India & Beyond Newsletter -- NOVEMBER/DECEMBER 2010 The Anglo-Indian Reunion -- Jamboree 2010 held from the 26th to the 30th October 2010, brought together the Anglo-Indian community from far and wide.....Anglos from Chennai, Trichy, Coimbatore, Wayanad, Hyderabad, Mumbai, Delhi, Jamshedpur and Kolkatta made their way to attend and support the Reunion, while Anglos from accross the seas from Australia, New Zealand, Hong Kong, United Kingdom and the Middle East came to be a part of the huge Anglo-Indian gathering. The opening ceremony was graced by the Bishop of Bangalore, His Grace Bishop Iganatis Pinto, with the Event being formerly inaugurated by His Excellency The Governer of Karnataka Shri Hans Raj Bhardwaj........the welcome speech to the gathering was delivered by Mrs Ursula Fosberry, followed by Mr Derrick Fullinfaw, the nominated Anglo-Indian Member of the Legislative Assembly. The Fun Filled Carnival found the Anglo-Indian youth take part in the Hockey and Football Games with spirit an determination to be the winners......the Food Stalls including the Stall with the Anglo-Indian cuisine was popular among all the guests...the Housie Games brought together the older generation who won many prizes at the game...the evening was then taken over by the DJ who blasted popular music to the liking of the young brigade. The Grand Jamboree Dine and Dance, began with the finals of the first Anglo-Indian Idol.......a feat achieved by the community for the first time.......the evening was followed with merry making and dance , with 2 local Bands in attendance, with a special performace by Australian country singer Terry Misra .........chicken stew , pork vindaloo, pepper water together with Jack Daniels and Peter Scot were in demand during th entire evening. The News and Print Media were present and reported the Event in various TV Channels and Newspapers.......this helped us further create awareness on this community gathering. Many thanks to all those who attended the Event and also thanks to those who could not attend but did give us their support. The huge success of the Anglo-Indian Reunion 2010 will surely lead to a Anglo-Indian Reunion 2011. Best Regards Creswell Weightman WATCH THE OFFICIAL VIDEO OF THE ANGLO-INDIAN JAMBOREE AT http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6G3PjlDdfO0 (you will need to cut and paste the above link into your browser. Thank you. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- PAUL HARRIS´s movie soon to be released Very interesting to watch. Details are listed below. For HD format http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Oefi0KfYnKA For Standard Format - (SD) if you have a slower connection but the http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i2mbVozA6OY Thanks for the promotion on your website. Regards, Paul Harris ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Published by: Lynette M. Rebeiro November/December 2010 Phone: (905) 676 – 1086 e-mail: drebeiro@sympatico.ca Hello Readers: It is getting quite cold here in Canada. Many regions have experienced their first snow fall, and we here in the greater Toronto area had a mixture of snow and rain on Sunday. So it is coming……………. Not too many weeks to Christmas with all its festivities -- Shopping, Cooking, Eating Drinking! If I don’t get around to seeing you all – I wish you the happiest of Holiday Seasons. May God Bless your homes with laughter and joy, the closeness of family and the abundant love of all those you may meet. This issue was a tad late in getting accomplished but I do hope you enjoy this it. Please do write and let me know what else you would like included in this newsletter. I try to vary the stories and articles – your feedback is greatly appreciated. And on that note…..Best wishes to You and Yours, from Me and Mine! Enjoy dear readers. Lynne -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- CONTENTS … … … 1. Publishers Letters 2. PASS THE BATON 3. Hollywood star Brian Cox follows the trail of the Dundee jute workers who went to Calcutta 4. This Date In History: Nov 1, 1512: SISTINE CHAPEL OPENS TO PUBLIC 5. Silent Sentinel 6. BOOK REVIEW ….. A Woman’s Odyssey ….By Durgabati Ghose 7. Sharing sweet stories 8. Mildred Moncreff: NAGPURS LAST WAC.(I) ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Letters To The Publisher A note from Bert Payne, who attended the latest Anglo-Indian Reunion in Perth, Australia. The Reunion was absolutely fantastic. For Yolande Gibbons and myself it was our 8th- yes we have attened every Reunion. The next Reunion 2013 is in Calcutta. Harry MacClure Publisher of of Anglos in the Wind will be issuing a special edition. --------------------------------------------------------------------- PASS THE BATON Malvika Singh Wherever one goes in India, there are wonderful buildings, monuments, estates, and open spaces that tell stories of diverse histories, motivations, aspirations and commitments that have come together, merging seamlessly into a gigantic jigsaw puzzle that never fails to boggle the mind. The forts, palaces and edifices that remind us of the many dynasties that ruled India through the centuries are protected by the Archeological Survey of India and identified with a small blue board that deems them special and stand-alone. Many others, spectacular and historic, some comparatively recent and therefore treated with less importance, that were taken over by the government of India or the governments of the various states in the Union post-Independence, have drastically deteriorated, as a result of shameful and often dangerous, neglect. The primary reason behind this lack of concern for valuable historical real estate is many human and administrative deficiencies. Sadly, one always has to revert to the babu and his constrictive babudom. Aesthetics, a sense of history, a desire to conserve the plurality of an extraordinary national legacy, concern for cleanliness, appropriate management and more, are all non-existent in their work manual. For most, being ‘modern’ means replacing all the our special inheritances with polyester curtains, formica furniture, plastic plates and other such unhealthy, alien horrors. All this degradation began in 1947 when the colonial power, which had ruled us, retreated. We inherited from them some marvels of architecture, some stunning hill stations, a wonderful fusion cuisine called Anglo-Indian food, a language, some customs and conventions, all of which blended with the diverse cultures here. But along with all that we inherited a bureaucratic machinery, and the ruler versus ruled mindset. Angrez sahibs went back home and a new breed of brown sahibs took the baton, altered nothing, not even the civil and police laws and acts, and continued to administer free India in the same exclusive fashion. Sixty-two years down the road, even after generation changes and cross influences of the world playing a role in transforming the patterns of society, that same breed of arrogant civil servants still rule and run amok. UNDER FIRE The worst culprits amongst them, who continue to fight the change are the members of the Central Public Works Department — an arm of the government that has altered some of the best examples of period architecture and reduced them to musty, smelly and broken-down buildings that had once seen much pomp and splendour and good times. Today, in 2009, people have become far more alert and committed to caring, conserving, restoring and protecting their immediate environment as well as the public space. Pressure is beginning to mount on government and on municipalities that are corrupt and do not deliver on their mandate. The babu is under fire. His disconnect with the requirements on the ground is not acceptable any longer. Inexperienced and unable to comprehend the real needs of historic buildings, for instance, these protectors of our heritage just do not fit the bill. If we are to conserve buildings like the Victoria Memorial in Calcutta, and the Viceregal Lodge or Rashtrapati Niwas in Simla, we need to fashion a new set of rules and norms, a radically different parameter of operation with new and clean mechanisms that compel quality work without the interference of a minor babu who wants to make a buck on every renovation. We must teach the young in primary schools to venerate their past and learn from that rich canvas. The government babu must be removed from his dominant ‘role’ and the responsibility must go to an autonomous mechanism. