Reaching out to strangers - good or bad?

(I hope I do not get sued for using this image. Honestly I love this character and actress.)
Last evening while waiting for my turn at the hair cuting saloon (Topper's) I met a lady. Actually I was occupying the whole seat meant for two and doing some light channeling with closed eyes. I felt the receptionist telling someone "Here, come and sit here". I opened my eyes and nudged closer to the corner to make space for this senior (older than I am) lady. Talking I got to know that her late husband was head of the Ichhapur Rifle Factory, that she lives all by herself on the 9th floor of the same building as Topper's, that her only son lives in San Fransisco with his family, that she does not wish to go and live there, that she plays bridge with a friend, who lives close to Menoka cinema hall. I invited her to our house, as we stay close by. Whew! More, there is a huge rifle in a showcase as you enter her flat. I asked her what does she do - she said she keeps roaming from one room to the other and plays bridge. I said - I believe it is an intelligent game and what else does she do? Nothing much else. She said that children nowadays tend to have a mind of their own, to which I nodded in total agreement. I also added that times are changing and so are values.
Do we older people tend to give out more information than necessary or is it  because most of us live a lonely life and open up when we find someone willing to listen?  Either which way, it becomes a security issue. We older people reach out to strangers for want of any sympathetic ear. In the process, we give out sensitive information that can and are used to our own detriment.
I sincerely hope that her son is reading this and will understand how much his mother misses having a family around her. Of course, there will be issues, problems, arguments - it is important to have it that way. Otherwise, you cannot be a family - like the Punjabis say - we fight and argue the whole day but at night it is one big happy family at the dinner table.
I am not naming any names, but I sincerely hope families will start living together again, for better or worse. But definitely together. God bless. 

Mongoose which later turned out to be a civet cat!!!!!

Yesterday morning was the usual morning and as usual I was about to sit with my laptop in the northern balcony, while Sandya (maid) scrubbed and mopped rest of the house. The balcony looks out on the road, so noise and confusion is not rare. However, the noise was a bit different, maybe more educated sounds, sober sounds! So I looked down as did my son, Pavitra. I saw some of the gentlemen on this road were looking at something scruffy and dragging itself towards the tree on the opposite pavement. I asked one of the men - "is it a mongoose?" He promptly replied "yes". I immediately logged on and searched all and any animal welfare units (Calcutta) and their numbers; and started calling each on. No response - maybe too early for them to rescue animals! I then called PETA (Bombay). The phone was answered at the second ring - surprise! The gentleman on the other side was very helpful - said there is no PETA in Calcutta and then gave me a mobile number. He said he was sure this lady would definitely help.   The mobile was busy for a long time, but I did not give up and so got to talk to the lady in question at last.
I jus got the name Chhaya, so addressed her as MsChhaya and told her about our dilemma. She was quite responsive. Though her organisation works with dogs and other domestic animals, not with wild life as the mongoose is from that category, she advised me how and what to do before she arrives to pick it up. She said she would hand over the animal to the concerned wildlife agency.  By this time, the local dogs ran towards this dark-looking creature, limping and dragging itself. My son ran out to ward off the dogs and stand guard. Ms Sharda of Chhaya Shelters (on my second call she corrected me), advised that the mongoose should be first entrapped in a cloth and then locked in a plastic marketing basket. Now where to get a plastic marketing basket! Here, we all use just bags not baskets, she said why dont I send someone to Lake market to buy one - that we ruled out.  By now the crowd was thinning, then one of the younger fellows brought a good size carton. So my son, (must say he was brave) folded my clean but old dress over the head of the animal and swung it high and brought to our doorstep. Then the injured little thing was placed inside the carton and waiting ensued for Ms Sharda to come or send her dog-car. The older gentlemen left as they had to go to office, soon the other young man left too for work, so it was my son and I waiting to hand over the 'mongoose' to professional authorities.
Yes, finally, Ms Sharda Radhakrishnan - founder of Chhaya drove up with her assistant and swiftly took the responsibility off our hands. God bless her!
Surprise when she called me later in the day to tell me that the animal saved this day was not a mongoose but a Civet Cat.!!!!!! wow!  She also told me that the cat was injured and being looked after by animal doctors at her hospital; the cat was also happily guzzling milk and swallowing bananas.
I checked with Sharda this morning. The cat is doing fine, so far, her appetitte is good and doctors are monitoring her development. Thank God. Chhaya hospital is in a village called :Sundhya", some 10 km from Sonarpur.
I have seen civet cats in Bandhavgarh Forest, when I used to work there. I should have known, but, honestly I saw the animal from the first floor balcony and when it was inside the carton I did not dare look inside.You see I had seen it snap at my son when he went to cover it with the cloth, I did not want to risk it and go through anti-rabies injections. I am scared of those needles.
The PETA  also sent me some numbers for wildlife (later on). Here are the numbers, in case anyone needs to know:-
033 23583208. Mobile - 9163669809.

