Alifiya Khan was caught unawares in flood waters. Frightened, we waded through the floodwaters under the Kelami bridge in Pehrauli. The swirling waters under the bridge roared angrily. Whirlpools were formed. Ammi directed the children to cross the railway lines but some of my friends like Gahanna were attracted by swirling waters. He stood on the concrete wall watching. I tried to cross. Suddenly, Gahanna said, ‘Alifiya fisli aur paani mein doob gayi. Ammi gayi hey madat mangne.’ Alifiya slipped and fell in the flood waters. ammi has gone to seek help. A great hue and cry prevailed. People from nearby gathered. Commotion continued. Rescue operation started. I stood waiting. I was dumbfounded like a stone devoid of feeling. I spotted somebody swimming through the flood waters and Alifiya was brought out of the waters. She was unconscious. She was rushed to a nearby house and treated. Clogged water in her lungs and stomach was removed. The treatment revived her consciousness and I was happy that my friend Alifiya was alive. The torrential rain had put us out of gear. The school had declared a holiday. A vehicle was arranged to take Alifiya home. We walked back home with ammi.
My mother became pregnant. This time dad took great care of his pregnant wife. He saw to it that she had proper milk and food. My mother went to Sompur for delivery. Mother delivered a bonny baby boy successfully. The new babe was named as Hari. My parents had a hectic routine because of my ill health. Malnutrition had retarded my physical development. I started walking only after the age of two. When I was five years, I fell sick. I was admitted to the hospital in the intensive care unit. Railway doctors had inserted suction tubes to remove mucus from clogged lungs, nasal passage and chest. Since my mother was busy, I was taken care of by the nurse. My admission to school took place after I was homeschooled.
Hari was a bonny toddler. He was active and restless. He replaced the affection of my parents for me. He received attention because he was a boy and I received attention because I was sick. Soon Hari grew up to run wherever he could. It was difficult to keep him indoors.
Mom had once given me a protein biscuit. It tasted nice. I wanted to have some more. I saw that my brother got it whenever he asked for it. I pointed my finger to the biscuits kept in a jar. I asked mom to give me those biscuits. My mother simply said, ‘No, it’s not for you.’ But then she gave the same biscuit to my brother. I thought that the biscuits were not meant for me. I was not the preferred child. So why should I ask for it? From that day I didn’t ask for the biscuits again. I compromised with the situation.
Severe bronchitic trouble drained the elixir of my life. Coffee or caffeine smell I felt was akin to cigarette smell. My father continued to be a chain cigarette smoker. I couldn’t stand it. I would feel a smothering sensation in my breath. Inhalation would be a problem. Nights would be sensationally horrific. I would get slight relief when I kneeled in a namaaz position. It was a havoc marked by giddiness, darkness and wheezing. Several kinds of phobias would cluster my mind. I would feel that I am slowly receding into death. It was like breathing into death rather than breathing in life. One night wheezing took a serious turn. My head ached. I heard the sound of horses’ hoofs proceeding towards me. I was going to die in a stampede. There were soldiers. Fear gripped me and I wailed during the midnight. My mother woke up. She baked some thyme seeds and fomented my chest. Many such nightmarish nights continued in succession.
Sagarpur in the 1960’s was more of open land, trees, open coastlines and lashing waves of the Kathiali Sea. Sthaipada was a nice place having tall palm trees, mango and jackfruit trees and a good lot of wild vegetation. Trees nodded to the breeze which blew in the morning and during twilight hours. Sweet smelling wind under the trees, smell of mango flowers, ripe and unripe dates, wild flowers with innumerable birds of various kinds marked the pristine environment of Vanavli. The grain godown was a good place to roam about. Agricultural produce were loaded into trucks and taken to other parts of the country. I roamed in and out of it, sat under trees and ate sweet and unripe dates. I also inspected the flowers of trees and plants around.
I was unaware of men whom I called as uncles. The security of godown, Mr. Velu mollycoddled me and kissed me. I spoke about him to mom. Mom said, “Rani, my child, don’t go to him again. He may not be a good man. He is a stranger.” I said, “Mom, he gave me chocolates! He is a nice man.” Mom was not ready to accept that he was a good man. She said, “Rani, listen to your mom. Don’t visit that uncle again. If you go then I will tell dad.” The thought of dad brought back fear in me. I didn’t dare to visit that uncle again.