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Hollywood star Brian Cox follows the trail of the Dundee jute workers who went to Calcutta By Paul English IT´S a long way to go to die - but that´s exactly what happened to many of the women of Dundee who "disappeared" after travelling to India to cash in on the jute industry of Calcutta. They were among hundreds of manual workers who left Scotland to establish what they hoped would be a better life, taking their knowledge of jute weaving to India. Next month, we´ll see one of Dundee´s most famous sons follow in their footsteps in a voyage of discovery. In a revealing documentary from BBC Scotland, Hollywood star Brian Cox, whose films include X-Men 2, The Bourne Identity and Braveheart, traces the history and varied fortunes of the city´s jute emigrants. For many of them, the move to India paved the way for a lavish lifestyle of parties and luxurious living. For others, it was the end of the road. Despite now enjoying a life of luxury in NewYork, Brian can identify with the mixed fortunes of his city´s forebears. The 63-year-old travelled to Calcutta to make the film, along the way sampling some of the less-obvious uses for the vegetable fibre which kept Dundee working for years. Brian said: "In India, I sampled jute pakora. I had no idea you could eat it. It´s actually very nice. They make soup from it too, but I didn´t try that. "The whole visit threw up a complex mix of emotions for me. "My ancestors came from Fermanagh to Dundee to work in the jute mills. So many people in the mills were Scottish crofters or Irish farmers who came to Dundee for work. "The jute barons made a fortune out of these people. They gave them work, which allowed them to have houses and so on, but Dundee still had the worst child poverty in history at the time - and these people were living half a mile away from some of the richest people in the world." The industry endured a steady decline from the 1870s onwards, prompting many workers to migrate from the east coast of Scotland to the south of Asia. Brian said: "In the Fifties, there were these people who left Dundee to go and invigorate the jute industry in India. "They went to India, learned Indian and lived pioneering lives. "Some of these ´Jute Wallahs´ had an amazing time - it was the high point of their lives. When they came back, they formed this Calcutta society and they all lived in Dundee speaking Indian. "It´s easy to laugh at that thought but these people had a real go and had interesting lives, and I admire them for that." It didn´t work out so well for everyone, though, as Brian discovered. "On one hand, jute gave people a whole new life, but at the same time it also reduced life for many people, and gave them a really tough time," he said. "For some it was salvation, for others it was utterly horrendous. "There are still some unanswered questions for me. One of the questions that the programme only touches on is how did these people - most of whom were men - learn to spin and weave? "It also turns out that women went over and just disappeared. Died. "We visited a graveyard near one of the mills where they think those women might be buried. "The rumour is that these women went out and were all wiped out very quickly, because their immune systems couldn´t cope and it ended pretty horribly for them." He added: "The Scots organised the Empire and organised it very well. But you can still feel the shadow of the Empire in Calcutta all these years later. "They have a cemetery in Calcutta which is full of people from Scotland, and actually has a whole section of people from Dundee who were all buried there." The film also touches on the taboo, as it was at the time, of Anglo-Indian relationships - and Dundee´s dual status as the UK´s whaling capital as well as having one of the country´s biggest populations of females per capita. Brian said: "So many women came to work in the mills that the city was nicknamed Shetown." The actor remembers the last days of the jute industry, and considers the pioneering spirit of the jute emigrants to be something he has in common with them. He said: "When you´re born in Dundee, the thing you´re very much aware of is the River Tay and the water. Being so close to water you get that sense of journey, of travelling to go somewhere. "It´s very much in keeping with the Scottish character, which is, I think, a nomadic character - going off, doing things, coming back. "I use Stevenson´s great saying: ´I travel not to go anywhere but instead to go, the great affair is to move...´ "You see that in the people who went out there - they were up for an adventure. For me it was to go south and become an actor. Dundee had one of the best theatres in the country but I didn´t properly appreciate that at the time." The budding actor headed to London in the 1960s, and has gone on to forge himself a career that has led to him being regarded as one of the best in the country. In theatre, he´s seen as one of the leading Shakespearean actors, while in film, he has landed prominent parts in big blockbusters. He also gives the voice to one of the farmers in the much-anticipated reimagining of Roald Dahl´s Fantastic Mr Fox with Meryl Streep and George Clooney. It´s a long way from his roots. Brian said: "My family history is bound up in jute. My parents followed their parents into the mills but the closest I got was as a wee boy, peering through the open doors of the Eagle JuteWorks on a hot summer´s day. "I remember being dazzled by all the noise, the dust and the activity. "I made my own escape from the city and from my parents´ background by becoming an actor." Brian Cox´s Jute Journey, BBC2, Monday, October 5. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- CREATION A man said to his wife one day, "I don´t know how you can be so stupid and so beautiful all at the same time." The wife responded, "Allow me to explain. God made me beautiful so you would be attracted to me; God made me stupid so I would be attracted to you!" ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ THIS DATE IN HISTORY …. …. …. November 1 SISTINE CHAPEL OPENS TO PUBLIC The ceiling of the Sistine Chapel in Rome, one of Italian artist Michelangelo´s finest works, is exhibited to the public for the first time. Michelangelo Buonarroti, the greatest of the Italian Renaissance artists, was born in the small village of Caprese in 1475. The son of a government administrator, he grew up in Florence, a center of the early Renaissance movement, and became an artist´s apprentice at age 13. Demonstrating obvious talent, he was taken under the wing of Lorenzo de´ Medici, the ruler of the Florentine republic and a great patron of the arts. After demonstrating his mastery of sculpture in such works as the Pieta (1498) and David (1504), he was called to Rome in 1508 to paint the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel—the chief consecrated space in the Vatican. Michelangelo´s epic ceiling frescoes, which took several years to complete, are among his most memorable works. Central in a complex system of decoration featuring numerous figures are nine panels devoted to biblical world history. The most famous of these is The Creation of Adam, a painting in which the arms of God and Adam are stretching toward each other. In 1512, Michelangelo completed the work. After 15 years as an architect in Florence, Michelangelo returned to Rome in 1534, where he would work and live for the rest of his life. That year saw his painting of the The Last Judgment on the wall above the altar in the Sistine Chapel for Pope Paul III. The massive painting depicts Christ´s damnation of sinners and blessing of the virtuous and is regarded as a masterpiece of early Mannerism. Michelangelo worked until his death in 1564 at the age of 88. In addition to his major artistic works, he produced numerous other sculptures, frescoes, architectural designs, and drawings, many of which are unfinished and some of which are lost. In his lifetime, he was celebrated as Europe´s greatest living artist, and today he is held up as one of the greatest artists of all time, as exalted in the visual arts as William Shakespeare is in literature or Ludwig van Beethoven is in music. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ IN A COURT OF LAW ……………….. ATTORNEY: What was the first thing your husband said to you that morning? WITNESS: He said , ´Where am I, Cathy?´ ATTORNEY: And why did that upset you? WITNESS: My name is Susan! ____________________________________________ ATTORNEY: What gear were you in at the moment of the impact? WITNESS: Gucci sweats and Reeboks. