Helen Manju Lee - All for God's glorification

                                          Manju Lee, Sarala in the middle (back) and myself.

1952 - Christmas morning and twelve year old Helen Manju Lee has come home for Christmas from her boarding.  Not that her home was far from school - all in the same campus of Lee Memorial School, Calcutta.   At home was dad and step mom; and Manju got busy grinding the spices for the Christmmas dinner meat.  But then little Manju was eager to finish her chore quickly as she had to rush to her elder sister who would do her hair before she ran to church.  Oh yes, did I tell you her elder sister Monty lived in the boarding just behind the residential  quarters and was not allowed to come home- some school rule.  The job was not done perfectly and step mom came into the kitchen as Manju was about to leave.  She exclaimed at the roughly done up paste and refused to cook.  Off she went to her bed.  Manju, all dressed up except for her hair, sat crying at the window till dad came home.

Dad comforted her and allowed her to go out.  When Manju and her sister and brothers came back from church they found their dad merrily cooking the dinner.  Life was normal again.  Not until Manju came down with her acute pain in the knees, something that had been occuring quite often and treated with home remedies.  She had to be rushed to the hospital as the pain was excruciating this time.  The school authorities made arrangements for her at the Lady Dufferin Hospital and the doctor was soon summoned to give her a thorough check-up.  Awaiting check reports till the next day, Manju was strictly confined to bed.  Manju remembers the last time she walked was from home to the hospital on that fateful day.

At first Manju was given a room, but the child in her could not keep quiet and soon she made friends with other patients.  One day the doctor walked in to find her sitting up and enjoying a small private party with some patients.  Thereafter, she was given a bed in the ward, where she was constantly under the supervision of the nurse on duty.  That meant no getting up!  However, here too she kept herself busy reading the Bible and chatting with next-bed neighbours.  The young girl in the next bed was a Catholic and often had her Catholic priests come over for a visit.  On one of these occassions Manju asked for the communion (wafer dipped in wine) that used to be given to the girl,  The priests did give her, even though they came to know she was Protestant.  Once the priests told her that if she converted to a protestant they would pray to Jesus to cure her.  This idea did not appeal to Manju's young integrity and she declined politely,  She said that if Jesus or Mary could cure her on their prayers then Jesus could do it on hers too.   So no thank you.

Manju's medical tests continued and finally the doctors concluded she had bone tuberculosis.  Her legs were put in cast and she was bombarded with medicines and injections for a year. When the casts were taken off, her legs were found to have twisted and were in a worse shape than before.  Tests were again done and anti-TB medication began but unfortuantely the damage had already been done. 3 years later Manju came out of the hospital in a wheel chair with a body that had lost control of her muscles.  Both her legs were twisted and useless, and her arms hung up like loose appendages.  Now Manju knew her every action would be dependant on others - a horribly undignified way of living.
Manju clung on to her Bible where she read in 1 Corinthians 10:31 - "So whether you eat or drink or whatever you do,do it all for the glory of God."  Jesus's sufferings also influenced her; how He went through all but never stopped praising the Lord.  From that young age Manju was determined to overcome her physical incapacity in the glory of God.  So the worse her condition became more fierce was her faith.  She insisted on continuing with her studies and here she paused to mention that after Christmas that fateful year she was to be admitted to United Missionary School for Girls boarding to finish her schooling.  Manju was given space at the end of the girls' dotmitory in Lee Memorial, where she could study and also tutor some unfortunate girls.  However, the arrangement was not comfortable so she was shifted to the room before the dormotory; here her father and siblings could come and visit her easily.  Soon Manju was transferred to a spacious room, where she could teach, paint with her tingling left hand.  The hand had become partially flexible after a Dr.Gurst (an American orthopaedic surgeon) operated on it.  She is very thankful to the doctor even today.  More than forty years ago I used to visit Manjudi (di as in elder sister) in this very room and admire the fact that a person with absolute disablity could smile, paint, teach and laugh like us normal beings!  I even bought one of her handpainted fabric painted saris that I wore for years.  Remarkable!

