12 to 16-part lonely existence

We were till now in Lucknow.As with Central Govt Services,my Father got transferred to Gwalior.For the first time in my life,and my brother's,now 5,we were moving house.So very exciting,though I was all of 12,my mother bore the brunt of the packing,we siblings being of no use at all.
Leaving Lucknow,where we had stayed put for as long as I could remember,actually from the time I was 4 months old,my Mother cried,as did our neighbours,all a mix of communities,Muslim,Hindu,Pahadi,andI forget who else.Actually I had a very interesting upbringing...raised in a simple,devout but not overtly religious Bengali home,where we visited Kalibadi every Saturday,Ma did Lokhipujo every Thursday,my father with his beautiful voice sang Shyamasangeet as I lay beside him,before we went to sleep,with him plying the 'hatpakha',during the hot summer nights,till I fell asleep.I slept next to Babu,my brother next to Ma.Before he was born,next to Ma.I went to a true blue Convent-The Loreto,whatever English I learnt,still serves me.Our 'mohallah' had a number of Muslim families,and I remember never ever feeling threatened,as many do now,even though they live in primarily Hindu localities.
It was our parents,who had suffered during the Partition,but never ever instilled hatred or fear in us against the Muslim community.
So,we are the real cosmopolitans,not the psuedos that copy others,but inside are the most insecure lot.
So,Gwalior it was,a 'latthmar'type of place.The year we arrived,only a month before our arrival,the local police had shot dead the dreaded dacoit gang 7,led by 'Putli Bai'.It was a strange place,with the occassional person carrying a gun,where as in Lucknow,we had never seen a gun before.We stayed in a place called Lashkar,very near the Gwalior fort,and we went sight seeing,climbing up the Fort, very nice I thought,but Lucknow's Imambadas and Palaces were,much much more beautiful,even The residency was an interesting place.
after a few months,it became very tough for Babu to cycle from his workplace to home,he got his alotted housing quarters,and we moved to the Military Area,near residency.
From classy Loreto,I joined Central school,along with Bhaiya.Disaster struck after I gave my exams,for 8th std.My results were withheld,I was found too young to go to 9th std.Babu was furious,he took me out of school,and he was now determined to have me give 11th (HSecondary)exam directly.I had no say,was a silent spectator,as babu raised my age through an affidavit,got me enrolled as a Pvt.student,and my goal was set for me,even the subjects were not mine.A tutor was appointed to coach me in the so very new subjects,but I found that I was correcting my tutor's English.My Babu changed course,now I was to give the exam through Hindi medium.
That day I cried.Someone who had hardly studied hindi,was being asked to study Civics,Economics,History in Hindi as well as having to learn Higher Hindi.In those days your English marks were not added to the other marks.
If Babu had not found my Tutor,an old man,the sweetest person on earth,very knowledgeable,who travelled by bicycle every single day,for the next 6 months,and I did pass.
But that year was so very lonely..no school...so no friends.My only relaxation being, going for walks,in the wilderness,watching the Morar river flow by.Listening to the Radio,and singing myself to sleep.I still remember,Babu saying 'aha''wah' at a particular rendition of some Hindi or Bengali song.The only time I heard him praise me,though he refused to teach me Music,saying studies come first.
Next session I was in college,at 15,probably the youngest there,with a fantastic set of friends,who I am still in touch with.What a couple of years...heavens!!

my early friends

As my brother grew,I became more and more vocal,argumentative and independent. Independent mostly in my thoughts....I was an avid reader already,till then reading children's books and magazines.In our tiny family of four,the most common thing available ....books and magazines and 2 newspapers.I read them all.For me books were an escape route,or rather a wide open window,to characters all lifelike,to ideas coming from all corners of the country and the world,for absorbing so many things,good and bad ,all.
Apart from my reading,I had three friends..Khokada-a brilliant student,who joined NASA later,the only son of my Father's friend and colleague..whom I called 'Meshomoshai' and his wife,Khokada's Mother-Mashima,who with her 'paner bata'full of heavenly smelling stuff,was The Best Storyteller ever.Before I read them in unabridged form-she narrated to me the stories of 'BenHur','Lawrence of Arabia' and many other epic tales.I still remember her tiny roly poly frame topped by an ever smiling face,and mouth full of 'sugondhi pan'.
Babluda-we stayed in the same house,he about 5 years older to me and closest of my friends.
He was fabulous at his studies,he later became a Doctor.We would make a telephone out of matchboxes,he and I listening to each other...he standing on the terrace overlooking our 'uthon'.Me in my white slip-or 'peny frock'as my mother and I subsequently called it.
He was so good in maths,even then if he got a little less than what he calculated,Meshomoshai-his Father would scold him.He had an younger brother-Kutu,who once fell from just a couple of steps and broke his arm.He was very irritable and I remember Babluda's 'Thakuma'she was from "Chittagong'and smoked the 'Hunko' and spoke a dialect,which was so difficult to understand.Only my father could speak and understand a bit,since he had stayed and worked in then E.Bengal,now Bangladesh.
Lastly there was Shibuda-the worst student,better looking than these two,a smart ass if there was one.He was the one who first made me aware that I was growing up,when on my 11th year,in the 'gali'leading to our house,he with a few other boys,stopped me,wanting to talk to me in private,while I was coming back from a friend's house,after listening to'Jaimala' or 'Radio Ceylon' since my Father forbade me to listen to them in our house.I was tough and choosy even then,I just told him in no uncertain terms..'soery jao Shibuda..bhalo hobey na'.Of course,after that he ceased to be my friend,...Khokada's family got transfered to kanpur and a year later,my Father got transfered to Gwalior.
I was 12+.

as I grew older and started coming on to my own,I realised that though I had been a wee bit jealous after ruling the roost for 7 years,of my brother's birth,how lucky I was to have had him born and liberating me from the claustrophobic love of my parents.They, having had lost their first child were so very protective of me, that I would spend the whole evening,a regular playtime for the rest of the children of the'muhallah',sitting primly on the open verandah,hiding behind a book,or trying to lose myself in the fairy tales,while not having the dare to step down the 2 steps to freedom,waiting pathetically for my Father to come and take me for a walk--a--walk,where? In the neighbourhood park.

this was my life till my brother arrived....welcome freedom..to read,to talk,to hope.

First attempt ...

My life started taking shape when my brother was born when I was seven. Till that time I was the total focus of my parents' attention which shifted giving me some space to grow when my brother came along.