All four served us well

All four served us well ……. I must have been around 4, because that is as far back as I seem to be able to remember, and her name was ‘Needle’- at least that is what she was called. She was the lady who looked after me – the domestic servant, known as the ‘Ayah’ back then. A short, rather wizened, grey haired old lady, with a high-pitched voice, she stayed with our family till I was about ten. Not exactly sure how old she was, but she looked about seventy to me at that time ! Thinking over the name now brings a smile to my face. ‘Needle’? I have come to two conclusions about why this odd name. The first could be because she was extremely thin and looked like a needle and the second because she had only one good eye so “the eye of the needle”! However, that does not matter. She was loyal, kind and loving and looked after me well. My fondest memories are of her dressing and feeding me and taking me into the garden to play with a large ball – all vivid. ‘Needle ayah’ probably lived close by because she was in the house when I woke and put me to bed before she left. She was also tasked with staying the night when the family went out and were scheduled to return late. On those occasions she and I would have dinner together – she feeding me. Then she would tell me a story or two and I would soon be dozing. Then there was a couple who lived down the road in the railway colony. He was ‘Bansi’ the cook and she was ‘Bl - - - y’, his wife. Now before you jump to conclusions and say that is a rude name etc. let me tell you that she was an extremely dark lady, but we never gave her that name. She had worked with another family for some years before joining us, and they had given her a pet name – it stuck. She knew what it meant as she spoke a smattering of English and made fun of her own name . When she was asked what her name was – she and her husband both said BL- - - Y. So, B L- - - - - Y it was, and all was good. She did the cleaning and other odds jobs around the house and he cooked. They were treated like family, arriving early in the morning – always smiling, very chatty and kind natured. I do remember that she was a bit of a gossip, as she sat for hours in the afternoons filling my aunt and mother in with all the news from the colony. She was also rather funny and was always saying stuff to make us laugh. She was given all the old clothes and the leftover food items in addition to a salary . On a few occasions when he returned in the evening to cook dinner , I am sure I smelled liquor on his breath but no questions were asked and if at times he could not complete the cooking for any reason , she did so . On a few occasions he was also accused of stealing sugar, rice, cooking oil & tea leaves and was given a shout for the same. He always denied the charge. I also remember him being told not to return to work but like a repentant little boy he would come the next morning and all would be forgiven. Great memories of another resident cook of ours called ‘BOY’. He lived in the outhouse adjoining the main house so was what you would call a ’24-hour servant’. His only possession seemed to be a tin trunk and some bedding. He was, what I would refer to now as, “ really old”. Powder white hair, weatherworn face, short and slim, he wore a large white turban, for some obscure reason. When he walked, his head shook from side to side and made me laugh, but we sort of got used to it. Irrespective of the season, that turban was always worn. I once saw him without it and failed to recognize him! This was the 60’s and no one had gas stoves back then. There were no gas stoves in India, so coal fires were lit, and all the cooking was done on them. ‘Boy’ lit the coal stove extremely early in the morning, and by the time everyone woke, the tea was in the tea pot and breakfast was almost ready. He was a sort of cook cum bearer who cooked and served as well. He laid the table, served us while we were seated, and washed up after that. A first-rate cook, he excelled in making ‘Anglo Indian dishes’ and all types of salads! Strangely I do not know why and when he left but back in the day, these servants were often told to “go” for some unfathomable reason. ‘Needle’ , ‘Bansi’ , ‘B----Y’ , his wife and ‘Boy’ were four servants who served us well .

