Earliest Memories - Part 3 - Somethings In The Air

Somethings In The Air

The road across from the little boy’s house used to be usually full of pedestrians, a few lorries (trucks) carrying supplies to and from local markets, rickshaw pullers and light traffic of bicycles, motorcycles, cars and buses. It was a common sight in the daytime to see vegetable vendors pushing their carts and loudly calling out to their customers in their homes, on their front porch or balconies or windows, bargaining with them on either side of the street. They knew their regulars and enquired about their families and bantered loudly – everyone could hear them. One could almost tell time in the day by the routine of the passing of regular street vendors. A lot of shopping and daily supplies just came to the doorstep every day. Every week the rubbish paper recycler would come. There were people who would fix broken metal utensils, sharpen knives and even brought ‘divine’blessings and prayers on special occasions. The road used to be almost completely deserted at night but for some homeless wanderers, stray dogs, roving cows and bulls that are so typical of Indian streets.

Since the talk of war, the road became a whole lot busier but quieter. Many of the rubbish dumps along the way were cleared out or pushed further away from the road into the footpath area. Military supplies to and from the nearby international border flash point were transported on this road.

He remembered:

He and his sister were told not to go into the road by themselves while playing. A lot of trucks and strange looking vehicles were seen using the road in front their house during dusk, in the night and early morning hours. Their windows were boarded or papered shut firmly and they were told not to look outside.

Once, their new radio stopped working after something went wrong with the power supply. A kindly, friendly, beaming, bespectacled man with a smooth face and a distinct regional accent came to the little boy’s house to fix it in the evening. He was their father’s ‘friend from office’ – as he was described to them. He came with a bag of tools and fixed up their radio. He also brought them some goodies and treats and spoke of his own children who lived far away in another state. The little boy’s mother was ill and lying down in the bedroom, while the man worked on their new radio in their living room with the little boy and his sister watching. He talked in a whisper so as not to disturb the mother answering the questions by the little boy. He had strange looking glass tubes, wires, a flashlight on his head and a lot of pointy metal tools. He had something that went hot and melted some metal. It created a strange smell.

The little boy was fascinated with the strange looking interior of the radio from which all the magic sounds came. He saw glowing lights from glass tubes. He was told not to touch them or anything near them. He could not imagine how it could make the sounds like there were real people inside the radio!!

“You will get a shock! Don’t touch it. I know people who have died from electric shock,” the ‘father’s friend from the office’ cautioned. He told them about his own two children – a boy and girl. He spoke of his hometown and family. He even sang a few snatches of songs after hearing the little boy sing. He left quietly without disturbing the resting mother.

The little boy and his sister told their father all about his friend when he came home. It was evident the kids liked him.

“He is an expert technician who works with radio and wireless,” said their father , “He offered to help us when he heard our radio had stopped working.”

The local civil defence authorities had stepped up patrols, drills, inspections and preparedness for the war. Groups had been formed with trained professionals and volunteers in the local area. There were announcements on the radio often. All families would contribute some of their food and resources to these civil defence volunteers. They would give them meals and drinks during their rounds.

There was a tall, thin, quiet spoken boy, from across the street, among the many locals in the civil defence team. He came across with his friend and supervisor. The supervisor was a big, brawny looking, powerfully built man with a loud, commanding voice. He looked and acted macho and talked bravado! The boy, Harpreet, was a neighbour well known to the family of the little boy’s house owners. He had grown up as friend and neighbour to the now almost grown up and unmarried girls.

He would come around often, asking to see if there were ALL okay. He would sound very important, official and responsible. His voice had broken recently, he would croak in a mixed voice of a man and a boy. He had a faint moustache and beard coming up over his face. He would carry things for them. Inspect their house for preparations and help. He seemed to spend more time helping this household than others. The girls would sometimes act shy and giggle or laugh. Apparently Harpreet had a fancy for one of the girls and perhaps it was mutual. The adults were aware of this but no one spoke about it. They always had a grown up around when he visited now though.

To be Continued....