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ SILENT SENTINEL In the heart of Palakkad town sits Tipu’s Fort, a majestic edifice with a chequered past. Sheila Kumar takes a ramble. It lies sunning itself in somnolent fashion, belying a far-from-peaceful past life. Witness to history: The Palakkad Fort. It is Tipu’s fort but it was built by his father Hyder Ali in 1766. The sizeable fortress is a striking feature of Palakkad town, one which most locals take entirely for granted. There are those who take a brisk walk through the interiors, part of their morning constitutional. Others head to the Hanuman mandir situated at the entrance and believed to be as old as the fort itself. Still others use the fort as a landmark while giving instructions to various other places in the town. However, ask a Palakkad citizen a particular question regarding the fort and he/she will shrug and indicate that well, it was always there, it is there and hopefully, will always be there; end of story. Oh, the fact that the fort is also known as the Palakkad Fort contributes even more to its downscaling in the public imagination. Palakkad, for those who may not know much about the place, is a small, scenic town in the lowlands of the Sahyadri ranges, a composition of emerald green paddy fields, mist-capped mountains, with a perennial breeze from the Palghat Gap blowing through. And Tipu’s Fort is without doubt, the pivotal jewel in this pretty tiara. The fort, square in shape, with a drawbridge at the entrance and bastions at all four corners as well as in the centre, sits on a gentle hillock, to one end of the arterial Sultanpet area of town. Water flows in the moat and one unconsciously searches for the rare croc or maybe a monitor lizard immobile on a bank; there is nary even a fish to be seen, though. It is indeed, a good-looking bastion, as it lies sunning itself in somnolent fashion, belying a far-from-peaceful past life. The history of the 15-acre fort has been a chequered one, as almost everything under the suzerainty of Tipu was. Long ago, when Palakkad Achchan, the local ruler, declared independence from the Zamorins of Calicut (now Kozhikode), the latter were determined to go to war to reclaim what they saw as their property. The local ruler sought the help of the King of Mysore province and it was Hyder Ali who was deputed to help him. Eventually, Hyder Ali took over this area and in 1766, built the fort with the help of French engineers. The fort became Hyder Ali’s military headquarters as also a centre for improving trade and communication between both sides of the Western Ghats, most specifically between the then Palghat and Coimbatore. Hyder Ali ruled over Malabar and Kochi provinces and in time, his son Tipu Sultan inherited those areas. In 1768, the British, under Colonel Wood, captured the fort from Hyder Ali. It was a bitterly fought battle and a large part of this splendid structure sustained damage. However, soon Hyder Ali took back the fort and made good all the damage. The British weren’t sitting back, though, and in 1784, after an 11-day siege, Colonel Fullerton stormed the massive, laterite walls. The wheel continued to turn a full circle when the Calicut Zamorin gained control of the battlement again. By this time, Tipu Sultan was in the fray; he moved troops to take back the fort. Due to a delay in the arrival of help dispatched by Colonel Fullerton, the Zamorin abandoned the fortress and thus, it became Tipu’s. The last battle at the Palghat fort was in 1790, when the British under Colonel Stuart captured the stronghold again and used it as a crucial base for the final onslaught on Srirangapatnam. Once ensconced in the place, the British carried out extensive renovations and it continued to be in use till well into the 19th century. The fort is in the middle of a maidan, the kotamaidanam, once used as a sprawling camp for Tipu’s soldiers, as well as a place to stable the horses and elephants of his army. Today, expos, circuses and fairs aplenty are held in the maidan. Close by are an open air auditorium and a small museum. Tipu’s fort is ASI territory now and they have done a good job of restoration and maintenance. The interiors hold a small museum, a sub-jail and a martyr’s column. The devout go seek darshan at the Hanuman temple. The walkers/joggers go for their amble/run on the neat paths inside the ramparts. Young couples tryst by the huge tree that spreads its branches wide in the centre of the fort. And life goes on as usual, inside and outside this beautiful monument. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- BOOK REVIEW ….. A woman’s odyssey By Durgabati Ghose. Trans. Somdatta Mandal. Reviewed by Sumit Ahlawat THERE is hardly any historical travelogue written by an Indian about some foreign land. However, the late 19th century and the early 20th century witnessed an explosion of travel literature from eastern India, particularly Bengal. The spread of English education provided the narrative for such travelogues. The Bengali bhadrlok learnt to see Europe through English education that in many ways emancipated them from their traditional frameworks. Durgabati Ghose’s The Westward Traveller belongs to the genre of such literature. Unlike their male counterparts, middle-class Bengali women hardly travelled to the West alone. Most of them accompanied their male family members, usually their husbands, fathers or sons, and hence the kind of metaphysical roads they travelled were also qualitatively different. In this respect, The book offers a significant contribution to the history of women’s travel narratives from colonial Bengal. The reader can sense the conventionality, conservatism, and domesticity of a middle-class Bengali household female. As Ghose moves into previously unknown areas, her consciousness also expands. In this sense the book is a record of her unfolding consciousness in relation to her changing experiences due to her travels. Her discovery or encounter of Europe gives a new sense not only to Europe but also to her home. The first half of the travelogue tells us about Ghose’s sea sickness, monotony of travel, observation of different co-passengers, etc. She visits Aden, Port Said, the Suez Canal, the Red Sea, Italy, France, Switzerland, Austria, and finally Britain. There is a lot of touristy kind of information. Though it does not completely read like a travel guide, her narration is full of conversations with ordinary people. The travelogue also offers nuggets of history. The author describes in detail the air-raid evacuation plasticised during Mussolini’s time and a very personal and humorous interaction with the world-renowned psychologist Professor Sigmund Freud. Such incidents provide fodder for historians of subaltern studies. Besides, the book is a key to enter the mental universe of a young middle-class Bengali housewife of the 1930s. On seeing six Bengali youths in a dance club, the author feels sad for their parents who send them abroad for higher studies. She describes belly dancers as "shameless since birth". The reader encounters Ghose’s dejection from the glamour of Western cities, her rejection of their lifestyles and her home sickness in her rather short travel. Wherever she goes, she finds herself a misfit in that society. All this also brings home the fact that more than anything, travelling is an art, which demands first and foremost an open mind and an idea of relativity of cultures, that every culture has its own logic and ethics and that there are no universal ethics and morals applicable equally to all cultures. The sheer fact that the book was written in 1932, moreover by an Indian woman travelling first time outside India, trying to make sense of the modern Western world that till now she has known only as the dominant colonial power, makes it an important social document that would be of interest not only to historians and feminist writers but also to all those who share a passion and romance for bygone days and times. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- On the first day, God created the dog and said: ´Sit all day by the door of your house and bark at anyone who comes in or walks past. For this, I will give you a life span of twenty years.´ The dog said: ´That´s a long time to be barking. How about only ten years and I´ll give you back the other ten?´ So God agreed. On the second day, God created the monkey and said: ´Entertain people, do tricks, and make them laugh. For this, I´ll give you a twenty-year life span.´ The monkey said: ´Monkey tricks for twenty years? That´s a pretty long time to perform. How about I give you back ten like the Dog did?´ And God agreed. On the third day, God created the cow and said: ´You must go into the field with the farmer all day long and suffer under the sun, have calves and give milk to support the farmer´s family. For this, I will give you a life span of sixty years.´ The cow said: ´That´s kind of a tough life you want me to live for sixty years. How about twenty and I´ll give back the other forty?´ And God agreed again. On the fourth day, God created man and said: ´Eat, sleep, play, marry and enjoy your life. For this, I´ll give you twenty years.´ But man said: ´Only twenty years? Could you possibly give me my twenty, the forty the cow gave back, the ten the monkey gave back, and the ten the dog gave back; that makes eighty, okay?´ ´Okay,´ said God, ´You asked for it.´ So that is why for our first twenty years we eat, sleep, play and enjoy ourselves. For the next forty years we slave in the sun to support our family. For the next ten years we do monkey tricks to entertain the grandchildren. And for the last ten years we sit on the front porch and bark at everyone. Life has now been explained to you. There is no need to thank me for this valuable information. I´m doing it as a public service. