Chapter 13: jurithewriter has started writing her story: The incident in the park

 

‘Haw Jaya, itna kyun lipstick lagaya tumne!’

O my God Jaya, why is your lipstick so dark!

That was a politically incorrect statement made by a three year old, but kids are known to state truths, say things exactly the way they perceive it, most adults would squirm- if it was their ward; or laugh it off, internally wanting to strangle the kid, as if the statement of truth didn’t really bother them.

Jaya and Rukma bai were our caretakers. They would take us to the park every evening. Kids younger than five years of age accompanied by their temporary caretakers to the park was a religion in NDA in the 70s. An unstated competition for best dressed wards was an everyday issue during these park visits.  Younger maids like Jaya would also dress up in their own styles. The lipstick comment targeted to Jaya was an observation of her style sense.

Rukma bai was older, married and her daughter Trishna who must have been about a couple of years older to me would often come to our house with their mother and play with us. I have no memories about Jaya, these are borrowed memories from Jumi and Mum. Rukma bai stayed in our lives till much later and I remember her very well. She was always dressed in a nine yard sari, the nauvari, which is draped like a dhoti and then carried over to the upper body like the sari. Rukma bai draped the pallu, covering her head and then bringing the edge forward, tucking a corner of the edge into her dhoti, so that it wouldn’t fall off. She always had a large red vermillion dot on her forehead, a mangalsutra beaded with black beads settling into a pendant of 2 tiny cups between her breasts.

The sun sets at about 7 pm on an average in Pune. The children would play until sunset, there were slides and swings in the park, and stone benches, heavy and curved so that one could rest their backs against them when one sat on the bench. The bench seat was placed on a concrete plank on which the seat would wobble a little if someone shook the bench or jumped on it.

The maids would share stories and gossip of other household saabs and memsaabs, but made sure that the corners of their eyes were perpetually on the wards. Yet accidents happen. There was a sudden scream of pain and loud yelping, Jumi was sitting besides the bench, the middle finger of her right hand was stuck between the seat of the stone bench and concrete plank on which it was placed. All the care takers rushed to help Rukma Bai and Jaya in trying to get Jumi’s finger out. They rushed Jumi to a dispensary just outside the NDA borders, in Rukma Bai’s village, but the doctor there was not available. They then took Jumi to the Military Hospital and the doctors there asked for the parents as it was a bad injury and needed expert surgery.

The parents were at the movies. There were no ways of being able to contact them. Rukma bai and Jaya were terribly scared, not just for Jumi, but also about how to tell my parents about the seriousness of the injury. Once my parents were back, they informed mum and dad about the injury without telling them how bad it was, requested the maid of the neighbouring house to tell them that Jumi needed to be treated immediately, and left.

My parents rushed Jumi to the Military Hospital, luckily a paediatric surgeon was visiting and he expertly sewed and healed back the finger to a workable condition.

Chapter 12: jurithewriter has started writing her story: D2

 

The wives dressed in traditional bridal wear in one of the innumerable NDA parties. Location, my memories say it is the Officer's mess 

The house allocated to my father after the teachers quarters was located in the same sector, called D2. NDA had an enormous campus where it housed all the permanent civilian teaching officers, the uniformed officers from the defence services who stayed for brief periods, all the staff along with their families who handled the non-teaching departmental functions of the Science Block and the Sudan block, the junior commissioned and non-commissioned officers, jawans, and the 300 odd cadets. The precisely set up houses were bracketed into convenient sectors and each sector was identified with an alphabet along with a number. So there was D3, D2, E2, E3 and so on. These were our postal addresses as well.

NDA is a protected wild life sanctuary. All the houses and bungalows were spaced in a way that between the rows of houses would be a wide strip of uncut forest where deer, peafowls, hyenas, foxes freely move around along with snakes, mongoose and a variety of birds.

The D2 area was midway on a hill, flattened naturally for a distance before sloping up further onto E1. One approached D2 from the Officer’s mess at the foot of the hill and drove or walked or cycled over the steep road, crossing a haunted massive imli (tamarind) tree on the left and a beautiful golf course on the right. D2 started where the hill was flattened midway. On the left the road diverged into a circle lined by bungalows, then there were two more roads, one after another on the right, which led to a few more bungalows and all these roads finally converged into the road where D2 would end and D3 would begin. At the farther end of the flat land, the road sloped uphill again leading to E1. At this end of the flat land was the D2 circle, a concrete circle of the height of a bench with pristine white spider lilies on manicured lawn grass on a bed of fertile soil inside the concrete circle. At the centre was a pole with a flag, I think, I don’t exactly remember if there was flag or it was just a solitary pole.

