Chandy

This was in January 1948. My parents had come to Bombay to visit us. But the main purpose of their visit was to receive my younger sister, who was returning from England after completing a 2 year course in Meteorology (I expect I am correct).

We took my parents sightseeing around Bombay. (The picture above was taken at the Malabar Hill gardens during their visit.) On one of the days we were in the area of the Gateway of India, when we heard some commotion and the streets started emptying. Everybody was buying the newspapers a vendor was selling. My husband too rushed back with a newspaper and said that Gandhiji had been shot and that we must get back home immediately as there would be trouble. With 2 young children it was worrying. My husband somehow managed to get a taxi and got us home safely.

The next day the whole city seemed to be dead. There was no movement on the road and everything was silent. But my sister was arriving that day. Her ship would be coming in.

We did not possess any vehicle. But my husband went and fetched her. I do not how my husband managed to reach the ship and bring my sister back home. She could not bring her luggage with her though. The luggage was only collected much later when things started returning to normal.

# posted by R C @ 8:00 am 14 comments

My mother-in-law was an amazing personality. This was in the year 1951. She was travelling to Bombay (from Kerala) with her grand daughter and a servant lady. She had written to her son to inform him about the time of her arrival at the Victoria Terminus station. (The letter never arrived. I do not know how it was lost.)

Their train arrived at the station. It was early morning. She got out on to the platform with the help of the porters. But, there was no sign of her son. Can you imagine her predicament in a strange place and not knowing the local language? After waiting for around 30mins or so, she must have realised she would have to manage on her own. They came out of the station and hired a taxi. She showed her son’s address to the taxi driver. The taxi driver brought her to Lamington Road where we lived in a flat. But no one knew where the flat was. My mother-in-law, though she did not speak Hindi, spoke English.

When they arrived in the area of our flat, my mother-in-law stopped the taxi, got out and asked a man on the road whether he could direct them to her son’s place. Fortunately, this man knew her son, and got into the taxi with them and brought them safely to the building where we lived.

She came storming in to our flat saying she wanted to give her son a piece of her mind. That is when the whole story came out.

# posted by R C @ 7:37 pm 2 comments

Mr. C was going to Delhi (from Bombay). My children and I wanted to go too. So Mr. C was persuaded to go by car and we, my children, my niece and I, took a ride. Mr. C had to attend a meeting in Delhi the next day and it was very kind of him to go by car instead of by plane.

We started out in the early morning with our Rajasthani driver—a very competent and handsome man. My youngest child was about 3 years old and her older brother about 6 years old. My niece, who was doing her post-graduation in Biology in Bombay, was also with us.

We went along happily, singing and munching away on snacks. We entered a road which ran through a forest. It was shady and cool. But we had heard of dacoits and hold-ups in this area. So we were a little worried. Suddenly Devi Singh, our driver, said that we had a puncture.

So Mr. C and Devi Singh got out and started changing the tyre. Just then a jeep passed us with a lot of policemen and 2 masked men in their middle. After sometime we heard the putt, putt of a motorbike approaching. Devi Singh suddenly said in Hindi “Daku mafi dekta hai” (They look like dacoits). We adults were very tense and held our breaths. The bike passed us, the riders looked into the car and after a few yards drove into the forest.

As soon as the car was ready, we started out again. It was afternoon by then. There was very little traffic on the road. We were almost at Gwalior, when a second tyre burst. We were STUCK. The tyre had to be patched up. (Remember, there were no mobile phones 47 years ago, not even an STD booth). Although there were very few cars on the road, Mr. C was able to stop a driver and get him to take Devi Singh to Gwalior with the tyre. (Amazingly, this man dropped Devi Singh back with the patched tyre!)

In the meanwhile, when Devi Singh was gone, a Jeep approached. He stopped and was willing to take the ladies and children to Gwalior. He was returning after a shikaar (hunt).

By the time Mr. C reached Gwalior, it was late in the evening about 8 p.m. Mr. C was determined to continue the journey to Delhi to be in time for his meeting at 9 a.m. He was warned that the road to Delhi was unsafe, especially at night. But he decided to go on. No vehicle would travel through the Chambal Valley at night.

The children promptly went to sleep as they felt safe. They had not heard of Chambal Valley and dacoits. The elders sat upright with wide open eyes. I am sure we were all praying hard.

We reached Delhi by 2 a.m., glad to have reached safely. The next day Mr. C went for his meeting and we spent time sight seeing and shopping. The next morning we drove back to Bombay. We passed through the beautiful Chambal Valley. All we saw were some peahens strutting around on the hillocks! We reached Bombay with no incidents.

# posted by R C @ 4:50 pm 4 comments