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ SHARING SWEET STORIES Kavitha Srinivasa BANGALORE: THREE ANNAS. This may not mean much to today’s youth but that’s all that one had to pay to savour succulent, delectable jamuns. Those were the early innings of Bhagatram Sweets which Bhagatram Jamnadas started in 1948 on Commercial Street. From selling jamuns in banana leaves, the sweet story has grown over six decades. Jamnadas was in his 20s when he migrated from Delhi to Bangalore in search of green pastures. With very little to fall back on, he decided to cash on his culinary skills. This was an obvious choice because he came from a family of mithaiwallas. That’s how he rented out a modest place in Commercial Street and made jamuns and jalebis. Since Bangalore had a large Anglo-Indian community, it was natural that the sweet stall gained acceptance by mid-fifties. Slowly, people from various walks of life began to frequent stall which Jamnadas eventually bought. “My father used to tell me that Commercial Street was desolated in the forties. The place was poorly lit and there were hardly any pedestrians,” recalled B Giridhar. Yet, Jamnadas managed to survive at that time by keeping his store open for an hour in the morning and an hour in the evening. The clients were few but many returned to eat the jamuns characterised by his signature touch. By the sixties, the store had gained acceptance and increased its variety. “Ours was probably the only Indian mithai store on Commercial Street at that time. That’s perhaps why we’ve managed to attract the second and third generation customers,” added Giridhar, who is the only one among Jamnadas’ eight children to have joined his father’s business. Giridhar entered the business in the seventies as a teenager. As time progressed, the food entrepreneur introduced a variety of almond-based sweets and namkeens. Giridhar’s love for experimenting with sweets goes back to his childhood when he watched his father making jamuns. Incidentally Bhagatram sells over 2,000 jamuns everyday, which can even go up to 5,000 during the festive season. The secret recipe has been passed on to Giridhar from his late father. And if Giridhar is to be believed, he can make 500 jamuns in half an hour, backed by a 30-member workforce. Over time, Bhagatram shifted to a bigger premise in Commercial Street, though the original store is still retained as a manufacturing unit. With this, the image of Bhagatram changed from being a sweet stall to a full fledged eatery, thrown open to customers for lunch. Office-goers come in for the thali while shoppers are treated to chaats in the evenings. Around 400 foodies drop by everyday to savour the delicacies. Besides catering to those with a sweet tooth, the store also has an assortment of sugarless mithais. While Jamnadas died sometime ago, Giridhar plans to sell canned jamuns in the future. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Mildred Moncreff: NAGPURS LAST WAC.(I) By Noel Dias, Nagpur, India The year was 1939. Dark war clouds had gathered over Europe, Hitler had invaded Poland and Britain got dragged into the war. In Asia the army of imperial Japan had overrun China & was pressing on. Its final destination was India. The British were facing an unprecedented dilemma; they had an empire to defend, one so large that the sun never set over it & adding to their woes was the fact that many of their colonies were fighting for independence. England required all the men and material it could gather & soon even women were being recruited for wartime service. A young Anglo Indian lady from Nagpur answered the appeal for enlistment and she joined the Woman’s Auxiliary Corps of India or the WAC (I) as it was better known. She was assigned the P.R (communication) branch and was posted at Kamptee a cantonment 15 kms away from Nagpur. There she soon gained the love and admiration of all around her and became the most popular young lady not just for her beauty & charm but also because of her warm and caring nature. The war continued for a few more years & then the tide turned, by 1944 Hitler and his armies had their backs to the wall & in less than a years time the Axis were defeated in Europe. In Asia, on the 15th of Aug 1945 a few days after the two nuclear bombs were dropped the Japanese imperial forces were forced to surrender. This was what world was desperately waiting to hear for a long time. Many families had a member in Japanese prisoner of war camps and survival in those camps was bleak. Malaria, dysentery tropical diseases, malnutrition and savage beatings caused many to perish. People back home waited for the war to end and longed for the return of their loved ones, communication of any sort was impossible from a Japanese P.O.W camp & many P.O.W’s were not heard of since their capture, years ago. On the 15th of Aug 1945 this lady’s commanding officer summoned her to his office and told her that he wanted “HER” to break the good news of Japans surrender to the people of Nagpur, a task usually reserved for a high ranking officer. Delighted, she telephoned the local press and passed on the news that Japan had surrendered & the Second World War was finally over. This lady was Mildred Moncrieff. After the war the Johnnies came marching home & so did the P.O.W’s & finally the W.A.C (I) got disbanded. Milly Moncrieff joined the state electricity board and worked there till she retired in the 70’s. Although forever cheerful and smiling she had a fair share of misfortune. She lived all alone being widowed early in life and was childless, her brother lived in distant England & her relatives were scattered all over the globe. Notwithstanding all this she enjoyed life and never complained, she loved cooking and made the best cakes ever. Her walnut cake had no equals and each year she’d make lime squash from the limes that grew in her garden, it was simply the best lime squash. She looked forward to the weekly housie at the Catholic institute and loved to attend all the A.I functions. The lord was kind to her and blessed her with true friends and loyal servants. The Sam Maneckshaw of Nagpur Brig Terrence Barretto who himself is a veteran of the second world war would visit her regularly to find out if all was O.K. so did the grand old lady of Bilaspur Mr.’s Webber who would visit her even when she was well into her 80’s, a long bus journey notwithstanding. They knew each other since their railway colony days in Bilaspur in the 1930’s and counted on each other for moral support. Their greatest treasures were the host of memories they shared of days long gone by. Towards the end, old age and ill health confined her to the four walls of her home & after a brief illness on the 26th of Jan 2003 she surrendered to the Lord. With her went her baking skills & her magical recipes. She was 87. She left behind many wonderful memories and a chapter of history. After all she was Nagpur’s last Anglo Indian W.A.C (I). Those who knew her can never forget her. Rest in peace Aunty Millie. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- That’s all for this issue Folks. Till we speak again through the words of this newsletter take care and Enjoy! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Published by: Lynette M. Rebeiro June/July 2010 Phone: (905) 676 – 1086 e-mail: drebeiro@sympatico.ca Hello Readers: I sincerely hope you and your families are enjoying the beginning of the beautiful summer season. Here in Canada we have been having a lot of rain, but mixed with the sunshine hot humid days it is divine. My strawberries are just coming out in abundance and we are also enjoying the fruits of everyone’s labour here at work. I love taking home small bags of cherries, plums, zucchini and cucumbers, best of all are the plump hand grown tomatos. Nothing beats garden fresh produce – everything is fresh and devoid of pesticides and chemicals. I hope you enjoy this issue, and please do write and let me know what else you would like included in this newsletter. I try to vary the stories and articles – your feedback is greatly appreciated. And on that note…..Best wishes to You and Yours, from Me and Mine! Enjoy dear readers. Lynne -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- CONTENTS … … … 1. Publishers Letters 2. March of the white brigade 3. THE MURDER OF MEREDITH KERCHER 4. This Date In History: FDR signs G.I. Bill .. Jun 22, 1944 5. The temple of Munroe 6. BOOK REVIEW ….. AN EQUAL MUSIC: A NOVEL – Vikram Seth 7. THE BURRA SAHIB OF CHAI 8. THE COIMBATORE BOOK CLUB REVIEW - TEA & ME ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Letters To The Publisher Very wonderful and thoroughly enjoyable. Thank you Lynne. Chloe xx Jennifer Braun, President´s Office, Edgewood College Madison, WI 53711 ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- March of the white brigade CHITHIRA VIJAYKUMAR The concept of the ‘battle of the sexes´ is a phrase much used — or rather, abused. To reiterate that it is association rather than war that will help the cause of gender equality, the Forum of Anglo-Indian Women launched the White Ribbon Campaign in India, with the inauguration in Chennai. It was a campaign that began halfway around the world, in a Canada that was still reeling