The circle saw three trifurcations, one uphill to E1, one towards the flats (our initial residence) and one towards the approach road from the Officer’s mess. On the right, was a bright red clean unchipped bus stand, next to a bright red post box next to a large cartoon shaped dustbin which said ‘Use me’.

Behind the bus stand was a playground with see-saws and swings, I see dreams of this often, vivid and haunting dreams.

A couple of steps ahead of the bus stop if one turned right one would reach the flats. Just a few feet before reaching the flats, on the left was the centralized pump house from where water to all NDA households was pumped after being run through a filtration process which ensured all of us had access to a twenty four hour supply of crystal clear water. The pump house had several guava trees with plump fleshy guavas. Between the pump house and the flats was a small uphill kutcha dirt track which led to a row of houses in E1, in the next lane, and went through the intervening forest track.

The flats were two storied blocks with four apartments each. They were spacious and the ground level flats had enormous front and backyards. My father’s allocated house was on the first floor. Our immediate neighbour was the Bhutias, from the foreign language department, the Guptas were below us and diagonally opposite were the Georges. In the day time my dad went to office, mum did her MA studies in Pune University, and evenings were spent partying with friends or attending official dinners or going to the movies. Jumi and I were taken care of by Rukma Bai and Rosy in their absences.  As a protocol, kids never accompanied parents to these parties or dinners or movies. The haunting park dreams that I see intermittently are probably from the innumerable evenings spent with Rukma Bai and Jaya in the park.  

Chapter 11: jurithewriter started writing her story: the train journey for Pehi's marriage

 

My father had two sisters. Rohini pehi, was older and was married off about nine years before dad entered matrimony which was just a few months prior to the loss of their home  to the floods the second time. The youngest sister and the baby of the family Baroda, got married about three years after my dad. There was no way that dad would miss this wedding. It was the first wedding in his closest family after they had moved to Pune. Baroda, being the youngest was the favourite in the family. Both my pehis were extremely caring, kind hearted and empathetic. They were far from being the stereotypical ‘nanad’, the bad girls who traditionally created rifts between the brother and his wife.

My mother actually shared a wonderful bond with her sisters in law, perhaps better than what she shared with her husband. She often told me how supportive both her sisters in law were during her brief post marriage stay in Mirza and there was nothing she could fault about their behaviour with her throughout her entire marriage. The pleasure with which she hosted them whenever they visited  and vice versa was palpable to everyone.

Since Jumi was not even a year old, my father decided to attend the wedding taking me along, and leaving Jumi and mum behind in NDA. The long train journey would have been difficult to manage with an infant who was still crawling.

In the first class compartment of the train my father, with his amazing inborn public relation skills, was soon laughing and equipped with the information of his co passengers’ whereabouts. There were just four seats in a first-class compartment, so the seats were quite spacious and comfortably cushioned. Those days there was no air-conditioning and one had to raise or lower the two sets of window panes to open them, which would enter into slots designed into the walls of the trains. On the outside was a sturdy shutter, made of slanting strips of aluminium, somewhat like the blinds that we use these days, and on the inside was a thick strong glass pane, both had to be raised up to shut the windows. 

Food was catered in these trains through good quality on-board caterers. One had to pre order, the volume of food was prepared accordingly. A lucky passenger might get food in a last moment ordering, an unlucky one would have to go hungry till a station was reached. The long distance fast trains like the Howrah express would halt in very few stations, so the wait for a station would sometimes be really lengthy.

Liveried porters would come to collect the preorders well ahead of time. On the first day of boarding, my father had ordered a single lunch meal for himself, which he would share with me. His co passengers started having their home cooked meals and as a courtesy asked my dad what I would eat. My dad informed that we would be sharing the plate. I instantly put my arms around the plate and announced that I wasn’t going to share my plate with anyone. Of course my dad laughed it off, but he was acutely embarrassed.

Naturally, I couldn’t finish off the food, Jumi confirmed this years later when this anecdote was being narrated.

Pehi was in her bridal finery when I started asking for something which no one could figure out. Dad was elsewhere, busy helping with the wedding arrangements. Everyone chipped in, in desperation, trying to get every possible thing a child might want. I was bawling by this time. Finally someone called my dad. I was thirsty and told him ‘mujhe pyaas laga hai’ - Hindi for 'I am thirsty.' Thirst quenched I was back cuddled into my aunt’s comfortable arms.

