In Allahabd it was an early Ramzaan morning some time in October 2005-06. Pleasantly cold, it was that time of the year when one looks forward to festivities....Dussehra, Diwali, Christmas.....and the New Year.
For me and my family this year was momentous.
I was in the midst of a new beginning at this juncture in life when most of the complexities and the teething problems of a marriage are usually sorted out and life seems to settle down on a well cemented foundation.
So how does it feel when the apparently strong foundation gives way and your hitherto insurmountable castle of dreams comes crumbling down like a weak house of cards ???
Having finished the sehri, my father and I got busy gathering the things that had to be left behind so that they could be safely kept. Our bags were packed for the journey that would take us away from this beautiful and comfortable place called Allahabad. The city where I had spent almost twenty two precious years of my life. Some of sweetest and bitterest moments of life were shared not just in the company of my beloved family but in the arms of this wonderful "friend" too.
I was about to go away, and start afresh in a place that I had barely known ...... Just like it was more than two decades ago when I was married and had to come to Allahabad , a town I had associated with "Chhora-Ganga-Kinaare-Walaas" .......I had left my parents, family and friends to settle down with an entirely unknown family, unknown people in a completely strange place.
And now when that place and its people had become my own I was being shunted out as an outsider.
It was perhaps the biggest paradox of my life.
But these emotions must wait for a while. The eyes could not afford a surging rush of salty waves that would drown my vision. I had work to do. My father was diligently gathering all the important files that had to be left in the safe custody of a very obliging and trustworthy relative. My maid and driver would arrive any moment.
A couple of hours later as she walked with a loaded trolley of the things that I had let her take away, my maid of ten years looked longingly , tears in her eyes as if all that load which was now hers and was so precious to her till some minutes back had suddenly turned worthless. All that mattered to her was the association which held us together not as a Begum Sahiba and a maid, but as Bhabi ji and Sona. I was her entire family's Bhabi ji.
And that was not all. The driver, a young boy named Shamim in his late twenties was more like a son to me. He had begun by calling me "Madam" when he had joined, but later settled for that sweet word ..... Bhabi ji.
This was going to be his last errand for me as my driver.
I wonder if he could believe it. Because for me it was just too much happening too soon. He had come for the job a little less than ten years ago. And through the years had sincerely worked his way through to becoming one of the family. I had trusted him with my small children. He had taken them to school , to friends' places, to the playground....
He had been always there with my husband on his business trips in and outside Allahabad. He knew the lawyers' office and residence. He knew the factory and offices of the companies that my husband worked for. He knew where our banks were located. He knew where our CA stayed.
He had accompanied my father and me as we made whirlwind tours of the locality searching a place where we could keep our belongings in-transit as we gradually worked our way out of Allahabad.
He was the one who, along with my innocent little children had brought home my husband's body from the hospital.
And now he was the one who would take my father, me and our car to my native place, where we would leave the car before leaving for our destination: Mumbai.
He would of course go back to Allahabad.
It was too emotional a journey..... The weather seemed colder than it perhaps was.
Usually we used to look forward to long drives and trips outside Allahabad , to Lucknow, Kanpur, and of course to my native town, specially in the months when the weather is pleasant. Stopping over dhabaas and listening to film songs or music through the journey.
But this one was rather quiet. Each one was perhaps engrossed in contemplating what the future held in store.
Five years later last December I was in Allahabad with my younger son.
A lot of things had changed. To the eyes Allahabad was not the same. But the heart knew that warmth , that love, that longing which was all very much in tact.
December is really cold in Allahabad. The sun does not come out of its sleeping bag till noon at times....and goes back shivering too soon.
I remembered December was the time I had first set my foot on this sacred soil . I was not used to such extreme climatic conditions. But so totally loved it from the beginning, spending many cozy winters in the awesome hues of Phlox, Salvias, Pansies, Calendulas, Sweet Peas, Nastercium, Cinerias, Dahlias, Asters.....and the absolutely luxurious warmth of a coal angeethi which the servant was instructed to light before calling it a day, but sometimes my husband himself would so lovingly light for me.....
Back to the present, the dusty, muddy and rather uneven roads were a bit of a setback. Civil Lines had lost its Colonial grandeur and fallen in line with "progress and development". Gone were the old time bungalows that used to have neat and plentiful gardens. There were too many heaps of debris where once upon a time stood stately spacious mansions. Too much construction activity was going on. We were informed that multi-storied residential blocks would soon come up there.
And box-like monotonous Shopping Malls were fast devouring in those lovely personalised grocery and clothes stores.
The Pride-of-Civil Lines, "B.N.Rama" was razed to the ground.
And Palace Cinema was almost a ghost structure.
Is five years so long a time period or is the world moving too fast?
My son and I shopped for some gifts. And for Shamim's children we purchased story books, pencil boxes, colour pencils and such other things. We knew he was working at the prestigious Bible Seminary and living in the residential blocks there.....his children were studying in English medium Schools.