from the shock of the Montreal Massacre; 14 women were killed by a 25-year-old man claiming he was “fighting feminism.” Two years later, in 1989, men there launched a campaign to speak out against and end violence against women, and wore a white ribbon as a symbol of this commitment. Beatrix D´Souza, founder of the Forum and former MLA and MP, spoke of the experiences that she confronted in dealing with women´s issues. “Women are penned in; there´s trafficking, rape, foeticide, infanticide, harassment and dowry. We are saying that men need to make their voices heard in this struggle.” The Forum had chosen seven prominent men from the city as ambassadors, to take the pledge against violence against women and make a change in their respective fields — including former bureaucrat Moosa Raza, Commissioner of Police T. Rajendran, writer Timeri Murari and Ranvir Shah of the Prakriti Foundation. “The police still largely lack the psychological and emotional training to deal sensitively with gender issues,” said Rajendran. “We could do with counsellors and therapists to help.” Dr. Sajan Hegde, orthopaedic surgeon at the Apollo Hospitals was also an ambassador. “Unfortunately, the medical profession comes into the picture after the damage is done — they come to us with black eyes, bruises, dislocations and more.” Timeri Murari pointed in jest to the “two brave men” who sat with the women in the audience, while the others gathered on the other side; saying that even at occasions such as these, the camaraderie that should come naturally to us was still largely absent. Theatre person Tehzeeb Katari read poetry at the event — “I got flowers today” — about women who put up with abuse and domestic violence for years, hoping things will change. “We plan to take this movement to the colleges, office spaces and the streets,” said D´Souza. “This is only a beginning.” ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- THE MURDER OF MEREDITH KERCHER The murder of Meredith Kercher (an Anglo-Indian exchange student) took place in Perugia, Italy, on 1 November 2007. Police discovered the body of the 21-year-old British student, who was part of a university exchange programme, on 2 November 2007, at the house that she shared with other students. Kercher was found lying partially clothed under a duvet in her locked bedroom, her windpipe crushed and her throat partially slashed. The event initially appeared to be a routine one-man rape-murder (with the man admitting he saw her die). However, it became highly notable in world media when prosecutors treated the event as a sexual torture killing, allegedly pre-planned by 3 people aged 20-23 who had known each other less than 3 weeks. On 6 November 2007, police arrested 3 of 4 suspects: Patrick Diya Lumumba, Congolese owner of a local bar; Amanda Knox, an American student; and Raffaele Sollecito, an Italian student (and 2-week boyfriend of Knox). Lumumba was later released and exonerated. An arrest warrant was issued against Rudy Hermann Guédé, an Ivorian long-term resident of Perugia, based on DNA and fingerprint evidence found on the victim´s body. On 20 November 2007 he was arrested in Germany, and on 6 December extradited to Italy. The three suspects were held in custody in Perugia and were charged with murder, sexual assault and theft. Guédé, who had elected for a fast-track trial, admitted in November 2007 to being with Kercher when she died, claiming that an intruder stabbed her, but was convicted on 28 October 2008 of conspiracy to murder Kercher and sentenced to thirty years in prison. The trial of the two remaining suspects, Amanda Knox and her former boyfriend Raffaele Sollecito, began on 16 January 2009. On 4 December 2009, both were found guilty of murder, sexual violence, and other charges. Amanda Knox, 22, was sentenced to 26 years in prison, while Raffaele Sollecito, 25, received 25 years. Prosecutors had sought life terms for Knox and Sollecito, but, after 14 hours of deliberation, a jury handed them lesser sentences because they were young and had no criminal records. The case received heavy media interest in Italy, the United Kingdom and the United States. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- W O R D S A husband read an article to his wife about how many words women use a day... 30,000 to a man´s 15,000. The wife replied, "The reason has to be because we have to repeat everything to men... The husband then turned to his wife and asked, "What?" ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ THIS DATE IN HISTORY …. …. …. FDR signs G.I. Bill Jun 22, 1944: On this day in 1944, U.S. President Franklin D. Roosevelt signs the G.I. Bill, an unprecedented act of legislation designed to compensate returning members of the armed services--known as G.I.s--for their efforts in World War II. As the last of its sweeping New Deal reforms, Roosevelt´s administration created the G.I. Bill--officially the Servicemen´s Readjustment Act of 1944--hoping to avoid a relapse into the Great Depression after the war ended. FDR particularly wanted to prevent a repeat of the Bonus March of 1932, when 20,000 unemployed veterans and their families flocked in protest to Washington. The American Legion, a veteran´s organization, successfully fought for many of the provisions included in the bill, which gave returning servicemen access to unemployment compensation, low-interest home and business loans, and--most importantly--funding for education. By giving veterans money for tuition, living expenses, books, supplies and equipment, the G.I. Bill effectively transformed higher education in America. Before the war, college had been an option for only 10-15 percent of young Americans, and university campuses had become known as a haven for the most privileged classes. By 1947, in contrast, vets made up half of the nation´s college enrollment; three years later, nearly 500,000 Americans graduated from college, compared with 160,000 in 1939. As educational institutions opened their doors to this diverse new group of students, overcrowded classrooms and residences prompted widespread improvement and expansion of university facilities and teaching staffs. An array of new vocational courses were developed across the country, including advanced training in education, agriculture, commerce, mining and fishing--skills that had previously been taught only informally. The G.I. Bill became one of the major forces that drove an economic expansion in America that lasted 30 years after World War II. Only 20 percent of the money set aside for unemployment compensation under the bill was given out, as most veterans found jobs or pursued higher education. Low interest home loans enabled millions of American families to move out of urban centers and buy or build homes outside the city, changing the face of the suburbs. Over 50 years, the impact of the G.I. Bill was enormous, with 20 million veterans and dependents using the education benefits and 14 million home loans guaranteed, for a total federal investment of $67 billion. Among the millions of Americans who have taken advantage of the bill are former Presidents George H.W. Bush and Gerald Ford, former Vice President Al Gore and entertainers Johnny Cash, Ed McMahon, Paul Newman and Clint Eastwood. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ The temple of Munroe RUKMINI BANERJI The story of how a picture of Thomas Munroe came to adorn the walls of a Hanuman temple near Cuddappah. It was dark. Cuddapah was still quite far away. The gently sloping road ahead seemed to go on and on. “There is a temple on the way,” said one of our companions. “We must stop there. It is a small temple but a temple with an interesting story.” The legend was that as Ram and Sita made their way back from Lanka to Ayodhya, Hanuman went ahead. He would search for a good place for the royal couple to stop and rest on their journey home. Not far from where we were was one such place. Hanuman had chosen a cave by the side of a river. To mark the spot, Hanuman hung a golden rope across two hill tops. So that from a distance the rope could be seen. The story continues. Ram and Sita did indeed stop at the cave. Grateful for Hanuman’s efforts, Ram etched a picture of Hanuman on the stone walls of the cave. Centuries later …………………..Hundreds of years later, in British times, Thomas Munroe was the Collector of Cuddapah. Travelling through the hills, late one night, he saw a gleaming rope of gold stretched from one hill top to another. “What is that” he asked his companions. “Why is there a golden rope hanging from one hill top to another?” There was a long silence. No one among Munro’s companions spoke. No one could see the rope that Munroe was referring to. No one had the courage to speak. Finally, an elderly man spoke up. “He who can see the golden rope is blessed. But he will die in a few months.” Thomas Munroe looked at his companions in disbelief and put the story aside as superstition. But it must have stayed with him. It is said that he even wrote about this incident in his diary. In a few months time, Munroe was dead. We stayed silent. We could not see any golden rope over the river. The dark hills passed us by. Our thoughts going back and forth: the mythical story of Hanuman and the unlikely fate of Munroe. In some time we came to the temple. A small glow of light in the darkening night. There were hardly any people in the temple. A few priests were conducting the evening aarti. It was easy to walk right into the inner sanctum of the temple. There was a carving of Hanuman on the stone walls. Parts of the carving had been covered in silver. Till today, Hanuman’s service to Ram was being acknowledged, celebrated and worshipped. Taking his place ……………………..Out in the main hall, a few people sat on the floor listening to the aarti. High above on the walls were framed pictures. Most were of gods and goddesses. In the centre, prominently displayed was one of Ram and Sita. The glass framing the picture had been smeared with holy ash, haldi and kumkum. There was a garland of fresh flowers encircling the frame. Right next to Ram and Sita was a framed picture of Thomas Munroe. Like the gods and goddesses around him, he too was covered in haldi-kumkum and crowned with flowers. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- BOOK REVIEW ….. AN EQUAL MUSIC: A NOVEL By: Vikram Seth From Publishers Weekly Seth finds his true voice in this lyrical, ravishing tale of star-crossed lovers/ An English violinist and the pianist he desperately pursues. Unlike his previous work, A Suitable Boy (a 1349-page family melodrama set in 1950s India and self-consciously modeled on the social novels of Dickens, Trollope and Eliot), this novel is tightly controlled, original in design, awash in the music -- and spirit of Mozart, Beethoven, Schubert, Haydn, Brahms and Bach. Even readers not familiar with specific pieces of Western classical music will be caught up in the contemporary love story, set mainly in London and Vienna with excursions to Venice and northern England. Michael Holme, brooding member of an English string quartet, endlessly adrift a decade after breaking up with pianist Julia McNicholl, suddenly bumps into her again in London. They resume their affair - with guilty reluctance on her part, as she´s married to an American banker and has a son, but with reckless abandon by Michael, who betrays and then ditches his girlfriend, a needy French violin student 15 years his junior. Beyond mere erotic duplicities, a far more tragic obstacle emerges -- Julia is rapidly going deaf. Music, her lifeblood, is slipping away from her, a secret she keeps from her fellow musicians until Michael clumsily reveals it. Around this simple plot, Seth weaves an exploration of the creative process as he delves into the quartet members´ quirks and neuroses, their romances, states of exaltation, their synchronous vision. All the rehearsals, shoptalk, fiddling and ruminations blunt the impact of Julia´s tragedy and the love story´s momentum, but Seth´s musical, quicksilver prose keeps the narrative aloft. It´s a classy novel, told with keen intelligence and sensitivity, embodying a brave attempt to fathom the world of deafness as well as the high-strung milieu of performing artists. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- How do you decide who to marry? -You got to find somebody who likes the same stuff. Like, if you like sports, she should like it that you like sports, and she should keep the chips and dip coming. -- Alan, age 10 -No person really decides before they grow up who they´re going to marry. God decides it all way before, and you get to find out later who you´re stuck with. -- Kristen, age 10 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- THE BURRA SAHIB OF CHAI………… Cups of Cheer The start of the journey from Calcutta had gone well so far for the travellers without any major drama . But this did not last when suddenly the serenity in the carriage was shattered by a piercing yell . It was a Chai Wallah making his rounds with his repetitious cries of " Chai , Chai . Gurum Chai . " The intrepid Chai seller had entered the carriage as soon as the train had stopped at Burdwan station. Ram Ram , as was his moniker , had sorely tested the passengers´ ire at being aroused from their slumber at dawn. However , as the saying goes , " Who dares , wins " , and but for a few disgruntled passengers , customers for the " Cups of Cheer " were not lacking. Some people were heard to remark that it was a very enjoyable experience for them to be served morning tea in bed . Thus , it was on this day , that the phrase , " Home was never like this " , first became to be used . As the train enters South Indian territory from East India , the cries of " Chai ´ are replaced by those of " Coffee , Coffee " , by the sellers of that beverage on the station platforms . The weary sleepy- eyed traveller will heave a sign of relief when assured that there are not many Ram Rams in this part of the woods . As history has revealed , the Battles of Waterloo , and Plassey were lost by the French because of the lack of Puchka and Chaat Wallahs ; and so it is , that most people in Kolkata need the humble Chai to power them through the day . Thus , it is not surprising , that the City Of Joy to cater to the needs of its people , has encouraged a proliferation of Chai Vendors , who if they had to go on strike , would mean that the city would shut down . Surely then can Chai be called the Burrah Sahib of the beverages , with its homes chiefly in the beautiful gardens of the hill stations of Darjeeling , Assam and Cooty. Nowhere in the world , but in Kolkata , would you be able to buy such good quality Chai at such ridiculously low prices . Just ignore the fact that some Char Wallahs use the same tea leaves several times . The price of a cup of Chai depends on such things as location ( restaurant or roadside shop ) ,and the container ( porcelain or earthen ware ) in which it is sold . Char sold in a small cup costs between Rs. 2.5 and Rs. 4 . Have you ever wondered why there are so many more people in Kolkata walking about in the day than in the night ? It is because the pavements are usually used at night for sleeping by homeless people , which people have to walk the streets in the day, as they have no home to go to . Unfortunately ,some of the Chai vendors , who get a pittance for their tea , join the crowd of homeless at night on the footpaths . ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ THE COIMBATORE BOOK CLUB REVIEW - TEA & ME By Brian McDonald COIMBATORE: November 24, 2008 - Before the exodus of Europeans from India post-Independence, the city of Coimbatore entertained well-known visitors such as, Robert Stanes, Pierce Leslie and Brooke Bond. It also sheltered rulers’ horses, housed British administrators and planters and played host to national leaders. Nanies clad in white pushed around prams the melody of the church organ echoed in the neighbourhood and the city of Coimbatore was also home to birds, butterflies and dragonflies. Where the new grows around the old, the evening of Sunday, November 23, 2008 and all roads in the city of Coimbatore, ceded to the British in 1799, its first District Collector in 1803 H.S.Greame, sporting a walrus moustache and a city that once helped transport the produce from tea plantations to the plains on a nine-and-a-half mile ropeway, led to Mani’s High School where members of The Coimbatore Book Club gathered together to review TEA & ME that brings to life the romance of tea, in the presence of its author Eddy Davidar. Unmindful of the morning sunshine giving way to thick formation of clouds, but as if on call, the rain held back and the city, now famous for its frequent interruptions in power supply, thanks to some awfully poor planning on the part of the Electricity Department, the evening began with a rumble as the gathering’s collective cheer reaching its highest decibel level, the club President addressed the gathering in a shrill voice that could hardly be heard. Man-of-the-Evening Pierce Nigli and I do not know what the fella had for lunch, but it would have certainly contained an excessive amount of chilli and a pinch of dynamite. Making up for the shrill voice of the President, in an exhibition of kinetic energy, he reviewed the book TEA & ME in a baritone from specially selected passages in the presence of its author and a truly lovely audience, exchanging pleasantries and wearing smiles as long as the river Thames. At his best reminding one, that the best teachers are those who get their children to think after a lesson has been taken and the retired State Bank of India General Manager, deserves an extra round of applause. And some passages on being read by him brought the audience to the edge of their seats, as if watching that cliff hanger of a last ball finish in that Famous 1960 Brisbane Cricket Tie between Australia led by Richie Benaud and the West Indies by the late Sir Frank Worrell who once donated blood to save the life of the Indian cricket captain Nari Contractor. And the narration