Flying experience - 1

This was taken by a passenger on a flight to Khatmandu in early 1972, inside the Viscount aircraft, while I was serving. I remember his name, a young French man called Michael Guillame. I guess the name is intriguing and so memorable. He had a camera (Minolta?), which allowed 36 exposures (right?) and happily took all 36 snaps of mine onboard while I was tending to the passengers. Not much security rules in those days!!!!!!!! Even though he sent me most of the snaps, this is the only one I have been able to save.

This is a Dakota aircraft - anyone seen it? Well, this is what newbies in Indian Airlines had to fly first before 'graduating' to bigger aircrafts like - viscount, boeings, caravelles, airbuses etc.  Dakota planes were not pressurised and so flew at a height of 8000 to 10,000 feet above sea level. These planes were termed to be safe planes and the other was the Fokker Friendship aircraft (pressurised).  So here I was on a flight Calcutta-Bhubaneswar-Vizag and back in the same route in the same day. One more thing - dakota flights had only one cabin crew/airhostess or steward, no place for more.
This used to be a total 8 hours flight - 2 hours from Cal-Bhu, then 2 hours from Bhu-Viz; and then equal number of flying hours on the return flight. A little after take-off from Cal or CCU (that was the codename for Calcutta), we flew above the Bay of Bengal till we reached BHU. Then again after take-off from BHU the route was above the sea continuously till we neared Vizag. The first lap was sometimes close to the shores but the next one drew further and further away from any coastline. Anyway, it was a usual flight and I was looking forward to a movie with my friend at night back in Cal. Not many passengers (pax) on this flight, mostly businessmen doing a hop, skip and jump schedule. I finished serving breakfast in the second lap and was just checking for stray trays or glasses, when a pax on the right side called me urgently. The first thought that came to my mind was 'this man wants to change his mind' stuff. As soon as I reached his side he uttered 'fire' and pointed outside the window. Yes sure enough I saw sparks of fire coming out from the engine on the right. My training (Indian Airlines did excellent training those days) expertise immediately came alive and I coolly told the pax -'not to worry. I shall talk to the pilots and get back to you.' I also enquired if he wished to have some more tea or coffee, which he declined (naturally!).
I sashayed (to give the impression of being in control) my way to the cockpit and on entering I realised everything was not alright. The captain looked up at me, heard me and then informed that the oil pressure had gone down in that engine and would have to be switched off before things turned dangerous. We were now to cling on to one engine to take us safely to land. I looked out of the cockpit window and only saw water, not even a shadow of shore anywhere. Of course, with one engine off, the plane had to fly lower and closer to the sea.
As everyone knows whenever the plane flies above water the cabin crew has an added drill to do - the life jacket (orange in colour) drill. The jackets used to be stacked under each seat of the Dakota.  Well, now I was thrilled that it was time to check the life jackets' credibility. The captain reassured me and told me to pacify the passengers and try and draw the covers on all the cabin windows. No panic. I say I was thrilled because I did not feel any fear (even today in retrospect I smell no fear), rather looked forward to a new adventure. My mind was wondering will there be sharks in the water, will all of us be able to stay afloat and wait till help arrived - all sorts of curious thoughts. Once I was out of the cockpit I was confronted with very disturbed passengers, walking up and down the aisle and peering out of each window on both sides. I knew I had a job to do. I announced on the PA for everyone to stay put, put on their life jackets and close the windows - no not as a command yet stern enough for them to know things were under control. Seeing no panic in my face probably calmed the pax but they pointed outside to the engines and looked enquiringly at me. By this time full blooded fire was spewing out on one side and the other engine was sputtering, as if giving warning that - 'I am about to blow off, too.'   And it was water, water everywhere, no coast in sight!
Who was I fooling? These were businessmen in their 40s, 50s and God knows how much, not a spindly 18-19 year-old girl trying to act big. Yes fear was written on each one's face and they more or less asked me together what were the chances of the life jacket saving us. Would the jackets prove to be a deterrent to lurking sharks? I remember I did my best to bring the temperature down in the cabin but I also knew they were right. Yet who do you blame in such a situation? Thankfully, some of them started praying and I guess that helped a lot. I was about to sit down and stare out the window at the threatening engines, when there was a call from the cockpit. I think I was a little relieved with that call - it would help me to exit the panic-filled cabin. Selfish thought? I think so.
As soon as I entered the cockpit, the commander told me to sit inside the cockpit for sometime. He was a middle-aged pilot with years of experience and probably understood the dilemma I must be going through. It was the first year of my flying - 1971, a greenhorn as the saying goes.
The commander, Captain D'Souza, kept talking to keep things normal inside (funny I do not remember the co-pilot's name, neither that of the radio officer) the cockpit. I remember he was talking about his 5 children at home in Bombay. How he missed them as he was stationed in Calcutta for sometime now. He probably even mentioned their names, I fail to remember but I distinctly remember he was a devout Catholic. He kept saying we will do our best and leave the rest to God. Of course, the pilots kept on their own technical talks going and at the same time the captain was helping me to come to terms with the situation. What a wonderful human being!
Did I mention we were at the PNR (point of no return) stage when the first engine cracked up? That is why the captain said he could not go back but just go ahead and land on the seashore, somehow.  But where was the shore? That seemed a billion dollar question and no one was coming up with an answer. The radio officer was frantically working on the radio passing information to and fro. Lots of advice, knowledgeable information kept coming. But ultimately, it was upto the captain and the sea shore to make it a success.
When we could finally spot the shores of Vizag in the distance, there was relief and joy, but only for a passing moment. The plane was just going down, you could practically feel the water lapping up hungrily, as if just waiting for us to drop into its abundant lap.   With both engines shut, it was a hit-and-miss situation, whether we would be able to reach the sandy shores before we gently thumped into the sea. The strain was evident on the faces of the pilots and radio officer; I was only focussing on the distant land and wishing it to come closer. Closer it did come and with it came another panic-filled reality - the plane would be doing a belly-landing (no wheels) on the hot, hot sands of Vizag in mid-moring. Would we survive or would the friction only help the whole plane to blow off in one single ball of flame?  Of course, we survived and I am here telling the story.
The recent Russian plane crash and my son's (Pavitra's) questioning of what must have been going on through the minds of the Russian plane passengers during those last moments, evoked this memory that happened in 1971. I know Indian Airlines must have congratulated Captain D'Souza in many ways than one, but I can never forget how he piloted us all to safety. God bless him.

