Siddharthnagar had dense vegetation on both sides of the lanes. There were wadis or bungalow type houses. Rich green vegetation and fresh air were enriching. Traffic was less. I would watch the red gulmohor trees as I plodded to school. On the right hand side of the lane was a well which had perennial source of water in it. The well was surrounded by lush green vegetation. Seventh lane of Siddharthnagar ended at dongri , an elevated land. I used to walk up to the dongri to take a right turn. On the left hand side was a Gujarati shopkeeper. He sold toffees and other eatables like chikkis (fudges). He sold books. The shopkeeper did not have kids at home. He had a hefty wife.
I developed a friendly relationship with a south Indian woman who lived next to the shopkeeper. She was Stella, a married woman. I called her as mami. She was dark in colour, had wide and nicely shaped eyes, white teeth, long shining black hair. She was short in stature, well built and was a native from the south. She married a West Indian. Although both appeared to be of the same faith, it was a freak and a quick marriage. Love is blind as we say, is true. The man who was Sagarpur based, was fair and the girl was dark. She was hardly sixteen year old when she married. Emotional Stella was jovial by nature. I still remember the way she used to dance. The house had a small courtyard with coops for hens mostly made of wood. There were some plants too. Strong thick growth of plants formed a fence for the courtyard. I used to visit her often. Her house used to smell of fish and sometimes of eggs which I tolerated. I was not used to smell of fish and eggs at home. Her morning breakfast was an omelet or boiled eggs with salt pepper sprinkle. She would wash her utensils outside in the courtyard, on the left hand side of the house, where there was a tap. Stella was happy and contented doing her household work and looking after her husband. Innocence and ignorance strangled her. Conjugal love was short lived. The couple didn’t have a child. The man realized that she was illiterate. He developed interest in his sister’s daughter and started ill treating Stella. He would visit Stella once a month. He gave her two hundred rupees a month. She did her household duties and repeatedly sang a Tamil song which meant that life in this world is an illusion. I knew she was not happy with her married life but she tried to be happy in my presence. Later she developed encephalitis. Her husband visited her only to beat her mercilessly. One day I met her husband at her home. I was surprised when he commented that she had not been to school and so she could not speak English and be fashionable like others in his family. I smelt his hostile mind and stopped speaking to him. His visits continued once in three months. One day I visited her in the morning. She was crying. From her looks I came to know that he beat her and her beautiful hair was no more. He had cut her hair cress cross. He had mutilated her hair in anger. I felt bad looking at her. She was alone when she had fever due to encephalitis. I ran errands for her. I made some tea and bought buns and eggs for her. My father scolded me. He did not want me to witness such things because I might develop a dislike for marriage. I did not listen to my dad. I continued to help her.
Ours was the last building in the lane. Next to our building was an open space which children from nearby chawls in dongri used for defecating. There was growth of plants during monsoons. Buildings have been built by Anamika constructions on this land. Those were the times when the birds sang raucously as even now. Sweet melodious sounds rented the air. I heard that a peacock from the nearby Bhīma Park entered Stella’s garden. As soon as I came from school in the evening, I went to Stella’s house to see the exquisite peacock of the wild. It spread its feathers. Stella fed the peacock and pampered it. The sound which the peacock made could be heard from afar. Sundays were the days when I had some time to be in Stella’s house to watch hens and other birds and have a talk with her.
It was the month of August when the festival of Gokulashtami was on. My mother prepared sweetmeats like cheedai akin to cheeselets, murukku etc. and hoped that all her children would be at home. It was night. Mom had drawn footprints of Lord Krishna with the rice batter but the elder brother was not to be found anywhere. It was raining heavily. Torrential rain awakened fear in me. I prayed to God for my brother Hari. I wanted him to come home but it was in vain. My brother did not come home that night. He came two days after. He remained without food and bath for two days sleeping on railway platforms. I didn’t understand why my brother had to do this. Is it because he had no feelings for us? Is it because he felt we didn’t love him? Did he do it for adventure? I was vexed to see his dirty pants, shirt and face. When he came home, mother accommodated him.
Navratri festival was celebrated in the building courtyard. There were Gujaratis living in our building and also in Neel dongri. All ladies and girls would assemble around nine at night to celebrate celestial garba tradition. Aunt Hema would dress me up in a traditional Gujarati saree. She would paint my eyelashes and put small spots of kajal(kohl) and bindis (colourful spots applied on forehead by ladies) above my eyelashes. I performed garba along with women and girls. They sang songs in praise of goddess Ambaji. A clay pot was kept. It had small holes on its sides. It was known as ghagri. A mud wick lamp was kept burning inside it. No gent joined the garba. Men watched garba. The Mansukhlal family was prominent during the garba season. Garba of such type was also held in Neel dongri behind the Gujarati man’s shop. An open space was used. People entreated each other in a pleasing manner. Aunt Stella did not miss the garba. It did not occur to me then, the Navratri festival was celebrated in different ways all over India.