might well have had the inevitability of The Coimbatore Book Club members and the author himself along with his daughter and a charming young lady Divya Sridharan, who interviewed the Octogenarian prior to the Review representing The Hindu newspaper, tucking into chocolates later that evening. Men superbly dressed in freshly laundered shirts and the ladies, sporting different hairstyles were on display on a wintry evening chilly and cold. And this Journalist by nil training, Brian McDonald invited to the Review as a guest of the Herbert family Prince and Sharmila, a future read from the palm of his hand sporting an outdated hippy hairstyle, an increasingly fading Mexican moustache and the grandson of an ancient coffee planter, believes that the hair dressing bills of some, might well have exceed that of British Prime Minister Gordon Brown’s wife who recently paid out $7000 in a month and says, it’s the gospel truth indeed. All good things must come to an end and so did an exciting evening in the company of Eddie Davidar and his daughter Ruth and but for Ruth, chanting – “come on Dad, come on Daddy write, write, write at least a page a day ”, TEA & ME could never have been a book to read. And therefore, thanks to Ruth, now like the Beatles and Elvis Presley giving us some of the best pages of pop music, Eddy Davidar has certainly given us some of the best pages of life on tea plantations with a notably great writing brain. And with the Octogenarian still looking as good as ever for another innings, may just be the biggest ever comeback of his roller coaster days planting tea in the company of those European planters with whom he enjoyed a rapport and imbuing his proleges with a sense of what it means to wear shorts, like what it means to Mercy Oommen, Valsa Fenn, Prince Herbert and Pierce Nigli to wear the Stanes school tie. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------- That’s all for this issue Folks. Till we speak again through the words of this newsletter take care and Enjoy! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- AJNI RAILWAY COLONY By: RAVINDRA BHALERAO Last month I had been on a ramble through the Ajni colony here in Nagpur doing a bit of research, and I am sure you will like to read about how it is like . Did you say you had visited Ajni back when you were a girl—or was it someone else? I tend to get a bit forgetful these days. The old landmarks are still there, but oh, what a crowd ! Hateful crowds on that road overbridge that spans the railway tracks below. Bikes and mobikes and scooters and autorickshaws, youngsters zooming past treacherously, everyone seems to be a mad rush from morning to night. You cross the overbridge and begin to descend to find that a row of shops have sprung up, mostly cheap restaurants, photocopy, phone booths, and paan and cycle repairs of course. But it is still calm and quiet within the colony. You will still find those brick-red bungalows nestling among a jungle of trees and families seated on chairs drawn up in the frontyard chatting away or plainly savouring the calm and solitude of the greenery around. Then there’s that cheerful little church, St Anthony’s RC Church, where on Sunday mornings you can hear the congregation singing hymns of praise. The melody floats out, soft and sweet, mingling with the breeze and the gentle rustle of the trees, so quiet and restful. Ajni is a good 3 kms south of the main railway station. Why have a railway colony so far-removed from the station? As far as I know, there is no rule that says a colony has got to be next to the station. The easiest way to see why a colony came up here is to take a peek at the goods yard from atop the road overbridge. The Ajni goods yard was a wagon interchange point and was built nearly a century ago, a vast establishment complete with all the necessary accompaniments of signal cabins, Yardmaster’s office, carriage and wagon repair shop, transshipment platform, loco shed and turntable. While railway officers stayed in bungalows specially built for them in the Civil Lines area, Ajni became home to a large number of operating staff. Drivers, guards, stationmasters, signalmen, traffic superintendents, loco foremen, shunters, and pointsmen all lived in Ajni. While some of these men served in the goods yard close by, others worked in shifts at the main railway station. Remember that tiny 4-carriage train chugging between Ajni and Nagpur stations? I wonder when this train was begun. I love to call it the ‘Ajni School Bus’ for it was just that : it carried workers staying in Ajni to the main railway station and back. There were 4 services each day, and in between runs the train was stabled in the Ajni steam loco shed. Over the past few decades a good many things have changed, some have even disappeared. The Ajni humpyard is a quiet place today, there is very little shunting, 4-wheeler wagons have passed into history and you won’t find a steam loco anywhere. Horrors ! As for the quaint little passenger train, alas, it was shunted out of use years ago. A tell-tale sign remains though: to the east of the goods yard you will find remnants of a deserted platform where the local train halted, barely recognizable today with overgrown shrubs and railway offices coming up along its length. I hate to see bungalows with sloping tin roofs, but this is how the bungalows in Ajni are. They were probably built with tiles to begin with, and later replaced with corrugated tin. Even the Institute has been subjected to this disfigurement and retains only a part of its splendid tiled roof. Ah, the Ajni European Institute …. What colourful images it brings to mind !! Margaret Deefholts tells me that no true-blue Anglo-Indian get together at a railway Institute would be worth the name without everyone getting up on the floor and dancing. “Jiving was an Anglo-Indian speciality,” she tells me, “and New Year’s Eve saw the dance floor absolutely thronged with people—competitions, novelty dances, exhibition dances, you name it ….” I stepped into the Ajni Institute where a cheerful looking keeper seemed to be eager to show me around. Through a door in the reading room I was led into a large hall with a floor made of wooden planks. This hall, equipped with a wooden stage at one end, also doubles up as an indoor badminton court. Later as he took me around the building, my companion showed me what appeared to be tiny ‘ventilators’ in the walls close to the ground. These air vents let in air below the wooden floor with the object perhaps of keeping the planks free from rot, although the exact purpose served by this arrangement still remains unclear. From the main hall I was led into a smaller hall having a decorative tiled floor. This was the dance hall I was told. My gaze swept across the room in wonderment; the tiles, hexagonal in shape, were dull red in colour spaced at equal intervals with cream coloured ones, and covered every inch of the floor from wall to wall. High up above me was the somber ceiling, its dark wooden beams set in a V-shaped pattern. The place is damp and cold, the floor hasn’t been scrubbed for ages. A sudden gust of wind set the wooden framework high above creaking and groaning, a door banged shut with a crash, followed by an eerie silence again. Then as if out of nowhere came the sound of laughter and murmur of voices, a jazzy tune playing from a hand-cranked gramophone and a jolly group of men and women are seen waltzing all over the floor. The lights are bright, the floor sparkling, the revelers are in high spirits. They pause momentarily. They have seen me, and now they throng around me asking me to join the dance. How very grand !! I wake up with a start to find my companion tapping me on my shoulder. The lights are gone and I can smell the damp and cold again. Bhonsle the keeper shows me a window through which drinks were served from the bar. I tried to open it but the shutter was set fast. This place is full of memories. It takes you back in time when Anglo-Indians were at their peak and proudly ran the railways of India. The Institute was really built for them. Later I walked around the Institute in solitude. The decorative wooden beams and pillars on the outside have begun to chip away. At the backside which faces west, high up above on the masonry the year ‘1916’ can be seen marked in large sized raised letters. Today, more that nine decades later, the Institute is only a hazy reflection of what it once used to be. Before I left, the keeper showed me a tiny library room where stored away in a cupboard were two large boxes. One was an old radio set, perhaps a Murphy, working on valves and now out of use. Remember the tiny red glow seen through the back cover slowly appearing after the set was switched on? Next to the radio was an antique 16mm cinematograph used to project films in the main hall. Both these antiques are out of order, and sadly no one at the Institute could tell me the make. The projector I guess might be a Bell & Howell as this was a big name in portable film projectors in those days. Let