1976 - Year of events in my life

8/7/2018 - I had written the following blog on 11/10/2015 but never published it.

The dawn of 1976  saw us - the Bose family, still at 4/2 Ram Mohan Roy Road, Calcutta - 53.  The previous year Ashok, my husband had gone off to Thailand financed by his father, Buddha Bose.  Swapna with her 2 sons had left for Japan to be with her husband, Arun Bose, who was running a yoga school sponsored by a Japanese named Hanari San.  I was expecting my second child in early February and Bishu Mama's (Biswanath Ghosh) wife Krishna was due to give birth to her first child in April/May, 1976.  Nani ma, Ashalata Ghosh (Bishnu Charan Ghosh's widow), was delirious with joy - her first grandchild was about to make an appearance and another great-grandchild too. The house was agog with excitement, exclamations for the reasons above and exhaustion running after my first-born who kept everyone on their toes.

My second son unwillingly entered this world in the early hours of 2nd February, the doctor Ashru Kumar Roy or Ashru-da, commented that this fellow just did not want to come out from his mother's womb. This son of mine is still reticent, shy, reserved and an introvert.

Now a few hours before his birth when I was going through excruciating labour pains, Rooma came to see me at North Calcutta Nursing Home and made a request.  Her request was urgent and very personal that it somehow took my mind off my immediate condition.  She wanted me to write a letter to her father explaining how she was keen to get married as soon as possible to her longstanding beau - Surojit Ghosh. I wrote the letter in that stage of confused, painful and angry state. I remember I implored to my father-in-law on behalf of Rooma that she was keen to get married to Surojit Ghosh.