Copyright  (c) Kannan Narayanamurthy 2014

All rights reserved 

Earliest Memories - Part 2 - The Radio

THE RADIO

The little boy’s family did not have a radio. They were expensive to own then. There was a license fee to pay every year too. The family that owned their house owned one. There were a few others in the neighbourhood too who were proud owners of a radio set. Perhaps to accommodate the older, nearly deaf persons in their family OR as a way of helping their poorer neighbours, they all usually played their radios loud. The little boy could hear many radios playing – usually the same radio station. There were just a couple locally. One could also apparently pick up the radio station from Pakistan, just across the border. People were afraid to turn on the Pakistani radio stations loudly in those days, for fear of being considered traitors, even though they had been listening to them for ages. With a common language, culture, common music and even common musicians, people on both sides listened to each other’s music, watch each other’s movies. Of course, the more expensive, shortwave radio sets could pick up stations from across the world.  News always blared at the usual time around dinner at night and at certain times during the day. Most listened to the news in Hindi. Some listened to English news.  The Indian news readers all had a sombre, serious voice that was very familiar and well known.

There were a couple of famous movies that were released around that time. One had a story set in the war between India and China and was titled “Haqeeqat” (pronounced “Hakeekat”).  The other was “Teen Devian” (Three ladies). The songs from those were very popular.  Everyone would sing along. The little boy picked them up. He and his sister would go out and hear them, sing along and come back home to show-off to their mother. His sister did not seem too interested in singing.

He remembered:  Adults seemed to gather around at news time and listen to every word and discuss. He could not understand why they were so interested in that. He preferred to listen to more fun stuff. He liked the songs from the movies, especially, the ones sung by Kishore Kumar or Mohammad Rafi.  He loved the songs from the movie about the war. They were so good that he believed ‘war’ meant that there will be new popular hit songs written and sung!

He particularly loved the song “Khwaab HoTum Ya Koi Hakeekat” which was a big hit with people all across the country. He absolutely loved it and would sing along, not quite understanding the language. He would sing “AAhha Tumya..”  in reasonable tune, and his mum would smile happily and applaud him. He would show-off to his father, when he was home. He was often asked to sing in front of guests. Everyone smiled, clapped and he felt great, but also a bit put-on-the-spot. He knew radios were supposed to be very expensive and did not think they would ever own one.

The grown-ups in the neighbourhood families would tell his mother, “Your son will learn our language before you do! Look he is already singing in it!!”

He remembered:  He would wait outside the door of his room, in the courtyard to hear the songs more clearly and better. His mother would constantly try to get him into the house and out of the way of the host family, out from the cold or out from danger that might be coming soon. He could not explain very well why he preferred to stand outside and would keep trying to go out at odd times, even when he woke up in the middle of the night. Sometimes, during the day, he would open a window that had metal cross-bars across it, to listen to a radio playing from across the street in the daytime. At night time, he knew opening windows was prohibited!

Looking at the little boy’s persistent desire to go out and listen to songs more clearly, even in the night or seeing him put his ears to the windows, his parents discussed this issue. Then one day, to his and his sister’s surprise, a big, brand new radio set arrived at home. It was of a well-known famous brand. It was a set that was the top of the line in the models they had for sale. It cost a small fortune - many months’ wages!!  It had electronic valves  -Transistor radios were not common or unheard of, for the common folk then. Their new radio had a magic blue/green ‘eye’, that would slowly light up and a bar that would shrink when tuned to a radio station. The sound was rich and sonorous. It could receive shortwave signals too. They could listen to ‘foreign’ stations too. Everyone talked about “BBC”. They could listen to songs most the day, whenever there was electric power on. The little boy was absolutely thrilled. The first time he heard his favourite song “Khwaab Ho Tumya..”  he was stunned at the quality and closeness of sound. He would imagine there were little artists inside singing or talking. His parents watched his delight with much happiness that he could not understand, until he himself grew up and became a parent. He did not know then, that his parents had gone to such lengths and expense to indulge his young passion.  They never told him why they decided to make this one big impulse buy. This was unusual for them, normally being very thrifty having grown up in circumstances where they barely had enough money to scrape though. He found out about this much later, when he was a grown man – considering that they had decided to stay and stick out the upcoming war in Amritsar, his parents did not want the regret of seeing their children do without experiencing the joys of listening to their favourite songs on their own radio, if their lives were to be cut short due to the war!



Copyright  (c) Kannan Narayanamurthy 2014
All rights reserved 

Earliest Memories - Part 1

“Everyone has a story… to tell. And I want to tell you this one.”

