Chapter 7: jurithewriter has started writing her story

 In photos: 

Top: Dhiren mama, mummy, deepak, jumi, me, Mumbai, around 1976

Bottom: the hariharans and the kalitas. 1971, NDA teachers quarters. Radha on the horse, sridhar with his dad and me with mine, left most guy-identity unknown

Dhiren mama would sometimes drop in to my Kumarpara marital home, (post my marriage on the fateful day of 21 January 1992). He had retired a long time back and had built a house in Bharalumukh, near the Bharalu river, which was a small stream like river and joined the Brahmaputra that flowed besides the Bharalumukh-Santipur road. Kumarpara neighboured Bharalumukh and the distance could easily be covered on foot or on a cycle rickshaw. Mama, was quite tall, stooped a little with age, quite fit and always had a beautiful smile adorning his glass rimmed face. I always felt extremely warm and close to Mama, perhaps because of the fondness with which my parents always discussed their stories with Mama and Mami.

Unfortunately, it is only the fondness that got embedded in my memory, I don’t have memories of my mum telling me how she spent the 2-3 month time in their Mumbai home in 1970. Dipika baideo also does not remember too much. As I was writing the previous chapter, I started wondering about how mum must have taken care of me without my dad in a home that was borrowed from someone? What were the feelings and thoughts that might have gone through her mind? How kind must Mama and Mami have been to shelter someone in their home for so many months? How did my Mum feel when she finally left Mumbai to join my father in Pune?

In NDA my father had only been able to manage temporary accommodation in what was called as the Teacher’s quarters. There was a waiting period for the residential quarters which they could move into only once some of the officers had retired and moved out.

The teacher’s quarters were quaint barracks on a small hillock in the D2 area of the NDA officers residential area. NDA is a protected wildlife sanctuary. The construction was made into the natural forest taking all care to maintain the original forest architecture. The roads were paved, all the public areas were aesthetically landscaped predominantly with healthy white lilies, the unconstructed areas had the preserved forest with the local trees, swaying uncut long blades of grass and endless clusters of orange coloured cosmos flowers. The only traffic one came across were the vehicles of the residents going to work or school or attending parties in the evenings. And the occasional spaced out red Pune Municipality buses that would transport residents of the village beyond NDA and the occasional NDA resident who needed to visit Pune city for any reason. As one entered the route to the teachers quarters, one would pass the blood red coloured post box, next to the spotlessly clean bus stop shelter for the PMT bus travellers.

 The Hariharans, lecturer physics department, the Saxenas, lecturer English Department and the Sethis, English again I think, were the families waiting their turn to get a proper quarter. As an infant I was a hyperactive child. My mum would go for walks with the Mrs Hariharan in the evenings, taking her children Radha and Sridhar and me along. I would constantly be running and my Ma shuffling after me shouting

Juri poribi, poribi

Juri wait you’ll fall

Subsequently, Hariharan aunty, who was a Tambrahm, would rush after me whenever she saw me running around and call out

Juri poribi, poribi.

My mum’s written English was impeccable. She had studied in Handique college, Guwahati which imparted education only in the English medium back then in the 1960s. The Hariharan’s spoke English and Tamil only. The Saxena’s and Sethi’s were North Indians and communicated mainly in Hindi. My mother was an intelligent and determined woman. She decided the only way to master spoken English and Hindi was to communicate in these two languages. The mastery was essential to be accepted as a part of the NDA social culture. She therefore started all her communications even with me and my sister (later, of course, after her birth!) in these two languages. Her accent and pronunciations were quite flawless as compared to my father’s distinct Assamese accent that never went away.