Soon after that, a month or so later Rooma and her mother shifted to the New Alipore house, in march-end or early April of 1976.  Buddha Bose (my father-in-law) also shifted off very soon after that. I was left behind in my grandfather-in-law's (Bishnu Charan Ghosh) house.
For a brief period I went to my parents' with my two infant sons. Then came to stay at the New Alipore house at Mamoni's insistence. Place was made in the rooftop of the main building and I lived there.  I do not wish to relive the days spent there.  My mother visited me one day and realising it was killing for my two babies in that heat she requested my father-in-law if she could to take us back for a few months. I would come back to my in-laws' place once the summer passed off and the rains came. This must have been sometime in May-June 1976.  Mamoni passed away on 2nd July 1976.

Swapna sent a letter to her father-in-law from Japan giving vivid and voyeuristic details of Arun's philandering with some Japanese ladies.  I was so embarrassed and went bloody red in the face because Baba read it aloud to me alone.  This was after Mamoni's death on 2nd July 1976.  Soon after Swapna wanted to come back to India.  She came back with her two sons and lived in Rooma's house in the same compound.  Arun followed and died within fifteen days of arrival.  Till date I have not understood how and why Mamoni and Arun died so easily within 4 months. Questions welled up inside but did not know where to get the answers.

I met Mamoni a number of times before her death.  In one such occasion we were alone in the room, when she grabbed my hand in an urgent manner.  She said in Bengali, which translated into English goes like this - "Tutu you must touch me and promise me that you will never take diksha from your Baba (Buddha Bose)."  I promised and said I had never thought being initiated by him.  It had never crossed my mind. However, I was puzzled about this strange request from Mamoni but was too polite to question her 'why'. One of the many things my parents taught me was never to question elders and I obeyed them perfectly.  Years later that I realised that some of the principles in my upbringing were too obsolete and not valued by certain people I got related to.  I grew up with the belief that a promise is a promise and one did not need to swear by anything to guarantee a promise. I believed Ashok when he promised not to drink anymore if we got married. He kept the promise for the first 3 days of our marriage. The fourth day he was missing from morning and after enquiring came to know he was sitting downstairs in the cowshed and drinking.  How I cried and howled for hours - he had broken my trust and I just could not believe it! Sometime later Rooma came to console me and helped me understand that life will come up with more such heart-breaking disappointments. She was so right in 1974 - breaking of trust and faith boulder hit me disastrously in 1982.

Oh there is so much to to say. I never thought I would publish this. Today I am. The next blog will disclose some more.
Even though life taught me not to trust anyone, I still believe in goodness of humankind. We are made in the likeness of God. Somewhere there is goodness buried in each one of us. God bless.  

Mangoes at 6B in 2015

One of the mango trees my maternal grandmother (didima) planted decades ago.

The view from the first floor balcony facing south of this house built by my maternal grandfather (dadu) nearly 90 years ago. The portion behind the house used to be a big garden with mango, fig, bel, coconut, banana and some more trees - all planted by didima. She even had ducks as pet, who would waddle around the house and then go back to the garden in the evenings. Didima loved duck eggs.

I remember this garden used to be dark at nights since there never was any electric connection here. it was a huge 2 katha backyard (still is) with trees and an underground water reservoir and the water pump (got stolen in 1990!).  Boro Mama was allowed to hold the annual kali puja on these grounds, but I could never have the mutton next day for lunch. Not after my dada and I played with the little kid goat the previous day before it was tied down. I never liked this idea of sacrifice and thankfully, the sacrifice was changed to huge pumkins gradually. Now of course there is no puja held here for years.

Dadu built this house on his inspector of schools salary. He had eleven children, unfortunately five of my aunts passed away in their youth - lovely looking ladies judging from their photos. I have heard dadu never accepted anything from anyone, not even in the form of 'bhet' during festivals. Can't say he lived frugally, because he and all in the family are great food lovers. And dadu enjoyed his egg-nog in the morning. But he was very careful with money, kept track of even a paise.

Dadu was born on the 9th of September sometime in the 1800s, went through ups and downs and eventually built a house in an elite part of the city. (it is not elite or bhadralok any more - thanks to the 'you-know-who' people). Generations have taken refuge in this house, stayed here whenever it suited them but till date I have not seen even one of my many well-to-do aunts, uncles, cousins build such a grand house. Dadu is no more but his house remains. I have seen so much jealousy, greed and plottings among the inheritors but not one bothers to remember the man who gave them such an elite address.

Dadu a very happy birthday to you. Bless us all to have good sense and a sense of gratitude. I keep saying 'this is the house that Jack built'. I love you dadu. Thanks a zillion for all that you taught me. You were my greatest teacher in this life. God bless your soul. Amen!