Manjudi says about twenty years ago the erstwhile principal who had gone for 25 years returned and did not like the arrangement.  Therefore, Manju had to move out of Lee Memorial - a home she had known for so many years.  After the heart-wrenching departure, she lived with her married brother for sometime and then her sister's (Montydi) children got her a flat in Santoshpur and till date take care of all her financial needs.  Manjudi has one of her old students, Sarala, living with her and takes care of her meticuloiusly.  Sarala says she hardly finds Manjudi upset or angry; in fact, she admits she vents more anger than Manjudi.  Manjudi is still the same - smiling, generous, loving, praying and alert, even at the age of 76 years.    The best part is she prays for one and all every day, remembers all our children and their problems and prays for them!   Be there a bombing or an accident or a calamity, if Manjudi gets to know she must send a prayer for all those affected.
Yes, she admits there were times when she could not understand her condition, would fret, feel angry but it was her Bible that kept her sane and focussed on life's positive side.  She is happy and grateful that God sent her angels to keep her going with dignity and pride, irrespective of the fact that she was never capable of earning her own living or looking after herself .  She says her life is for the glorification of God and she is thankful to have been a messenger for all.  It is nearly 63 years that Helen Manju Lee is totally confined to her bed and wheel chair; her every personal detail is taken care of by Sarala.  And yet the lady looks clean, young, shining and is ever ready to greet all and sundry with a blessing; and she has no bed sores.  Amazing!  All in the glorification of God.  Manjudi did not have to grind spices again.  Amen!

Ahmadabad – Wine/Auto fare/Veg-Nonveg

For the past few months the newspapers have been full of great hype about Gujarat state, more particularly its capital city, Ahmadabad.  Not surprisingly, I was quite excited about my trip to this city and expected to have a marvelous experience.

Experience 1 – The domestic airport was quite a letdown, even though I was touched by the lack of security.  I assumed that the people and the authorities here were confident about safety or rather had no security issues as in other airports.  A minor thought that could be flicked off and I looked forward to what the city had in store as I proceeded towards my place of stay.  Well, it was late and I guess people winded up early in Ahmadabad, so not much of a hustle-bustle on the roads.

Experience 2 – when shopping for the Dish TV connection I was quite taken aback by the shop-keeper’s insistence on Tata Sky or some other cable connection.  When he saw I was determined on my choice of television entertainment source, he remarked –“people here rarely opt for this connection. They would rather go for anything but this.  Period.”  I kept wondering (as I am prone to) why such a distaste for this particular brand, as I have found Dish TV to be customer-friendly and most importantly has FM channels, like no other.  One thought crept up – Shah Rukh Khan is the face of Dish TV.  Could that be a deterrent? Your guess is as good as mine.

Experience 3 - Ahmadabad is quite full of bootleggers (people who sell alcohol at a premium price on the quiet) and as per certain survey alcohol consumption in Gujarat is comparably higher than other places in India.  Yet, this is a dry state, which means no wine shops; no excise revenue for the state coffers.  The alcohol business which is conducted undercover sure brings in large profits, since the items are sold at four times the normal price.  Who does it benefit?  How does this thrive?

Taken from another angle which is the popular slogan “Gandhiji’s home state” and so no intoxicating substances should be available.  I would like to know how come cigarettes, zarda, ghutka, pan masala and pan are easily available at every second store. Are these not counted among the intoxicating vices or did the great man (pardon; no offense meant) endorse their use?

Experience 4 – autos in Ahmadabad run on the meter or off the meter.  The meter is Rs.20/- down and then increases after the first kilometer.  So it is definitely not 10/- per kilometer, as I have heard a number of times on the news channels.

Experience 5 – people are very particular about flouting their vegetarian status and do not think twice about screwing up their noses at the mere mention of fish/meat, onion/garlic.  Even children of such families look down on you if they discover you eat ‘flesh’!    Should I mention I am a Brahmin by birth and wait for their expected reactions?  Maybe not.

Experience 6 – I have traveled far and wide in India and lived in various places due to jobs.  I found match boxes, made in Tamil Nadu, with bold Gujarati written on them being sold here. I have found branded detergent powder packets with bold Gujarati writing and small English below.  I did not see such exclusive state-wise promotions anywhere else in India.  The pipe gas people fixes up the connection and then make you sign a paper which is entirely in Gujarati; no alternate language form available.  As the boys answered to my query about an English form – ‘why should you worry? You are here today and will be gone tomorrow, so don’t worry about the written material.’  I was aghast with their complete assumption that we, the outsiders would not be here for long. And yet, most of the youngsters from this state are filing for visas to the USA, Canada, UK and Australia.  Yes, the visa counseling business is flourishing here waving a green flag; and if you wish to work for them you must sign a bond for 4 years.

Oh yes!  Did I tell you about the weekend rush out?  Every Friday evening flights go chock-a-bloc with young Ahmadabadis to Bombay, Daman Di u and bring back the refreshed youngsters by Mondays.  

I, me, myself!!!!!!!!!!

The policeman said - "Good morning!"