This is the story of a little boy from India, barely three years old. He is actually a grown old man now, still fancies and likes to think of himself as middle-aged, but this is from when he was a child, from his earliest memories that he can still recollect today in some detail. The following are the memories as recollected by this man. Many of the details of the family situation and the events that happened were filled in by his parents to provide the context within the story.

It was the early sixties. The family had two small children, the little boy and his older sister, a couple of years older to him. The father worked for the government and was posted up in the north of the country, in a town very close to the border with a neighbouring country.

He remembered. The new place was cold, very cold. His parents said they were in Amritsar. It was very different from where he was born. The floor had an interesting blue pattern and was sunken in the middle. That was their room. He used to follow the lines on the pattern on the floor and found himself crossing his own path, fascinated. His mother wondered what he was doing, apparently running around in circles in the middle of the room. Sometimes he ran so fast that he turned giddy and fell down laughing.

They had moved recently from the south of India. It was a new state, with a different language, different food, different music, different climate and people wore different traditional attire. The family rented a portion of a large house in which lived a large family – with members from four generations. The oldest was the great-grandfather, over 90 years old. Some of his grandchildren were recently married and there were a couple of young girls in their older teens or early twenties who were getting of the marriageable age. There were a few great-grandchildren. The house was in the middle of the town, with a large courtyard with rooms built around it. There were gates and entrances to two streets. Different members lived in different rooms or quarters within a walled compound with gates for exit onto two streets.

Right outside, there was a wide footpath on one side and then the street.

He remembered running around playing, chasing his sister, who was bigger than him, tripping and falling once, bumping his face on the hard ground, the warm taste of blood in his mouth and the shocked expression of his mother as she wiped away the blood, put sugar in his mouth and asked him to keep it shut.

 The family that rented them a portion of their house was very kind and loving.

-          His mother was not well and everybody said she was pregnant and going to have another baby.

-          He and his sister got the cold, cough – a nagging, tiring big loud cough that hurt much in the chest.

-          The doctor visited them at home. There was strong strange smelling and weird tasting medicine.

-          The doctor gave them injections too. He and his sister would cry out loud and hated the doctor. They had first liked his friendly, cheerful nature when he offered them small, sweet biscuits and candy as treats. After the first injections, they hated the sight of his smiling face. They tried to run away and hide from him, but it was no use. Their mother had to come searching for them and drag them, resisting to the doctor. It was too much for her and they had been scolded for making things harder for her in her condition. He and his sister had gradually learned to come and sit and take their injections bravely. They were rewarded with hugs, cuddles, praise and biscuits.

-          The family of the house-owners would have their dinner every night, all together, in the big hall. The little boy’s family was invited too and they felt they belonged to the larger family.

-          There was a big stack of rotis or parathas in the centre on a large plate. A smaller stack was always first offered to and kept next to the great-grandfather. The rotis were fresh, warm and the smell of  desi-ghee over them wafted across the big hall. There were small bowls with fresh, warm daal (spiced lentil soup) and  sabji (vegetable dishes) to go with the rotis.  There were usually more than one or two dishes, since each married son’s wife often cooked something in addition to the common items cooked in the main kitchen and brought it for everyone. It was considered offensive to cook only for one’s own family. The only thing young mothers cooked for their own family was if their child or someone needed something special or if they were ill.

-           Soon the boy and his sister could tell from the smell what was in the dishes. The little boy’s mother usually brought some of her own cooking – rice and some South-Indian dishes to share. They would always receive some rotis, daal and sabji and give out some samples of their own food to the host family. Mostly, the dinner was in the light of oil lamps, just after dark.

-          The dinner ritual was usually the same. The oldest housewife and the grandmother would carry the food for the great-grandfather who was seated at the ‘head’ of the arrangement, on a low-wooden bench. After his food was kept next to him, he would insist the little children be served first. He would wait until the others had served food onto their plates to feed the children and then say a few words of news of the day, advice, prayer, thanks and blessings for all. He would wait until the little ones had their first bite before starting to eat his own food. After swallowing his first bite, he would give an honest, impartial comment about the food itself – if the salt and spices were right and everything was OK. Almost every day, his comments would be positive approval. If there was something not quite right, he would say it, but with love and suggestions for the future.