George Shalom - 9th September

George happy with opening of the sauna, steam and jacuzzi at Grand View Resort, Jamta, HP.

                                      George Shalom 9th September 1946 - 25th January 2010

"We shall rough it out together" - said George when he proposed to me in early 1985.  Of course, it had to be that and nothing else - he was a divorcee (divested of his sons and property) and I was a divorcee with three small children. Ideal, isn't it?  So we roughed it out for nearly 25 years. I say nearly because he bade a final goodbye just two months short of our silver jubilee.


3 years of living as a divorcee had taught me that I was a social outcast, a free-for-all target, other wives looking me up suspiciously (as if I was about to lure away her husband any moment), an after-thought in social invitations where my family was concerned. In other words, an undeclared pariah in my family circle or outside. I lived for three years with another divorced friend of mine and we both went through some humiliating situations. I do not feel society has changed much in all these years. Single women are still looked at in a suspicious manner, unless she has a powerful father, brother or boyfriend by her side. No one wants to know why and how she is dovorced, whether she is at fault at all.  

George was a big change in our lives - he was from Delhi, of a different faith, spoke English or Hindi, enjoyed beef curry, drank rum (okay), worked in hotels.  However, he loved cooking. My older children had great birthday parties hosted by him at home. He would cook, serve, organise games for the kids and even helped in return gifts!  So yes this change was good, it was like a breath of fresh air with new ideas, philosophies. attitudes, lifestyle, and a new city to live in - Secunderabad.

The twin cities of Secunderabad and Hyderabad were being really spruced up at that time by the then Chief Minister - N.T.Rama Rao.  The Tank-bund used to be a great place to go to in the evenings, stroll around, have a munch or two, watch the boats on the lake.  George was also in  charge of the Boat Club there.  I remember they used to make awesome chicken sandwiches at the Secunderabad club. It was here I had my fourth child, delivered with the help of a beautiful, muslim lady doctor - Dr, Nighat Baig, who also happened to be a member of the Club. We named this new daughter Sharon Grace Shalom or Kuki.

George loved dogs and we learned to love them, too. The Club had many dogs on its grounds and one of the huge female dogs gave birth to a litter. George brought home two tiny pups, I named them Bhodu and Guriyasan. I remember one night Guriyasan went out and was missing; George and all of us went looking for him with big torches. Found him but he did not live for long. Bhodu was with us till we left Secunderabad in 1989.  Meanwhile, one day while coming back from the market we had another dog follow us home and she refused to leave. Named her Lassie. She was too well-behaved to be a street dog. Anyway my life consisted of cooking separately for Bhodu and Lassie in addition to my regular chores. There were times when I would be exhausted and stop cooking for them and leave the door open for them to leave. No way. There they would sitting tight. No food, no matter, but we are not going - seemed what they said. So I go back and make extra meat for the faithful four-legged children I had.

I went back to Hyderabad 25 years later in 2010. Located the house we lived in for a short while in Tarnaka. Things have changed drastically. That house is a big apartment building and the landlady's daughter - June Franklin, lives in one of them. It was gratifying to to know she recognised me immediately! Asked after George, told her that he had passed on his journey, she also enquired about my three children. She did not know about Kuki, as she was born while we lived at the Club.

Icecream, Vimto and Pussycat

Here is a picture taken by June's elder sister when she came visiting from Australia. Icecream (Shib Shekhar Bose), Vimto (Pavitra Shekhar Bose), Pussycat(Chandra Prova Bose, later christened to Clara Pearl Shalom). 1985.
 
Why did George come into my life? Why did I prefer him to other similar proposals from rich men? The only thing that mattered to me was that I must not lose my children and George seemed to be a safe bet. He wanted a family and I looked forward to a proper conservative home with a mom and a dad and dinners together. I had so much in my childhood, I felt I owed this much to my kids, if not all the pomp and high standards I had grown up with. George was down-to-earth, a Virgo, a man who knew how to be a responsible man, loving (yes), and caring.  What more could a woman in my situation ask for? And yes we fell in love gradually, more towards the end.