Diwali, the festival of lights was the most coveted festival. Economic limitations marred the celebrations. I would divide the limited crackers and label it and give each pack to each of my brothers and sisters. My sisters would put their hands on ears whenever crackers were bursted. I was surprised that these sisters of mine were not frightened when they cried loudly and made a big noise. Mohan was frightened and we had to train him to hold the sparklers. While holding the sparkler, he would try to move behind and I saw fear in his eyes. Sometimes he would drop the sparkler and run away. The sisters had to coax him and bring him back to hold the sparkler. Mom prepared delicious Diwali sweets. Dad joined mom in smearing oil on the tender bodies of children. Mom gave bath to us one by one. Children were given sweets and crackers. Mom drew rangolis (patterns are created on the floor in living rooms or courtyards using materials such as coloured sand, dry flour, petals etc native to Nepal, India and Bangladesh)and asked me to light lamps. Goddess Laxmi was propitiated. The family made it a point to go to the temple wearing their new dresses. It was the practice on the auspicious day of Naraka Chaturdashi. The night before Deepavali, mom used to make bhajjis, fried appalams (papads), onion Sāmbhar etc. It was a treat. Aunts Janaki and Hema also joined. I do remember how aunt Hema made a salted crispy eatable made out of rice (thattaai) in our house. Aunt Hema stayed with us during Diwali.
There were many neighbours in our building. Immediate downstairs was principal of a school. He was a strict disciplinarian. Being childless, he didn’t tolerate naughtiness in children. His wife had put beds to dry outside the house. Straight above the beds was the balcony of our house. It was a Sunday. The principal came out and saw that his bed was burning. He started shouting at us, the children of the house. He scolded us in Gujarati ‘aa madrasino baccho nathi, rakshash che. Bisthar ma aag naaki di di.’ He felt my brothers were responsible for it. My dad knew that his children might not have done it. He wanted to know who had really done it. He asked each one of us whether anyone amongst us were responsible for it. We denied it because the whole morning we were in the neighbour’s house playing ‘Trade’. The following Sundays went off peacefully. One fine Sunday the principal found red colour spits on his sparkling white beds. My dad saw it. The principal didn’t complain about it. He took the beds quietly into his house. My dad pointed out ‘Look, the principal has been silenced. He might have realized that the red colour spits might have come from the second floor. The landlord might have spat on his bed.’
Vandana Kulkarni who stayed next to us was of a Brahmin sort. She had a small daughter whom we used to call as ‘chimmi’ lovingly. Vandanatai taught my mother how to make dashmi by using milk. Milk should be boiled and later jowar flour and salt should be put to make a good batter. Dough so made, should be beaten into bhakris akin to tortillas. She made sweet jaggery pickle out of raw mangoes. Raw mangoes scraped should be put in jaggery which is cooked to single thread consistency. Cardamom powder should be put. Since Vandana knew Hindi, she could communicate with the neighbours. My mom could not speak Marathi fluently but she liked Marathi songs and sung them for their good tunes. All of a sudden the Kulkarni family shifted and a new Gujarati family came to stay as our neighbour. The man’s name was Ramniklal Doshi and the wife’s name was Jamunaben. The wife came from rural Gujarat. They had children Beena, Bimala and Suresh. The family was very close to Pande family which was the next house after Doshi. Prior to Pande family, the flat was occupied by landlord’s old grandfather. Vinod Pande was a successful businessman. His wife’s name was Namrata. The couple had three children.
Extra maritial affair had always been there in human societies. Namrata Pande was fair skinned and short. She flirted with Ramniklal Doshi. The man was enamoured by her beauty, smartness and luscious whispers. People are thrilled by clandestine affairs. Ramniklal Doshi got up every morning to wish her and spend some time with her. My father was an important spectator. He would open the ventilator above the door of the house and watch what was happening in the corridor. Namrata would come running to Doshi and start talking in whispers and when she left for her house next door, Doshi would run after her. My father would watch them stealthily and narrate all about them to my mother. My mother would scold my father for watching them. My mother did not like such things and would feel teased. She would tell him, “Do you have shame? Why should you get interested in such affairs?”
