Seventy years down memory lane..reminiscences of my mom

These are my mom’s reminiscences of her glittering childhood..a small slice of her life which she enjoyed..a time when she had no clue of the travails that lay ahead. Now  at seventy five..we hope,the turbulent years are behind her, and she has a little bit of time to herself to call her own..old age, and physical and emotional mishaps  have been her constant accompaniments, and though she walks with a walker, it  has not made her bitter..she sees the silver lining on every cloud, and keeps her mind agile. She is deeply spiritual, and swears by her readings of the scriptures. I remember her as a good seamstress..right from darning to delicate embroidery to tough upholstery. She lost her father who was a Chief Engineer In Madras, and then had come to live in a bustling but loving joint family in Mahe. The following is a lovely memory she treasures, in her own words. 

Around 1945, I must be five or six then...I was selected to sing in All India Radio, Madras. I was so excited on the way home and could not wait to break the news to my mother. She was thrilled..but the pressures of a large bustling household, bursting at the seams..did not give it much thought. Those days, it was the norm, that after schooling in the native village, children are bundled off to uncles or aunts who live in the city, for their higher education. By the time my father comes home..the situation is much the same, as there will be a lot of people who come to see him. I studied in Bishop Corrie Anglo Indian School. There were only a handful of Indian children. Some teachers must have been Britishers, as they were all very fair and pretty. The memories have blurred..but the story telling sessions after lunch was so nice that, it stands out as a beautiful memory in my life. The story books were so colorful and full of fairies and angels and little girls and boys who had the cutest houses and wonderful adventures. Keshavan, our help at home would accompany us to school, which was just walking distance from the school. 

some of her embroidery works

As a young bride, the photo taken to apply for her passport.

 My teacher asked me to come with shoes polished till your face smiles at you from it.. your dark blue skirt properly pleated and ironed and  long thick hair , doubled up and tied up and the red ribbon peeps out from behind your ears. The practice sessions were full of fun, and my teacher was very pretty. Her name was Mrs Taylor.  She played the piano, and I too wanted to learn it.  Some children were reciting poetry, some were practicing story telling and the teachers brought out the best in us. We were all well prepared, and finally, the day was here. I bid goodbye to mom and she tuned the radio and put it on full volume, lest her chores take her away. Madras roads were busy even then..trams and rickshaws, and buses.. The children who were selected all stood in a line and we trooped into a bus which took us to the All India radio Station. All of us did our respective parts and got into the bus happily,where we were given a grand reception at school. I went back home and was given a tight hug by mother and a greater bonus..from my father too. He assured me that I could learn the piano too. What would my life have been ..if my father was not snatched away too soon…