Born free

Face Book has helped me connect to people I had lost touch with for so many years. Recently traced an old school friend Gitie Wiiliams. Interestingly, we were together from nursery till we passed out from school. Gitie an avid reader and writer had edited the school magazine in the final year and I had helped her put it together. She has moved on and now does "bird watching" and is writing about her experiences on the face book.

I wrote "born free" several years back. I don't think Gitie can relate to the latter part becasue she has moved away to Australia and life must be so differnet there. But the intitial bit is about our growing up years in school where we spent the first 12 years of our lives together.


Born Free

The fragrance of the sandalwood incense sticks still lingers and so does the soft humming of ‘Om jai jagdi sha hare.’ I often scurried out of bed when I heard the mellow sound of the small brass bell, well aware that Ma’s puja was getting over. Hell would break lose if she found me asleep. But this was only on weekends and holidays.

The other five days of the week, morning began with beautiful hymns. From the last row in the choir, I loved to watch Miss Harland’s deft fingers move on the piano that filled the hall with enchanting music. It was not just prayers but a feeling of one-ness with music and God.

Christmas brought more fun to the morning assembly; we spent more time singing carols and hymns than doing boring classwork. The festive spirit was evident everywhere; teachers became more tolerant, classrooms looked bright and colourful and small priceless gifts were exchanged. I still treasure the string of beads; a friend gave me in Class V.

Interestingly, Christmas didn’t end with classmates in school. At home, a group of friends would get together and decorate the Christmas tree. On Christmas Eve we sang and danced till late in the evening, eating cakes, pakoras and steaming idlis.

I remember, in all the growing up years we looked forward to each festival with the same enthusiasm. Durga puja brought new clothes and sweets. The ten-day festivity ended on Dussera with a visit to the over-crowded Ram Lila Ground. We chewed roasted ‘channa’ while the demon Ravana burnt.

Diwali followed with some more partying and firecrackers. Holi was the best. It was the only day in the year we could behave like hooligans. Also, I can never forget the taste of the ‘kada prasad’ we ate at the nearby Gurudwara on Guru Nanks’s Birthday.

By the time I came out of school we had shifted into a new apartment block. In the flat below lived Mr. Shamim. “Baji”, his old mother with a pan in her mouth and her glittering ‘pandan’ looked so much like my paternal grandma. She spoke the same dialect. I was terribly amused with the way she referred to mom as ‘Dulhan’. Mother, was often summoned in the afternoons for short gossip sessions.

A friendship that had started with a cup of morning tea by Uncle Shamim - had become a bond. On ‘Id’ we were served the best home-cooked Biryani, Kababs and Sivaya in town. Sabina, the young daughter-in-law, who prepared all these delicacies, was soon recognized for her culinary skills. In time, she was cajoled into starting a home-catering business.

Life was wonderful. We belonged to a generation that was born in free India. We had not witnesses the harsh realities of pre-independence era. The British rule, the freedom struggle and the Partition were only a part of our history curriculum. We had got the best opportunities; a good education, a modern lifestyle and a progressive urban society. Moreover, no one looked at our textbooks with suspicion or told us to guard against suspicious looking objects in public places or be wary of some terrorist lurking in the corner of a street. Indeed, we were fortunate to be born free.