The other day the primary school where my grand daughter goes to arranged a Field trip for the five-year-olds.  Among the 3-4 places the kids were taken to, the local police station was included in the list.  It reminded me of our social studies classes where we saw pictures and learnt abut the civic services and utilities.

At the end of the day I called up my granddaughter and asked her how was the day.  She was so excited and faltered (usually she has the gift of the gab, believe me) and then spurted out - "Didi ma, the policeman said good morning!"   To make more sense I asked her again what happened.  In her excitement and wonder she did some somersaults over words and then explained - "I said good morning to the policeman and he also said good morning to me!"  Yes that definitely can be a wondrous surprise even to an adult, leave alone a small child.  Of course, I was happy for my little girl and wished her goodnight, as she was pretty tired after the 'field trip'; and I sat back in reflection.

You see when I was a kid, I don't remember being scared of a policeman (always scared of the rag-picker, popularly believed to be child-kidnappers); rather they were just a part of the system I knew as my city.  In our times the policeman could be as friendly as the postman or the telegram man.  However, views and perspectives have changed drastically in the past 40-50 years; the police is now often viewed as a hard, unthinking, heartless, crude personality.  I know there are many mothers who advise their growing daughters to avoid the police as far as possible, even at times of any peril.  Yes there have been instances where the uniformed man took advantage of his status, but the harping of such incidents and media bashing has only helped to put up the antenna in the ordinary people.  

What if we could start believing in the goodness of humanity all over again - wouldn't that help to make the world a better place for us and our generations to come!  Personally, I have never had any negative interactions with the police, not even in Delhi where we lived for about 12 years or so.  In fact, I found the Delhi police to be extremely helpful and kind in several instances, even though they can look like King-Kong.   Do we stop to think that the same police man we mindlessly blame is also a human being with a family to love and care for?   That he too is aware of being sensitive, being good, being religious, being kind while he walks a tightrope between being humane and doing his duty with diligence.  Do we expect more than what we can possibly get from these uniformed human personnel, who perform their duties under the scorching sun or in near-zero degrees temperature?

I did not set out to espouse the cause of the policeman in India, but the very fact that my grand daughter was incredulously and deliriously surprised that a policeman could say hello, good morning, smile and be nice - just made me wonder.

Remembering Manna Dey – my way

It was the early 1970s – 1971 or72 to be precise.  I was still in the regional flights going out from Calcutta (my base), and waiting to graduate into the trunk routes like Cal-Del or Cal-Bom or Cal-Madras flights as an airhostess with Indian Airlines.  As a junior my flight rosters were usually to Rangoon-Port Blair, Kathmandu, Bhubaneswar-Vizag, Guahati-Silchar and Guahati-Jorhat-Tezpur-Mohanbari sectors. 

My initial sectors were serviced by Dakotas, Fokker-friendships or occasionally Avro aircrafts.  Caravels and Boeings were reserved for the trunk routes in those days.  The Dakota and the Fokker-friendship aircrafts were pretty safe, flew at reasonable heights and trustworthy; however, there were times when the uncalled-for happened. 

The uncalled-for happened in one of the Guahati-Jorhat-Tezpur-Mohanbari sector flights.  The Fokker developed a snag at Mohanbari and the crew had to stay the night in one of the colonial tea estates.  These bungalows used to be really huge and haunting with that special warmth of the bygone eras.  There was a certain charm and romance in the whole environment.  The sense of being in a dreamland, away from the real world was heightened with the knowledge that Manna Dey was in town and singing the whole night away at a local function. 

It was but natural that all of us – the pilots and we two airhostesses did not think twice about heading forth for the destination without fail.  I do not remember the exact songs Manna Dey sang that night but I do remember the mood and that mesmerising haunting sense that crept into me.  No wonder it has been there in my subconscious mind all these years and came to the forefront as soon as I heard about his death in this mornings news. 

To me Manna Dey’s voice had a peculiar haunting quality, much like Hemanta Kumar’s voice – a voice that kept calling you back.  I do not know why or how I developed this notion but have a fair idea it might have to do with a couple of things.  Cinemas released in Calcutta in those days usually had songs sung by these singers; the films had haunting romance that simply reached its optimum crescendo with a Manna Dey voice.

Even now when I listen to songs from “Waqt”, or “Awara” or “Anand”  Manna Dey can still carry me away to a different level of existence with his lilting, haunting, melodious voice.  I am sure many of you go through the same feeling when you hear his recorded songs.  As they say – one never dies because one lives on among people who remember and cherish their memories.  Hope Manna Dey is singing more songs up there where we shall all meet one day.   

South Calcutta insights

Road defines the locality or vice versa?

