweet smell emanating from the heavily laden bushes of roses that hedged the large tract of land. The older blooms had shed to the ground during the night, carpeting the boundary with a thick layer of pale pink petals. Suddenly a family of rabbits emerged …….