I roamed into hutments in the area and the Government colonies of Housing Board. Colonies of the housing board were mostly clean except for the open gutters which smelt when choked. What really struck me was the stink and squalor of the hutment area. People were having bath outside their shanties. They washed clothes and scrubbed vessels. All the dirt would collect into slime and further into a pool of brackish foul smelling water. The place fumed with nauseating smell. Shanties were made of mud, asbestos and tarpaulin sheets. The inside walls and floor of the shanties were smeared with cow dung. The entrances were small and low and onehad to bend in order to enter the zopdi. There were north Indians, southIndians, Maharashtrians, Gujaratis and many others. There were people of Dravidian origin. One such person was Selvan with whom my father was very friendly. He called my dad as Shiva sir. Selvan’s house was a small zopdi. His wife was bigger in size. Selvan was dark , lanky and short. Selvan’s wife Arasi used big idli cookers for making idlis. Although, zopdis appeared clustered together, I found that they were built in rows when I went through it.
Mine was a Christian school. It had a chapel attached to it. I took a chance to go inside the chapel once. I saw that people were silent in prayer. It suited my frame of mind. I too was serious like the people in prayer. During afternoon chapel doors were closed. I sat on the steps to have chapattis and tomato jam during recess. Mom made jams with great perfection. I felt my mom was an excellent cook.
In those days many cookies were made at home. I didn’t get money to buy toffees. I don’t remember my mom or dad giving me pocket money. I was in second standard (Second grade). There was a big playground in front of the school building. The playground culminated into a gate in the corner. One can get to the L.N. Road after passing through the gate. On the opposite side were small shops mainly tapiri akin to kiosk ( asbestoes or tinned roofed) type. Shopkeepers sold sweets and toffees of various kinds. One toffee was such that when it was rolled on one’s tongue, the tongue and the lips would go red. I saw my friends buying such toffees. One of my friends showed her tongue. It was fascinatingly red. I wanted to have the toffee and see my tongue and lips going red. I did not have money to buy it. I knew that dad kept his coat on a hanger. Somehow I saw to it that no one should discover my theft. I searched my papa’s coat for money. I took the money required for the toffee. I didn’t consider it as a theft and simply bought the toffee and ate it and felt the glamour of my tongue and lips going red. No one discovered the theft. I felt ashamed and guilty. I was disturbed. I felt I had done something wrong. My fabric of morality was stained. Fear and remorse ruled me. I found a solution. I didn’t confess that I stole the money to anybody because I felt shy. I resolved not to steal again.
One of the phobias which ruled me was the fear of falling while running. I did not take part in any kind of games in school. I stood on the playground watching others play for some time. No one called me or forced me to play. My classmates continued to play and I walked uphill to watch the surroundings. Uphill I could see the winding road, the bright green fields, sparkling sunshine and the distant mountains which mesmerized me.
The school was cosmopolitan. There were many Sindhis, Punjabis, Christians, Maharashtrians, Malayalis and Goans in my school. I spoke my mother tongue at home and Hindi was spoken outside home. Once, my class was taken upstairs in a hall. The hall was in the new building. A horror movie was shown. It was a black and white movie. Ghosts in white, lifting chairs and shrieks of fear are the things I remember. I could not understand most of it. During my lower grades in school, I was not very good at studies. I had committed some mistakes in my arithmetic paper. My mother told me that I’ll certainly fail in math. The phobia of failure continued to haunt my mind. My stomach rumbled and fear crept into my spines. My innate desire was to pass. For the first time I remembered the superior force. I entered the kitchen and prayed to the goddess of knowledge. I urged the goddess to help me pass. I heard that goddess listens to those who pray. I was thrilled when I got the results. I passed in arithmetic. Neighbour, Nagamani asked, “Rani, show me your result. You’ve passed?” I said ‘yes’. I ran home to show my results to mom. Mom patted me. I felt happy. I was happy to go to the next standard (grade). My father purchased new school bags, text books and note books. My dad would cover my books and note books with brown paper. He did so every year till I could do it on my own. I couldn’t understand the warmth of my dad’s affection because most of the time I have seen his anger. I was frightened of him. I still recall the day when I began stuttering. My speech almost came to a standstill. Dad was resting after having finished his night duty. I cried loud enough to pierce my dad’s ears. My voice was obnoxiously shrill. He got up with his eyes red and his beard was black in colour. I caught hold of my mother’s saree ( A dress, worn especially by South Asian women, consisting of a very long piece of thin cloth wrapped around the body)and looked at him from behind my mother. My dad looked at me with anger. I took fright and stopped speaking. I couldn’t speak words. Even uttering a syllable was painful. Speaking did not belong to me. So I kept quiet. I stammered. I withdrew into myself and grew into an introvert.
Although my dad took great care of me, I felt myself close to my mother mentally and physically. When mom used to pour water over me for bath, I used to get frightened. It was a phobia-which was due to immersion in a drum full of water when I was six months old. Breathing was affected. Sometimes water would enter my nose and I would catch cold. Oil massage and hair bath was a practice once a week. Mom and dad devoted their time giving their kids massage and bath. Mom used to massage head and body, while dad used to give the kids bath and vice versa.