I am now in Kankulia Road, south Calcutta.  This is a rented house, quite dingy but priced high for the location.  I have still not been able to vacate my own property in Sarat Banerjee Road and am forced to live in these quarters.   

Coming back to this area – it is something I have never experienced before.  Early in the morning, even before the sky is lit up there are Tapas and his father (phool-wallah) selling flowers right at my doorstep. They live in Bongaon and bring flowers from there by the local train to sell here to the residents living around here.  The business is brisk since most of these Bengalis and some non-Bengalis believe and worship different deities with flowers, fruits etc everyday.  I too have started buying different flowers on different days to decorate my small altar – jaba phool or hibiscus on Tuesdays and Saturdays for Ma Kali, akonda flowers on Mondays for Lord Shiva, and white flowers on Wednesdays (occasionally) for Lord Ganesh, yellow marigold on Thursdays for Goddess Lakshmi and so on.  Have I gone religious?  I don’t know.  I just felt I am being given the opportunity to offer flowers to God without stepping out of the house, so why not? 

Soon after there is the fish man (machh-wallah) across the road, who sits till about 9 a.m. until his mother (who is an ayah in some hospital) takes his place till noon.  Thereafter, comes the Kwality ice-cream man (ice-cream wallah) with his cart and stands right outside the window (I am in the ground floor) and challenges my greed everyday!  Did I tell you about the ‘dab-wallah’ or coconut man?  He props up his cycle around 8.30 a.m. adjacent to my door and does good business for a couple of hours.  As soon as the ice-cream man departs around 3 p.m. arrives the ‘fry man’ (bhaji-wallah).  He deep fries vegetable, fish and chicken patties till around 7.30 p.m. till the ‘puchhka-wallah’ takes over from across the street!  All this within hand-held distance of my door – it is excruciatingly painful for someone who loves food (but good food). 

And finally, it is the older generation of males in the locality (actually my age – more or less) who sit on a stone platform opposite my door till about 10.30 p.m.-11p.m.  Voila!  I feel this road should be baptised as “Wallah Road” instead of Kankulia Road.  What say you!?  

Brahmins, Brahmo Samaj

My paternal heritage

My father, late Gyanendra Chandra Deb was the fourth son of late Rai Saheb Ishan Chandra Deb.  The eldest son died in infancy.  I saw the other elder brothers namely – my Boro Jethu Ahsok Chandra Deb, Mejo Jethu Aloke Chandra Deb and Shejo Jethu Shantu Chandra Deb. My dad was the next in line and then came my Kaku Shibendra Chandra Deb.  My dad was closest to his younger brother, as I have witnessed in my lifetime. 

My father belonged to a Brahmin zamindar family who practically owned a whole village.  Anyone familiar with the history of Brahmins and zamindars of yester yore India will know how autocratic and egotistic these people could be.  Their ruthless adherence to religious and hereditary supercilious attitude is less mentioned the better.  However, I am recounting an event that forever changed the Deb Sharma heritage and also the Mukherjee clan of east Bengal in Sylhet.  My paternal grandmother belonged to the Mukherjee family. 

As my great grandfather was a high and mighty Brahmin of opulent wealth and fame he had almost everyone at his beck and call.  The zamadaar or sweeper too belonged to him.  Now it so happened that one fine day my great grandfather was about to sit for his Brahmin lunch when the sweeper’s son (they lived inside the compound) committed the biggest sin of his life.  The innocent fellow was playing with a ball and trespassed into the forbidden area – his shadow fell on my great grandfather’s plate.  Sacrilege!!!!! 

As expected, my great grandfather abandoned his soiled food and pitilessly beat up the lower caste kid for committing such a crime and sin.  After this he just went into his room and bolted the door; he remained inside for four days.  He did not answer any calls of pity, sympathy or anguish – not even his own wife’s, my great grand mother’s.  Finally when he did open the door he just walked straight to |Raja Ram Mohan Roy and joined the Brahmo samaj.   

My paternal grandmother too came from such a converted Brahmin family.  Her father had also embraced the Brahmo Samaj – my grandmother was one of the first girls to go to school wearing leather shoes I have been told!  Therefore, the alliance between my grandfather and grandmother does not seem strange, since both families had the same religious, philosophical, ideological and spiritual beliefs.  However, I must mention my grandmother had 102 mothers.  Yes, Brahmins of those days were allowed to have multiple wives – my grandmother’s many mothers lived under the same roof!  

I shall talk about how my grandfather got the Rai Saheb title and was endowed with 100 bighas of mango & litchi orchard in Dehradaun in my next post.