We also had an Oswal family. The father was a businessman. He had many kids. Most of them were sons. He had only one daughter. His wife was always in ‘Ghungat’ (veil). There was a joint family. Mr. Sarawate and his wife had two sons and one daughter, Deepika. Ramesh and Alok were their sons. Alok Sarawate was handicapped. Alok got a good job in a government office.
Deepika was fair and tall like her mother. She was smart. She got married to a doctor in Palas. The Sarawate family conducted bhajans in their house on Thursdays. Thursday obviously is saint Saibaba’s day. The neighbours enjoyed the banquet during Deepika’s wedding. A big pandal was erected in front of the building. The first son Ramesh got married earlier. Deepika called her sister in law as ‘Vaini’. The woman was fair and of short stature. Ramesh didn’t speak much. He was silent by nature. Things in the family were conducted according to the wish of Mr. Sarawate and his wife. Both were aggressive by nature. They tortured their daughter-in-law. She had to do the household work fully. She was not given proper food. She used to stand out of the house in the corridor and ask us if we had something for her to eat. My sisters would fetch some chapattis from the house. She was pregnant. The climax of the torture reached when father-in-law used to beat her. I felt sad and horrified. If this is woman’s life after marriage, why should a woman get married? It seemed there is no security in marriage. She would sometimes talk to us but while doing so she feared. If the in laws found her talking to us, she would be tortured further. She gave birth to a son named Santosh.
The last in the line was a Trivedi family. It was a joint family. Mother-in-law, daughter-in-law and sons stayed together. Ramesh Trivedi was an officer in a bank. All of a sudden he was struck by a heart attack and he died. His wife remained with the family and secured a job as a clerk in the same bank where her husband worked as an officer. Another prominent family was the Shinde family. The couple was of fair complexion. They had two sons Mahendra, Chandrasekhar and a daughter called Sayali. I remember what I said to Sayali’s mother when she had put some fish to dry. ‘Shi, What a stink! Do you eat such fish?’ Sayali’s mother said, “What did you say? We eat fish.” I said, ’Yes’. ‘But this fish has a foul smell.’ Sayali’s mother smiled and said, ’chup’ means shut up. I didn’t realize that although I didn’t eat fish as food but I had it in the form of tablets and tonics. Once I was asked to sell tickets for watching a popular patriotic film in Hindi by my school. Each student of the school was asked to sell ten tickets. The Shinde family purchased the ticket from me, but gave it back to me and said, ’Take this ticket and you watch the film instead of us.’ I was overjoyed. I went to Gauri theatre where the film was shown. The hero of the film is a patriot who sacrifices his love for beloved to perform his national duty. The heroine sings a song requesting him to stay back and even pleads the elements of nature like the wind to stop him from going to war. Another song in the same film depicts patriotic fervour wherein the people in our country are truthful, foster humanity and treat foreigners with great hospitality. The film boosted my patriotic feeling.
I had a Manglorean friend named Pavithra Kamath. Her father was a businessman. He had a shop at sixth Siddharth nagar. Pavithra Kamath was not inclined towards academics and used to fail in math. A daughter of a middle class businessman, she didn’t have a brother. The family members were ardent devotees of Lord Ganesh. Her father sold betelnuts, cigarettes; betel leaves and lime which are used with tobacco. While going to school, I would drop into her shop. Obviously her shop would smell of beedis. Pavithra who had a round face smiled a lot and took life easy. She failed in standard ninth and did not continue schooling. I continued to be friendly with her.
My brothers didn’t spare Gokulashtami and Holi celebrations. Gopal Kala is an interesting festival. A pyramid would be formed by the boys and buckets of water would be poured on them. It was simple, austere and the real spirit of enjoyment prevailed. People smeared mud and colours like gulal and not paint or tar. Festivals like Gopal kala and Holi have become more prominent and more glamorous in the present times. Evil elements have crept into it. It has attained political and populist dimensions. My brothers took the delight of messing their clothes, laughing, jumping, rolling in mud just like animals. Animality in man needs a vent. Decorum, norms of behaviour, respect, social justice, fame are the things which belong to human society. In reality humans have their wild nature suppressed. On the first day of Holi a bonfire is made and fire is worshipped in memory of Holika who wanted to burn bhakta Pralhad, a devotee of Lord Vishnu. Another version is Kama or lust is burnt in fire. People make puran polis and sweetmeats to celebrate the occasion. The next day is Rangpanchami when people splash colours on each other.