You know, funny thing is when he and I went to live in Jamta for good, the first thing we discussed was how do we wish to be dealt with after our death. We decided we have to locate a Christian cemetry and a Hindu burning ghat nearby in this remote village of Himachal Pradesh. That man made me go through the works when he just upped and breathed his last. I must say the Carmel Father and sisters did a splendid job in helping me - I was lost about Christian or Catholic rituals. Not to forget the Jamta villagers who came forward to give me land to bury my husband whio had been a part of them for more than ten years. That is the first time I saw a Gram Panchayat meeting. More in my other blog.

George was always married to hotels. Any woman would always hold second place in his life and heart. Period. But I understood this pretty late into our marriage; an earlier wisdom would have helped to avoid many confrontations and my stupid over-reactions. After nearly 25 years of being married to George, a hotel man, I can say any spouse of a hotel employee should never expect the partner to have predictable timings or schedule. Yet life can be full of fun and surprises. do not come with preconceived notions and expectations. Hahaha!

Happy birthday, George! Sometimes I miss having you around.  I know you are playing frisbee up there somewhere with Lucky. Not to worry, I'll join you guys soon. God bless your souls. Amen! 

Marriage made in heaven       

7th August, 1950 is the day when wedding bells rang for Gyanendra Chandra Deb and Nani Bala Hore.  That day Nani Bala Hore became Bela Deb for good. The day when two confirmed bachelors got united for life and stayed united till ‘death do us part’ story. A very simple and normal unison, except both Ma and Baba were well beyond the marriageable age and yet, as if, made for each other couple.

Baba had a sizeable temper and Ma was always the quiet one. I do not remember even one incident when I heard my parents fighting or shouting at each other.  Funny!  At least not during my childhood or even while growing up or when we were down in the dumps (financially). Their skirmishes started when Ma was paralysed due to cerebral attack, years after I was already a mother of four.  

Ma loved to call on her attendant to spit in the spittoon (her age-old habit) and Baba would not let the nurse give her the spittoon,  because he said she did not need to do it!  Ma would then bang on the bedside with her comb or whatever to call her attendant; Baba would remove everything handy from around her.  My children and I were living with my parents in those days and as soon as Baba removed things one of the kids would stealthily bring in a spoon or ladle from the kitchen and give it to their grandma, so she could summon her attendant.  Baba would hear the sound and come as fast as his old legs could carry him to see how she got hold of anything at all to make a noise.  He would immediately take away whatever Ma had in her hand, my kids would again bring something else and give her to bang on the wall or her bed.  This circus could continue if I (when present) did not stop the children. Baba never solved the mystery but blamed the attendant and she did not mind, because as she told me she enjoyed the show.

Ma spent her adult life teaching in various colleges throughout North India as professor or principal, but in retrospect I wonder how she transformed into a docile housewife looking after a staunch Brahmin widow of a mother-in-law and still staying in her good books. It had to be so, because my grandmother refused to go and live with her other married sons In Delhi or Dehradun or Agra!

Ma and Baba never quarrelled or argued in front of us children, yet when did they resolve their issues, if any?  Maybe when they went out for their evening walk, I can only presume. This is one thing I failed in imbibing from my parents, but as an excuse I always felt both the parties should have the same sensibilities, which was not in my case.

Both my parents encouraged my brother and me to bring our friends home, often for small children parties and play indoor games. Baba always said if you cannot bring your friend home then that friend cannot be worthy of being called a friend.  It did not matter what financial status the friend came from - what mattered was the upbringing. Throughout my growing up years I was banned only once from playing with a girl after I repeated a word she had uttered during play.

I was brought up in the same way as my brother, so I played hockey, cricket, tried to fly kites, played marbles and gulli-danda. At home we had the meccano set, scrabbles or word-making set, remote controlled helicopter or cars, carrom board and a whole set of records. The collection we had was huge and varied; whether Rabindra sangeet or Pat Boone, Cliff Richard, Elvis Presley (my favourite), Jim Reeves, I could reminiscence on and on.  Not to forget some classical music - both Indian and Western, not exactly our favourites. The addition of Kishore Kumar, Mohd Rafi, Lata Mangeshkar records happened when my brother started seeing Hindi movies.

I still remember that evening in 1966 when my parents had to attend a cocktail held in honour of Queen Elizabeth at the British High Commission premises. Ma never liked dressing up or wearing jewelry of any kind, yet that evening I draped the saree around Ma and took out her diamond earrings and insisted she put it on.  She gave in, even decked her neck with a matching necklace; maybe keeping the occasion in mind. Baba of course looked dapper as always in his cocktail suit.  Yes we were very proud of our handsome parents.  God bless their noble souls.