-          Then all the men would be served on their plates, while the grandmother fed the children who were toddlers or older. They sat around her and each got a mouthful in turn. There were always a few who liked to eat that way. Some very young children liked to be fed by their own mothers or eat from their father’s plate.

-          All the young mothers ate after feeding their children. The older women would wait to eat with them.

-          As they ate, there was a constant murmur of talk of the news of the day. Everyone seemed to be talking about something big that was apparently going to happen. The young boy caught the hint and confirmation of it. He heard the words ‘WAR’ and ‘PAKISTAN’ very often. He did not know what exactly it meant. But he heard it for so many days and so many times that he could not wait to find out exactly what ‘WAR’ and ‘PAKISTAN’ meant. There was talk of what should be done if the ‘ PAKISTANIS’ came over. He used to wonder why they would want to come over here and not remain in their own houses. He could not understand why people worried so much. But since he had heard so much about them, he could not wait to meet the PAKISTANIS. He once ventured to ask “What are the PAKISTANIS? Where are they?”  The little boy imagined them to be some fearsome creatures.

-          Everyone laughed at his questions. Some pointed in a direction and said “Not too far in that direction!” Sometimes, they would all listen to the one radio in the house. It would normally play songs, but news would be on around dinner time. Everyone seemed to listen to it intently.

-          As they finished eating, the men would put away their plates, help clean up messes, and help the kids wash up and brush their teeth before bedtime. The great-grandfather’s plates and dishes would be taken away. The men would help prepare the bedding for the night and put the little ones to bed while the women finished eating. Some children would study by the lamp lights. Electricity was not always on at night and it was normal.

-          The younger women and youthful girls would pitch in and wash the dishes right away and put them away for the night. It was a busy, active household.

-        

He remembered.

-          On some nights, when the young boy, his sister or mother was ill, they would eat in their own rooms. The teenage girls in the house-owners family would visit and help. They would play with the little boy and his sisters. They would sometimes learn a few words of their South Indian language and say something to tease them and have a laugh. The little boy and his sister picked up a lot of the local language easily.

-          The little boy’s father was rarely home during dinner. He sometimes came home really late, or not at all. He hardly seemed to be home. He seemed to mostly be ‘At Work’ and everyone understood. Sometimes his friends or people claiming to be his friends would drop by to check on them. They would deliver medicines or messages or even groceries! The little boy and his sister thought it was all normal!! They never knew life any other way since they had moved to this new town.

-          Sometimes the father would come home randomly in the day and they would all go for a walk to a famous temple and lake nearby. They would have ‘kulfi’ (Indian ice-cream) and treats such as ‘Aloo- Tikki’, ‘Samosa’, ‘Chaat’,  or ‘Lassi’ on the way home. The little boy and his sister wished he could spend more time with them that way. They tried to show-off to him words they had learned in the local languages and sing songs they had heard on the radio. The father smiled and lifted them high on his shoulders and walked around the house or outside. He was a tall man, well over 6 feet and the view from the giddy heights of his shoulders were a treat and thrill for the little boy. He squealed in delight and fright. It was always a breath-taking feeling as he was lifted high or set down quickly back to earth!

The Build-Up To War

There was a war approaching. Pakistan was just across the border, quite close to where they lived. Preparations were afoot on both sides. There would be not much time to react. The local civil wardens had gone around, asking people if they wanted to evacuate to safer places further inland. Many went to their villages, but most city dwellers decided to stay put. They did not want to leave their houses and possessions or friends or had nowhere else to go. They were willing to take the risk that they may suddenly come under occupation of the Pakistani military.

There were some who were confident that the Indians would push into Pakistan! The family of the landlords of the little boy’s house decided to stay. His father wanted his mother to leave and go down to the south of India, far away from the potential warfront where they lived. He could not go with them since he was on government duty. The mother was in two minds. She wanted to leave for the sake of the safety of her two children and the unborn one. But she also wanted to be close to her husband.
“We’d all rather die together, than live torn apart forever,” she would sometimes say.  At other times, she would look at her happily innocent little children who were playing and laughing, blissfully ignorant of the seriousness of the situation. She would wonder if she had a right to risk their lives. It was not quite certain that even if they decided to leave Amritsar that they would make it safely back to the south of India. Their first major stop would be Delhi, the national capital, normally just about a day’s journey from Amritsar. They had family friends there who would take care of them, if they arrived safely. But Delhi itself, as a national capital, was always a major target and there would be long stretches of areas between Amritsar and Delhi that were vulnerable to attacks and bombings when hostilities commenced. Already, the trains were all running only at night, very slowly and the journey to Delhi sometimes took 2-3 days instead of the usual one day, if there were no further complications! There had been instances of sabotage of train tracks, ambushes on roadsides.