When we reached the magnificent Seminary premises , there was a Pre-Christmas celebration going on. Shamim's eldest daughter had grown tall and beautiful, almost lady-like, she was very dignified and clam. Not a trace of that running nose and those noisy tantrums had remained. His sons were too small when I had left and had not seen much of them then .Now they came across as very well-mannered children accepting the gifts with sweet "Thankyou-s".
Shamim's wife had learnt embroidery and stitching at a class for women . She was talking non-stop , her excitement oozing out like many birds chirping pleasantly.
But Shamim was not home.
When I had called him half an hour ago, he had not been able to contain his joyous excitement. So now where had he gone?
His wife smiled, and lowered her large eyes so full of love. That smile had not changed even one bit.
Just then Shamim entered looking very smart , his sheepish grin, in place...
The aroma of samosas following closely. And the earthen pot in his hands was so familiar. Gulaab Jamuns.....YES ....Of course !!!!
How many times he had brought these things when we had guests..... and even otherwise when the children wanted a feast at home...... from "Heera Halwaai" at Thornhill road and Qadir Halwaai at Sabzi Mandi..... and the asli-ghee jalebis from Netraam at Katra.....countless......and countless times indeed!!!
On our way to Lucknow, we used to eat at that one particular dhaba, which Shamim patronised. His chholey and samosas were divine. And the tea....absolutely refreshing.
At that dhaba Shamim used to get tea without sugar specially made for my mother, whenever Mummy accompanied us.
And en route to Kanpur, there was The Mohan ka peda at Malwa-n and on our way to my native place there were the kalaa-Jaams at Micheal Gunj....
So many memories to share ..... so much to say and listen....the time was indeed not enough.
The clock seemed ticking faster than usual .........I'm not sure how many hours we spent with Shamim and his family........ but it seemed like minutes......When it time to leave, from the garden his wife brought some lemons and gave me , and Shamim said:
"Yahan sab araam hai Bhabi....lekin aap ke ghar jaisa araam nahi...."
I knew he was earning better, living better, doing so much better. I was very very happy for him from the bottom of my heart.
So could there be a sweeter and more precious compliment than him saying this ?
I had a hard time holding back my tears of joy.
Once we were back in the car on the way to the hotel, my son remarked:
Amma! his children have grown bigger than I thought. Our gifts should have been bigger by at least five years....!!!!!"
To us it seemed that those five years had stood still ...........watching over us with fondness and good wishes.....as will all the coming years.....
For me and my family this year was momentous.
I was in the midst of a new beginning at this juncture in life when most of the complexities and the teething problems of a marriage are usually sorted out and life seems to settle down on a well cemented foundation.
So how does it feel when the apparently strong foundation gives way and your hitherto insurmountable castle of dreams comes crumbling down like a weak house of cards ???
Having finished the sehri, my father and I got busy gathering the things that had to be left behind so that they could be safely kept. Our bags were packed for the journey that would take us away from this beautiful and comfortable place called Allahabad. The city where I had spent almost twenty two precious years of my life. Some of sweetest and bitterest moments of life were shared not just in the company of my beloved family but in the arms of this wonderful "friend" too.
I was about to go away, and start afresh in a place that I had barely known ...... Just like it was more than two decades ago when I was married and had to come to Allahabad , a town I had associated with "Chhora-Ganga-Kinaare-Walaas" .......I had left my parents, family and friends to settle down with an entirely unknown family, unknown people in a completely strange place.
And now when that place and its people had become my own I was being shunted out as an outsider.
It was perhaps the biggest paradox of my life.
But these emotions must wait for a while. The eyes could not afford a surging rush of salty waves that would drown my vision. I had work to do. My father was diligently gathering all the important files that had to be left in the safe custody of a very obliging and trustworthy relative. My maid and driver would arrive any moment.
A couple of hours later as she walked with a loaded trolley of the things that I had let her take away, my maid of ten years looked longingly , tears in her eyes as if all that load which was now hers and was so precious to her till some minutes back had suddenly turned worthless. All that mattered to her was the association which held us together not as a Begum Sahiba and a maid, but as Bhabi ji and Sona. I was her entire family's Bhabi ji.
And that was not all. The driver, a young boy named Shamim in his late twenties was more like a son to me. He had begun by calling me "Madam" when he had joined, but later settled for that sweet word ..... Bhabi ji.
This was going to be his last errand for me as my driver.
I wonder if he could believe it. Because for me it was just too much happening too soon. He had come for the job a little less than ten years ago. And through the years had sincerely worked his way through to becoming one of the family. I had trusted him with my small children. He had taken them to school , to friends' places, to the playground....
He had been always there with my husband on his business trips in and outside Allahabad. He knew the lawyers' office and residence. He knew the factory and offices of the companies that my husband worked for. He knew where our banks were located. He knew where our CA stayed.