Those chawls didn’t have self contained toilets. Toilets were at the farther end of the chawls. Children who were not aware of the foulness and squalor were used to defecating on open grounds which were behind the cement constructed closed toilets. Children used to talk to each other during the time they defecated. It was a perfect Indian way. Attempts are being made to construct toilets and create awareness among people to maintain hygiene.
Mom used to manage all the household work- cooking, swabbing, scrubbing, washing, bathing children, filling water etc. My father worked hard for the railways. My mom and dad were two different characters from two different races. Father was dark and muscular with a good physique. Mother was fair skinned with sharp nose, deep set beady eyes and high cheek bones. My father sought admission for me in Paramount High school, Pehrauli. Alifiya Khan, my close friend went to the same school. There were boys like Gahanna, Ashish, Lokesh and a south Indian girl Jyoti. ‘Rani chal, ammi aah gayi hai. Gahanna tu bhi chal.’ All of us would go together. Ammi was a middle aged woman. She took children to and from school. We walked the distance from Vanavli to Pehrauli. We went passing the grain godown. There were vans, trucks and jeeps near the grain godown of Vanavli. We crossed the railway bridge or the Kelami bridge and entered the school after crossing the fish market. I saw small shops run by Marwaris and Gujaratis. Shops were not glamorous like the present day malls. When I was in first standard, students were made to sit in a shed roofed by asbestos. During summer we would experience the sweltering heat and during rainy season, we would hear the battering sound of rain on the roofs which leaked at certain places. The school was new and a new building was under construction. The school had an open ground. The ground was well compounded. Teachers used to come and teach. I used to write English but I did not understand the English language. My mother came to my rescue. She educated herself in a regional school where she learnt her mother tongue. Later she joined St Mary’s School, Sompur to complete her secondary school education. She knew English and coached me while cooking.
My mother bore another child. I had to be in Sompur with my brother Hari. My uncle Sudesh was employed in the Central Government office. It was night time when I saw my mother crying and laughing at the same time. I didn’t understand why she did so. She was admitted to a hospital. She gave birth to another baby girl, my sister Revathi. My mother belonged to a family of eight sisters and three brothers. My grandma’s house maintained a cow. The cow was usually pregnant when my mother went to her maternal place for delivery. Thus my mother was deprived of fresh milk in her mother’s house. Her other sisters were lucky to get fresh milk whenever they visited Sompur.
Caste and religion did not make any difference to my dad. The woman called Arundhati had a high regard for my dad. She regarded my dad as her ‘bhau’(brother). She helped our family in whatever way she could. Arundhati Dhavare stayed in one of the row houses close to a road just adjacent to the chawl. She was endearing, lovable and had a smiling face. She liked doing some service to the society. She was the second wife of Mr.Dhavare. He had a son Rahul, by his first wife and Chandrakant, a son by his second wife. Arundhati looked after both the sons as her own. When my mother was pregnant, I was left in her house. “School jana hai, Rani” “Chandrakant, thicha daptar ghey, road cross karoon sodoon yeh.” She asked her son Chandrakant to take my school bag and help me to cross the road. She dressed me up, combed my hair and gave me food as well. Her house was neat, clean and well kept. She took care of me for nearly six to eight months. I was close to them and regarded them with great respect.
My mother’s stomach was too big. The nurse was called for. The nurse presumed that the child was dead in the womb itself. Mom was given an injection. She was admitted to Salvekar hospital. The doctor charged heavy fees since it was a complicated case. My mom begot a baby girl. The birth of a girl added to her string of miseries. She was burdened even more. Rising frustration and responsibility punctured her mental peace. She had to take care of Revathi and Uma. She had to carry both of them on her hips. Mother did not allow me to carry or lift them since I was sickly and frail. Both the toddlers were adamant and they were not ready to get down from their mother’s hips. If mother kept them down on the floor even for a minute, they would cry in unison. My dad’s temper tantrums did not stop. My brother Hari could not be controlled. He ran out of the house to play. He played with children from the shanties–zopadpatties which were nearby. Dad purchased tricycles for him to play. He made children from the shanties sit in his tricycle and pushed the tricycle from behind. One was a pink seated tricycle and the other a blue seated tricycle. He had friends having names like Kalia, Jaliya, Banta, Sheru etc. All of them had rides in his cycle. Dad and mom didn’t like his friendship with children from the shanties. They used to keep Hari locked in the house. But a postman’s knock was enough to make Hari fly outside. Hari didn’t like to wear pant and shirt, not even underwear. Once dad caught hold of him and persuaded him to wear his underwear and pant. Dad was about to thrash him. Hari retorted immediately, ‘Dad, if Sashikumar uncle can remain without underwear, why shouldn’t I?’ Dad was stunned and could not control his laughter.’ Relatives who came to our house picked him up lovingly. My brother’s fair skin, good built, proportionate face, cute looks attracted people. My parents purchased some toys for me. I used to play with my toys all alone in the house. My brother would enter the house all of a sudden; he would lift the toys one by one and would run away. He kept on giving the toys to his friends till I was left with no toys. I would scream for help. ‘Mama he is taking my toys away.’ My screams for help would go unheeded. After my repeated screams, mom would scold my brother in a low tone. “Hari, don’t touch her toys. Play with your cycle.” Hari would not listen. My toys were all distributed. I started playing imaginary games. ‘Bhaabi khana ho gaya. Kya banayeh hein aaj. Arre, kapada barthan dhona hai’. My games were confined to monologues. My characters were imaginary. I used to sit and take a long time to eat food. No one talked to me. I talked to myself.