me sign off now. Shall tell you more about the Ajni railway colony later. Best wishes, Ravindra, Nagpur, INDIA -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Mrs. Kamla Bhalerao, is the revered Mother of Ravindra Bhalerao, a dear friend whom I have come to know through e-mails and his lovely website. I am honoured to be considered a part of his family. I hope you enjoy this story as much as I did. What cherished memories lie within us to recall and relive. Thank you Aunty Kamla .........Your friend, Lynne NAGPUR (INDIA), 21 July 2010 Dear Lynne, I am unable to make it to the computer café (we don’t have a computer at home at the moment) as I am getting on in years, but Ravindra is there, and he speaks in glowing terms of the very interesting articles to be found on your website, WWW.ANGLO-INDIANS.COM. And at times he even prepares printouts of the INDIA AND BEYOND NEWSLETTER to bring home to show us. This is perhaps the best Anglo-Indian Website there is on the internet, as the contents clearly seem to show. Here is short piece by me called THE MYSTERIOUS STATION MASTER and I feel it will make a nice addition to the INDIA & BEYOND NEWSLETTER. Do put it up on the Newsletter, if it pleases you. With loving good wishes, Kamla Bhalerao ………………………………………………….. THE MYSTERIOUS STATION MASTER By: Kamla Bhalerao I have been asked to pen a few lines telling about the railways of India back when I was a child. Sadly I never paid close attention to what I saw around me while at a station or riding a train then. Had I known that seventy years hence I would be required to record my travels for someone keenly devoted to steam engines and trains, I would have been more observant, maybe I would even have kept a diary. My memories of those days are as vague as the view across a valley on a foggy day. We were three sisters staying in a house tucked away in a tiny sub-district of Maharashtra. Of all the places why this tiny hamlet no one has ever heard of? Had he wanted, dad could easily have secured an appointment in a bustling hospital in Bombay, or some other big place. Many of his friends had set up flourishing practices in big towns and earned handsome fees, but dad was a man of ideals. After completing his LCPS in 1924 he had set up his medical practice in this small town with a population of a few thousand. He was here to serve the poor at a time when a villager would have to travel several miles in a bullock cart along dusty roads in the wilderness in search of medical help. The tiny clinic father had set up in the town of Karmala saw an interesting assortment of cases from tapeworm and rabies to scorpion bites and cases where a villager was brought in a cart from afar with his intestines gouged out by the horns of a bullock running amok. In 1936, five years before she died, mamma had joined the medical centre in Miraj for pursuing an LCPS in medicine. This ushered in a new phase in our lives for we would shuttle between our home and Miraj two or three times a year. One thing which strikes me about rail travel in those days was the absence of bustling, sweating crowds in a train. Kurduwadi, being the nearest rail terminal for us, we would ride in a bus to this place to take the tiny train, the Barsi Light Railway, a night’s run bringing us to Miraj without hassles of any kind. The little steam engine did its work faithfully, chugging along forests and valleys carrying along a line of red carriages. For those interested in details, the seats were of wood running lengthways, two along the carriage sides where you would sit with your back to the window, and two in the centre laid back to back. Kurduwadi was an interesting location, being a big junction at the intersection of the Barsi Light Railway and the Bombay-Madras main line, and our trips to Miraj and other places often found us at this station. During war days the electric lights in the tiny train looked incredibly feeble with their glass covers smeared with red paint, and if I remember correctly, even the engine headlight was half painted in red. When we asked dad the reason for this, he explained that the lights had been dimmed down to make it difficult for enemy planes to detect a train during night hours. Barsi Light Railway ran on narrow gauge, 2 feet 6 inches I understand, but the route from Miraj to Kolhapur was served by a wider track, meter gauge, as I now know. It is one thing to see an animal in a zoo, how many of you can boast seeing a tiger from the window of a running train? It did happen with us. Miraj is about an hour’s run from Kolhapur and we were seated once in a third class carriage. As the train chugged along my mother suddenly raised a cry and pointed out. We all gathered around the window, and there in the light of the setting sun was a full grown tiger with blazing yellow stripes at the edge of the jungle about fifty yards away. I was greatly distressed and frantically urged mum and dad to shut the windows. Hearing the rumble of the train, the tiger had emerged from the forest and stood silently, regarding the train with a quizzical look. “What’s going on here? Clear out fast and leave me alone,” he seemed to be saying. I am glad the train did not halt here in the middle of nowhere. Trains often halt for no obvious reason, and had this happened the tiger would have been tempted to regard us with more interest than mere curiosity! Those were the days when Anglo-Indians could be found everywhere on the railways. As a young girl I greatly admired these folks. Anglo-Indian Station Masters were dressed in impeccable uniforms, they carried themselves with great dignity and spoke flawless English, and their womenfolk in their gorgeous dresses were a always a pleasure to watch. Once on a trip to Poona, our train had halted at a small station, maybe Dhond or some such place. Across the tracks I spotted a lovely bungalow with a sloping roof. The garden was all a riot of colour. All of a sudden a European looking man in Station Master’s uniform emerged followed by a group of ladies dressed in colourful flowing dresses, all laughing and pointing at something. As my eyes wandered over the garden I saw something that almost made me cry out with delight—the lawn seemed to come alive like paradise with turkeys of the most attractive plumage moving around unhindered, pecking at what came their way. It was a sight I never forgot. All throughout the 1930s and 40s we had a mysterious Anglo-Indian visitor who would drop in, even staying overnight with us at times. Mr. Williams was Station Master of Kurduwadi Junction, tall, and very fair in complexion. He spoke Marathi with the same ease as he spoke English. Somehow none of us could get up enough courage to ask dad the reason why Mr. Williams came, and sadly this has remained a mystery till this day. I suppose he was afflicted with an ailment of some kind and not being able to find a good enough practitioner in Kurduwadi he would ride the bus to Karmala to have himself examined by dad. But at best this is only a conjecture. We shared a close and friendly rapport with Mr. Williams although we never had an occasion to meet his family. I still remember that evening at Kurduwadi station while we were on our way to Bombay. Mum, dad and I were seated in the waiting room awaiting our train when daddy spotted the tall figure of Mr. Williams as it passed across the doorway. I was immediately dispatched to fetch the gentleman. “Uncle! Uncle!” I cried as I stumbled behind the man striding along the platform. Finally he turned round and as his glance rested on me his face broke into a smile. Mum and dad were pleased to see Mr. Williams and they chatted briefly. He was on duty at the time and so could not linger much longer. Before he left he had given instructions to a bearer to bring us a meal consisting of excellent mutton curry, rice and parathas from the station refreshment room nearby. In 1941 mamma passed away and a new mum stepped in shortly and took over affairs at home. The years rolled on and in time we married and moved on in life. Many years later, I received news that our second mum had passed on, so in the summer of 1970 I found myself back again in my ancestral home after an absence of many years. Dad looked much the same as before, although a bit pulled down in health. Before we left the place, I asked dad about the good Station Master whom we had known years ago. Mr. Williams had died several years ago, my father said wistfully. Strangely, it never occurred to me to enquire about the precise reason for his visits to our home. The truth of the matter will probably never be known. And now it is too late to ask. All that remains with me is a fading vision of an impeccably dressed gentleman, station master of a great junction, who shared with us a friendship and camaraderie ages ago while we stayed in that tiny hamlet in the western part of Maharashtra. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- AND ON THAT HUMOUROUS NOTE DEAR READERS, ENJOY THIS EDITION. TILL WE MEET AGAIN, HAVE LOVELY DAYS!..............Lynne RETURN