He had accompanied my father and me as we made whirlwind tours of the locality searching a place where we could keep our belongings in-transit as we gradually worked our way out of Allahabad.
He was the one who, along with my innocent little children had brought home my husband's body from the hospital.
And now he was the one who would take my father, me and our car to my native place, where we would leave the car before leaving for our destination: Mumbai.
He would of course go back to Allahabad.
It was too emotional a journey..... The weather seemed colder than it perhaps was.
Usually we used to look forward to long drives and trips outside Allahabad , to Lucknow, Kanpur, and of course to my native town, specially in the months when the weather is pleasant. Stopping over dhabaas and listening to film songs or music through the journey.
But this one was rather quiet. Each one was perhaps engrossed in contemplating what the future held in store.
Five years later last December I was in Allahabad with my younger son.
A lot of things had changed. To the eyes Allahabad was not the same. But the heart knew that warmth , that love, that longing which was all very much in tact.
December is really cold in Allahabad. The sun does not come out of its sleeping bag till noon at times....and goes back shivering too soon.
I remembered December was the time I had first set my foot on this sacred soil . I was not used to such extreme climatic conditions. But so totally loved it from the beginning, spending many cozy winters in the awesome hues of Phlox, Salvias, Pansies, Calendulas, Sweet Peas, Nastercium, Cinerias, Dahlias, Asters.....and the absolutely luxurious warmth of a coal angeethi which the servant was instructed to light before calling it a day, but sometimes my husband himself would so lovingly light for me.....
Back to the present, the dusty, muddy and rather uneven roads were a bit of a setback. Civil Lines had lost its Colonial grandeur and fallen in line with "progress and development". Gone were the old time bungalows that used to have neat and plentiful gardens. There were too many heaps of debris where once upon a time stood stately spacious mansions. Too much construction activity was going on. We were informed that multi-storied residential blocks would soon come up there.
And box-like monotonous Shopping Malls were fast devouring in those lovely personalised grocery and clothes stores.
The Pride-of-Civil Lines, "B.N.Rama" was razed to the ground.
And Palace Cinema was almost a ghost structure.
Is five years so long a time period or is the world moving too fast?
My son and I shopped for some gifts. And for Shamim's children we purchased story books, pencil boxes, colour pencils and such other things. We knew he was working at the prestigious Bible Seminary and living in the residential blocks there.....his children were studying in English medium Schools.
When we reached the magnificent Seminary premises , there was a Pre-Christmas celebration going on. Shamim's eldest daughter had grown tall and beautiful, almost lady-like, she was very dignified and clam. Not a trace of that running nose and those noisy tantrums had remained. His sons were too small when I had left and had not seen much of them then .Now they came across as very well-mannered children accepting the gifts with sweet "Thankyou-s".
Shamim's wife had learnt embroidery and stitching at a class for women . She was talking non-stop , her excitement oozing out like many birds chirping pleasantly.
But Shamim was not home.
When I had called him half an hour ago, he had not been able to contain his joyous excitement. So now where had he gone?
His wife smiled, and lowered her large eyes so full of love. That smile had not changed even one bit.
Just then Shamim entered looking very smart , his sheepish grin, in place...
The aroma of samosas following closely. And the earthen pot in his hands was so familiar. Gulaab Jamuns.....YES ....Of course !!!!
How many times he had brought these things when we had guests..... and even otherwise when the children wanted a feast at home...... from "Heera Halwaai" at Thornhill road and Qadir Halwaai at Sabzi Mandi..... and the asli-ghee jalebis from Netraam at Katra.....countless......and countless times indeed!!!
On our way to Lucknow, we used to eat at that one particular dhaba, which Shamim patronised. His chholey and samosas were divine. And the tea....absolutely refreshing.
At that dhaba Shamim used to get tea without sugar specially made for my mother, whenever Mummy accompanied us.
And en route to Kanpur, there was The Mohan ka peda at Malwa-n and on our way to my native place there were the kalaa-Jaams at Micheal Gunj....
So many memories to share ..... so much to say and listen....the time was indeed not enough.
The clock seemed ticking faster than usual .........I'm not sure how many hours we spent with Shamim and his family........ but it seemed like minutes......When it time to leave, from the garden his wife brought some lemons and gave me , and Shamim said:
"Yahan sab araam hai Bhabi....lekin aap ke ghar jaisa araam nahi...."
I knew he was earning better, living better, doing so much better. I was very very happy for him from the bottom of my heart.
So could there be a sweeter and more precious compliment than him saying this ?
I had a hard time holding back my tears of joy.
Once we were back in the car on the way to the hotel, my son remarked:
Amma! his children have grown bigger than I thought. Our gifts should have been bigger by at least five years....!!!!!"
To us it seemed that those five years had stood still ...........watching over us with fondness and good wishes.....as will all the coming years.....
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