My dad had an in-built philosophy about children. More children meant more wealth. My maternal grandmother advised my father to stop having children. “Please, listen to me. You will find it difficult to bring up children if they are many. Look at me. I am suffering because I gave birth to too many children. You know, how I begged you to marry my daughter. I met you at Sainagar when you were in the hostel. You are a great man with a great mind. I don’t want you to suffer. In fact I don’t want my daughter to suffer as well. Please get yourself sterilized. You have enough number of children now.” My dad was against the idea of getting sterilized. He told, “When people like you can have many children. Why can’t I? Anyhow God will help me to provide for my children. I think you should not worry.” Daughters did not prove burdensome to him. Dad grew up as a hostel boy. He was unaware of the functions of a family life. He was sent to a hostel because of his traumatic anger. He was sent to Vikas mission in Arampatti, Ukoor. He visited his house only during vacations and after vacations he left for school with a disillusioned feeling.
But my mother started worrying since she had already seen the mal effects of having more children. My mother, being one of the eight daughters of the house, had to marry a man against her wish. Her mother could not afford to spend money for her marriage. My mother wanted to marry a man of fair complexion, who would match her likings. She wanted the man to be religious. There was an instance when she liked the boy, but the boy’s parents asked for handsome dowry. She liked to be a traditional woman. In contrast to this, she found that my father was not religious and did not believe in rituals. Moreover he had frequent bouts of violent anger. She understood that her marriage had turned into a horror show. My grandmother had two more daughters to get married. Grandmother remained always worried. Moreover, my father’s philanthropy, did not match my mother’s practical and materialistic thought. There were frequent quarrels in the house. Dad would leave for his duty in a disturbed mood. His concentration was sapped by mental tension and frustration. The passenger train he was driving, derailed. His career too slid to a derailment. He was suspended and then demoted. He became a booking clerk working in shifts.
Mother tried to retain the tradition of lighting lamps in the mornings and evenings and sung songs in praise of God. A traditional song devoted to Lord Karthikeya and Lord Shiva of Thiruannamalai was sung sonorously by my mother. Although I could not comprehend the tones, the Carnatic (type of of Indian classical music which belongs to South India) song resounded in my mind. I listened to my mother silently. My dad could manage his children and his wife with the salary he earned from the railways. He also invested money for his daughter’s future with an insurance company. He paid premiums for some months. Later he aborted the policy because his father in Shimpli required the money. Quarrels between mom and dad continued. Very often it would take a violent turn. I saw my father, in his frantic anger, upturned a bucket full of soaked clothes in kerosene oil and emptied cooked rice on the floor and hurled things in the house with great speed. Fear gripped me and I felt insecure. For most part of the day I remained outside.
When Hari was four years old, he was sent to a kindergarten just opposite our house. He was not interested in the class. He used to look at our house from the class. The teacher presumed that he was hungry. She instructed my mother to give him a lunchbox to school. My mother gave him a lunchbox. There was no change in Hari. He had the snacks from his box, waited for a while and ran away from the class. The outside world attracted him. I remember the instance when he was naked and went farting all through to open the door. He did so because he heard a knock at the door. I laughed. He had a strange habit. I didn’t know why he propped up his body and legs and bent his head to see his testicles. He was the pet of the house. He was called as baby and his playmates from the slums called him as bunny. True he was innocent, playful, naughty and loving as a beautiful pup. My father liked drawing sketches. He drew sketches of my brother who was naked and stood on an empty vanaspati ghee tin to witness the outside world through the window. It was as though he was more in love with the world than with the family.
What strikes me your meticulous observation and you are able to bring the picture alive using few words. Remarkable indeed,