All four served us well

All four served us well ……. I must have been around 4, because that is as far back as I seem to be able to remember, and her name was ‘Needle’- at least that is what she was called. She was the lady who looked after me – the domestic servant, known as the ‘Ayah’ back then. A short, rather wizened, grey haired old lady, with a high-pitched voice, she stayed with our family till I was about ten. Not exactly sure how old she was, but she looked about seventy to me at that time ! Thinking over the name now brings a smile to my face. ‘Needle’? I have come to two conclusions about why this odd name. The first could be because she was extremely thin and looked like a needle and the second because she had only one good eye so “the eye of the needle”! However, that does not matter. She was loyal, kind and loving and looked after me well. My fondest memories are of her dressing and feeding me and taking me into the garden to play with a large ball – all vivid. ‘Needle ayah’ probably lived close by because she was in the house when I woke and put me to bed before she left. She was also tasked with staying the night when the family went out and were scheduled to return late. On those occasions she and I would have dinner together – she feeding me. Then she would tell me a story or two and I would soon be dozing. Then there was a couple who lived down the road in the railway colony. He was ‘Bansi’ the cook and she was ‘Bl - - - y’, his wife. Now before you jump to conclusions and say that is a rude name etc. let me tell you that she was an extremely dark lady, but we never gave her that name. She had worked with another family for some years before joining us, and they had given her a pet name – it stuck. She knew what it meant as she spoke a smattering of English and made fun of her own name . When she was asked what her name was – she and her husband both said BL- - - Y. So, B L- - - - - Y it was, and all was good. She did the cleaning and other odds jobs around the house and he cooked. They were treated like family, arriving early in the morning – always smiling, very chatty and kind natured. I do remember that she was a bit of a gossip, as she sat for hours in the afternoons filling my aunt and mother in with all the news from the colony. She was also rather funny and was always saying stuff to make us laugh. She was given all the old clothes and the leftover food items in addition to a salary . On a few occasions when he returned in the evening to cook dinner , I am sure I smelled liquor on his breath but no questions were asked and if at times he could not complete the cooking for any reason , she did so . On a few occasions he was also accused of stealing sugar, rice, cooking oil & tea leaves and was given a shout for the same. He always denied the charge. I also remember him being told not to return to work but like a repentant little boy he would come the next morning and all would be forgiven. Great memories of another resident cook of ours called ‘BOY’. He lived in the outhouse adjoining the main house so was what you would call a ’24-hour servant’. His only possession seemed to be a tin trunk and some bedding. He was, what I would refer to now as, “ really old”. Powder white hair, weatherworn face, short and slim, he wore a large white turban, for some obscure reason. When he walked, his head shook from side to side and made me laugh, but we sort of got used to it. Irrespective of the season, that turban was always worn. I once saw him without it and failed to recognize him! This was the 60’s and no one had gas stoves back then. There were no gas stoves in India, so coal fires were lit, and all the cooking was done on them. ‘Boy’ lit the coal stove extremely early in the morning, and by the time everyone woke, the tea was in the tea pot and breakfast was almost ready. He was a sort of cook cum bearer who cooked and served as well. He laid the table, served us while we were seated, and washed up after that. A first-rate cook, he excelled in making ‘Anglo Indian dishes’ and all types of salads! Strangely I do not know why and when he left but back in the day, these servants were often told to “go” for some unfathomable reason. ‘Needle’ , ‘Bansi’ , ‘B----Y’ , his wife and ‘Boy’ were four servants who served us well .

Mr Donald Trump vs Joe Biden - The debate

Was not the Donald Trump vs Joe Biden debate delightfully entertaining? What fun indeed and so engrossing. I laughed like never before at the jibes, digs and facial expressions of both contenders and felt so relaxed. Here were two adults who hate each other, make no bones about it, and are letting everyone know it too . The argued, fought, insulted, ranted, raved, sniggered, lied, slandered, discredited, offended, disparaged, abused, belittled & affronted each other on the world stage. Totally expected of two contenders for the top job in the world. They called each other frauds, liars, manipulators, useless men, disasters, shams, double dealers, deceivers, money makers, tricksters, cowards and cheats. They also attempted to insult each other’s families and wash dirty linen in public but were reigned in discretely before that part of the debate went out of control. At least they never went to blows or threw stuff at each other and that was commendable! I did feel that one of them would walk off in a temper but fortunately that did not happen. The moderator, Chris Wallace from Fox News, stood up to both and certainly held his own – he did have to shout them down on a couple of occasions and he did so with dignity and authority, while refusing to be part and parcel of the mudslinging. He was certainly not intimidated in any way and that is commendable and one of the reasons as to why the debate was completed. He is, after all from Harvard, and is known as a fearless, aggressive reporter and an expert Presidential Debate moderator, who was once ranked as the most trusted TV news reporter in America Who won the debate is a debateable point. Vice President Joe Biden showed that he was quite a tough cookie and despite often being referred to as an “old man” in the past by Trump and others, he looked in fine fettle. No one doubted that he would be heckled by Mr Trump ever so often. However, he kept his cool and came across as a gentleman. He however did call Mr Trump a “clown” and asked him to “shut up”! I guess even a rat, when cornered, will come out fighting! The same cannot be said of the President who butted in with snide remarks every few minutes and kept going on and on, despite being told to give his opponent a chance to speak. As expected, and is common knowledge the world over, he was his bombastic self, accusing, casting aspersions, and insulting at will. Joe Biden on the other hand was more controlled but his contemptuous smile and shaking of the head every now and then sort of got to me and came across as weak so also his fumbling replies time and time again. Trump on the other hand was very confident and forceful in his submissions & assertions. I almost thought he would spit out those very famous words “ you’re fired” to Joe Biden. Am no expert political analyst or for that matter any sort of political interpreter in the first place, but from purely a layman’s perspective, for me, this debate was tied. Am already looking forward to the next one. In these days of stress and strain, this free entertainment is amusing.