There was already constant shelling and exchange of fire across the border along a long stretch, from Kashmir to their north to Rajasthan to their south. There was a good likelihood that in attempting to leave, they would perish on the way.  There was a chance they would survive remaining where they were.

There were long and constant discussions in the family of the landlords about the war and what the little boy’s family should do. They told the mother of the little boy – “You are like our family. We are all staying together. We will live or die together as a family. This is our house, our land and our place. We will not be afraid of the Pakistanis. Why, we even had relatives on the Pakistani side.  Some probably are there still. We used to be one people. We have been through the worst of violence during the partition of India in 1947. We will likely get through this too and survive and thrive. We will not be afraid if the Pakistani military overruns us. We will fight if need be. If they leave us alone, we will go on with life as usual, as best as we can. Don’t risk a long journey with little kids, in your pregnant condition, without your husband. The children are ill. There are no proper facilities on the way to Delhi. Stay back! We will take care of you.”

There were some young men and some of the older men who spoke out with great bravado.

“Let the Pakistanis come. We will kill them if they dare to mess with us. They do not know we are all tough and soldiers at heart!”

“I cannot wait for them to come here, so that I can teach them a lesson and show what I can do!” boasted one young lad, who then cursed the Pakistanis with some colourful epithets.

The old grandfather then cut him short.

“Stop this nonsense. Prepare for the worst, but stop this nonsense and abuse. Remember, THEY were once US. They still ARE us. We just don’t understand each other and fight. There is too much bitterness created between us. Too much blood has flowed, but apparently it is not enough! Keep in mind, they must be going through similar discussions and planning on their side too, just like we are doing, even as we speak.”

Some looked at the scared expression of the little boy and laughingly asked him, “Hey, what will you do if the Pakistanis come over here? What if they take away your toy?”

The little boy was a bit frightened at that thought and his expression showed it. Some children older than him had a laugh, until they were chided for this by their grandmother.

“Shame on you! You older ones should know better than to frighten a child and laugh. Get back in the house, RIGHT NOW!!”

“Its OK. Don’t worry child. Things will be fine,” she consoled the little boy, soothingly, giving him a hug, “You come to me if you are afraid. No one will trouble you.”

Still, other than the prospect of his toy being taken away by a ‘Pakistani’, the little boy and his sister did not grasp the concept of war.

He remembered: There was a constant talk of war. Everyone clustered around the radio a lot. There were a lot of electric power cuts. There were great, strange preparations being made. Windows were papered shut with black paper. Thick curtains were put on at doors and windows. Blackout drills were practiced. Oil lamps were used inside with doors and windows shut. It seemed to be dark a lot of the time. They went for less walks and treats outside. The roads were off limits suddenly.

The family of the landlords had a cow and a recently born calf. It was called ‘Mangala’. One of the young boys in the family was usually in charge of walking it around, feeding it and scooping its dung to bring it back to the house. It walked around the inner courtyard when not tied up next to it’s mother. It used to be sometimes taken out for little walks around the block. One day, in the bright afternoon sun, there was some kind of ‘curfew’ or drill when no one was allowed outside the house. The little boy peeped out the window. Suddenly he saw the little calf running by on the footpath, being chased by his ‘manager’, calling after him and trying to bring him back. There was a rope around the calf’s neck and it was trailing.

“Mangala! Mangala! Come back!!” yelled the young lad running, panting behind him, “Don’t go into the road!”  He finally caught up and dragged the reluctant calf back inside the house, giving it a few strokes of a thin stick he carried.

Apparently, the road was a no-go zone, with military and police vehicles and trucks needing unimpeded access on it during special times.

-To Be Continued


Copyright  (c) Kannan Narayanamurthy 2014
All rights reserved