After the one month or so that we came back to NDA from Mirza post the wedding, Jumi, who was crawling when we had departed, walked into my delighted dad’s arms. Mum and dad must have looked at each other with longing. They were quite the passionate love birds. 

 

Chapter 10: jurithewriter has started writing her story

 

*some names have been changed as I haven’t been able to contact them for their permission

Parmeswar Das, was senior to my father in age yet they were very close, almost like brothers; and he was also dad's mentor in many ways. He was well-read, large, taller than my father, very fair and had a healthy pink glow to his cherubic face. A wealthy timber merchant once, the affluence shrank away with time. I feel the arrogance associated with affluence of the timber merchants brought about a complacency; and the need to keep up with the Joneses made sure there was no use of foresight to save up for the rainy day.

His wife, petite, wheatish, barely five foot tall, as fatless as Parmeswar Das was large, ahead of her times with a wisdom to match, gave my father a hundred rupees when he announced that he was leaving for Pune for his new job. She had three sons. She stated to my dad that her eldest, Gautam, would marry me. It was a verbal betrothal, but I had chosen a different partner before I was marriageable. I had met Gautam when he was studying in the USA in one of our summer vacations to Mirza, found him good looking, intelligent and enjoyed interacting with him. I had developed a teen crush and casually fantasised that our parents had engaged us secretly; and then shrugged off the possibility. At this point of time I was unaware of the verbal promise that had undergone between my father and Mrs Das. I sometimes get annoyed that my parents had not told me about this pact. Things could have been so much different had I known.

One could do a lot with hundred rupees in 1970. It was an enormous amount of money. I think my father’s salary was about four hundred rupees when he joined NDA. My parents had academic and intellectual brilliance, which has its advantages, but this was counterbalanced by their almost complete lack of foresight and management skills. Therefore Mami, Dhiren Mama’s wife was surprised to see them come to spend a lifetime packed with just a trunkful of stuff. Material possessions took a back seat because they got all their “sansarik” satisfaction from their academic verbal spars with each other and with their friends. My father’s History and mother's Political Science educations, were potent subjects for lively debates.

In all the bags that my mother owned, there would be some coins. I would sometimes clean the bags and remove the coins, but they would be back again the subsequent times. In their initial months in NDA, because of their poor money management skills and the hangover from the Mohajan days (live today, the money supply is endless), they would have spent the salary before the month ended. So sometimes, they would require a rupee or two for grocery or something and the two of them would scourge every nook and corner to see if any stray coins could be found. Most times one would be found in my mother’s purse, sometimes it would be in one of the built-in almirahs where the coin might have slipped out from my father’s pockets. Yes they were that bad.

After my mother’s death in 2018 when I scourged through all her possessions, there were coins in each of her purses, and at least three small hand purses full of coins, one each in three different almirahs.  

Chapter 9: jurithewriter has started writing her story

 

Srijut Sarat Chandra Sinha was the Chief Minister of Assam from 1972 to 1978. His son was studying as a cadet in the National Defence Academy and graduated in the year 1973 I think, looking at the black and white photos of our family with the CM. NDA was an institute of prestige and glamour, and in those days, where career options were much fewer, a career in the defence services was much sought after. The 300 odd seats in the country’s premier defence institute were difficult to get into. The entrance exams comprised a clever mix of academic knowledge, intelligence and strategy; and of course physical fitness. The aptitude of anyone who would lead the defence services of a nation needed to be inborn. One either has it or doesn’t have it, so the selection process needs to be designed that way. The Academy ensures that the right person is correctly groomed.

The passing out parades of NDA are held every 6 months. At each POP, the main salute is taken by an invited Head of State, Indian or non-Indian. Various kings and queens of European countries, presidents, prime ministers of several countries have graced the function as state guests. The CM of Assam Sarat Sinha had however come as a parent to a cadet who would be passing out that semester. A very humble person, the Dhoti Kurta, his regular attire, doubly dignified his persona.  It was moment of great pride for my parents to host, as the only Assamese expats in NDA, a serving CM of their state.

I had asked my mum if the CM had any meals at our house. They apparently had only tea and some snacks, but spent a considerable amount of time interacting with my parents. The NDA POP is a grand ceremonial event. The fastidiousness and tenaciousness which is associated to my character by folks-who-know-me-well, is probably a subconscious learning from the perfectness with which all NDA functions and especially all the POP ceremonies are held. The perfectly synced parade steps by the impeccably uniformed cadets, the music band of spotlessly uniformed army personnel- in red linen shirts and black trousers, each of perfectly coordinated length, width and colour; crisply ironed, starched turbans-moving along with the parade in perfectly coordinated steps.

The spotlessly clean parade ground, all officers and their families seated well before time and in a perfectly disciplined pattern. Snacks that were served after the parade in the stadium grounds overlooking the Officers’ mess in symmetrically pulled up khaki tarpaulin tents- each rope with every thread intact and symmetrical in length- all knotted identically,  the spotless white porcelain plates, cups and saucers, the sparkling clean stainless steel cutlery, the perfectly spaced food bowls, which were replenished discreetly so there was never shortage of food, like a five star restaurant inside tarpaulin tents. 

All this was maintained for a count of at the least minimum of a thousand persons, eating simultaneously. The families of the cadets who were passing out were invited to witness the event and everything from their accommodation to food was taken care of by the Academy.

The Chief Minister had come to witness his son’s passing out parade and since he was a serving CM, he was hosted as per the VVIP protocols. Which was why, in the brief period of the two days he was in NDA, my parents did not get the opportunity to serve him a meal. 

 

 

Chapter 8: jurithewriter has started writing her story

My little sister Jumi

I recently realized I live in a time warp, figuratively. Being naturally curious about how the mind functions (as a hobby!), it got me wondering why. 

I concluded it is probably because I am so alone, with nothing but myself to care for and worry about (there’s a whole lot on my plate because I'm alone, in case anyone is thinking otherwise), memories of the past- the good ones, the ones where ‘why me’ questions pop in, the ‘if I had not met someone the mess would not have occurred’ ones, the memories of unexpected angels and wholesome gratefulness.

The feeling of being in a time warp is because at age fifty-one I often go back to when I’m twelve or eighteen or sometimes twenty-five years of age; and it feels like I'm actually there. Some memories are mine, some probably of others, but they all seem real to me.  

Like me, mum was twenty-one years old when she got married. Also like me, she completed her final year degree studies after marriage, living in the college hostel. Unlike me her first child was born a year after her marriage and her second child was born three years post marriage. The spacing between Jumi, my sister and me was likely because mum was breast feeding me. Breast feeding is a good, but not foolproof, way of contraception.

When mum was pregnant with Jumi, she was really pampered. The NDA cosmopolitan culture had predominantly North Indian and South Indian officers back then. There were a few Bengali, Bihari, Marathi, a smattering of Oriya and just one Assamese officer, representing the entire North East India. This demography had changed subsequently to some extent later.

The Assamese don’t really pamper the pregnant. The pregnant continue to do household work as long as possible, food is also the same as our daily meals comprise of vegetables, fish and meat balancing out the protein, vitamins and mineral requirements.  

The Sethis, Saxenas and Hariharans made sure Ma got to eat cream and ghee, clarified butter in plenty; mandatory pregnancy food in their cultures. Ma had joined Pune University for her MA in Political Science, perhaps during her early pregnancy, the result of a lot of encouragement by my father.  She got to take a lot of rest during her second pregnancy. There were two maids and Dad’s office hours ended at 2 pm, so post lunch was siesta time and evenings were spent either visiting colleagues, watching movies in the beautiful NDA auditorium or inviting friends over. There was no television those days so mum would do a lot of knitting, hand embroidery, and brush up her culinary skills with plenty of helpful inputs from my father’s colleagues’ wives and the NDA ladies’ club meetings.  

My mum went for her pregnancy checkups to KEM hospital, Pune. King Edward Memorial Hospital was owned by a Parsee gentleman. At the final check-up a couple of days before mum’s delivery was due, the gynaecologist found out that the baby was breech. Breech babies have difficult deliveries as the baby bums point to the birth passage instead of the head (which is how it is mostly). 

Ma was told that they would have to do a caesarian surgery to get the baby out. Those days caesarian sections were infrequently done. My father worried how he would manage without any family support. The incredibly determined Ma convinced herself that all would be well and a beautiful, chubby, ronga-boga (glowing pink) girl, Jumi was born on the 23^rd of February. My dad was with my mum and the Sethis took the onus of my care during the time mum was in the hospital.

Many of my time warp moments include several such incidents where gratitude overwhelms other emotions, incidents where close family abandoned or were not physically available and survival was enabled by humans who can only be called angels.

Ma was God loving. She had a dedicated prayer space in each of her homes. She adored Lord Krishna and prayed vigorously for a male child during her second pregnancy. The night before her caesarian section a Goddess, attired in radiating white clothes, told her she’s going to have a girl child again and entered her womb in her dreams.