Mr Donald Trump vs Joe Biden - The debate

Was not the Donald Trump vs Joe Biden debate delightfully entertaining? What fun indeed and so engrossing. I laughed like never before at the jibes, digs and facial expressions of both contenders and felt so relaxed. Here were two adults who hate each other, make no bones about it, and are letting everyone know it too . The argued, fought, insulted, ranted, raved, sniggered, lied, slandered, discredited, offended, disparaged, abused, belittled & affronted each other on the world stage. Totally expected of two contenders for the top job in the world. They called each other frauds, liars, manipulators, useless men, disasters, shams, double dealers, deceivers, money makers, tricksters, cowards and cheats. They also attempted to insult each other’s families and wash dirty linen in public but were reigned in discretely before that part of the debate went out of control. At least they never went to blows or threw stuff at each other and that was commendable! I did feel that one of them would walk off in a temper but fortunately that did not happen. The moderator, Chris Wallace from Fox News, stood up to both and certainly held his own – he did have to shout them down on a couple of occasions and he did so with dignity and authority, while refusing to be part and parcel of the mudslinging. He was certainly not intimidated in any way and that is commendable and one of the reasons as to why the debate was completed. He is, after all from Harvard, and is known as a fearless, aggressive reporter and an expert Presidential Debate moderator, who was once ranked as the most trusted TV news reporter in America Who won the debate is a debateable point. Vice President Joe Biden showed that he was quite a tough cookie and despite often being referred to as an “old man” in the past by Trump and others, he looked in fine fettle. No one doubted that he would be heckled by Mr Trump ever so often. However, he kept his cool and came across as a gentleman. He however did call Mr Trump a “clown” and asked him to “shut up”! I guess even a rat, when cornered, will come out fighting! The same cannot be said of the President who butted in with snide remarks every few minutes and kept going on and on, despite being told to give his opponent a chance to speak. As expected, and is common knowledge the world over, he was his bombastic self, accusing, casting aspersions, and insulting at will. Joe Biden on the other hand was more controlled but his contemptuous smile and shaking of the head every now and then sort of got to me and came across as weak so also his fumbling replies time and time again. Trump on the other hand was very confident and forceful in his submissions & assertions. I almost thought he would spit out those very famous words “ you’re fired” to Joe Biden. Am no expert political analyst or for that matter any sort of political interpreter in the first place, but from purely a layman’s perspective, for me, this debate was tied. Am already looking forward to the next one. In these days of stress and strain, this free entertainment is amusing.

Are we crawling out of the gutter? Or going deeper in? Are we losing our sense of direction? Is it all because we sinned? Turmoil, chaos, and unrest Are becoming the order of the day This uncertain world is spinning too fast It’s seemingly bedlam all the way Panic grips at our very soul And threatens to destroy all peaceful beings Surely this stupefaction cannot continue And better sense will prevail We have sunk to the depths of deprivation We have plundered raped and killed We have massacred the innocent And set the guilty free All this we call “being human” All this we celebrate So, what’s in store in future How do we contemplate our fate? These questions burn our innards These thoughts we can’t negate I read a verse this morning And to paper I put pen To note it for posterity And end with an “Amen” It goes like this – it is a song So, read it and contemplate ….. “Immovable our hope remains Though shifting sands before us lie….. The floods may rise, the winds may beat Torrential rains descend Yet God His own will not forget He'll love and keep us till the end”

Are we crawling out of the gutter? Or going deeper in? Are we losing our sense of direction? Is it all because we sinned? Turmoil, chaos, and unrest Are becoming the order of the day This uncertain world is spinning too fast It’s seemingly bedlam all the way Panic grips at our very soul And threatens to destroy all peaceful beings Surely this stupefaction cannot continue And better sense will prevail We have sunk to the depths of deprivation We have plundered raped and killed We have massacred the innocent And set the guilty free All this we call “being human” All this we celebrate So, what’s in store in future How do we contemplate our fate? These questions burn our innards These thoughts we can’t negate I read a verse this morning And to paper I put pen To note it for posterity And end with an “Amen” It goes like this – it is a song So, read it and contemplate ….. “Immovable our hope remains Though shifting sands before us lie….. The floods may rise, the winds may beat Torrential rains descend Yet God His own will not forget He'll love and keep us till the end”

A different type of teacher

Even in your wildest imagination you are never going to be able to guess who my strictest teacher was! But let me tell you about a few others before I come to him . When I was in school, I had several strict teachers. I do not remember all of them, but a few do come to mind. There was Mrs P- a tall, stout lady with large, bulging blue eyes and a mop of grey hair, who taught me Math in Grade three. Three things to note here. Firstly, I hated math and was quite weak in the subject. Secondly I was mortally scared of Mrs P and that would be putting it mildly – she terrified the daylights out of me in class, and last but not least , of all the people in the school, my mother decided that I would go to her for private tuition . I think that decision was made as Mrs P did not charge any fee, as my mother worked in the same school, and we could not afford it in the first place. That sealed the deal. Every math period was like going to purgatory and back. Okay, not so bad but I guess you understand. For some unfathomable reason, I would either forget my text or exercise book at home, not complete the math homework or mix up the answers to the ‘’Tables’’ which she made us practice every morning. Strangely , each boy had to answer once and by the time it was my turn , I was asked to give the answer to eighteen times nine or sixteen times twelve so some such difficult numbers – remember this was in grade three. Needless to add, I failed to answer correctly and was then called up to the blackboard to work out the sum. With fifty pairs of normal and one pair of bulging eyes staring into the back of my head, the correct answer always eluded me . The rest as they say is History. I often got the ruler and was made to stand in the corner till the period was over. The tuition period was a trifle better, as I was the only one there, but mistakes and using the eraser till there was a hole in the page, often ended with me getting a whack with the thick Math book. On a few occasions when it rained, and she had the umbrella at her disposal, she used it on me to good advantage. But she was a good teacher . Then there was a Hindi teacher. I do not remember his name, but he seemed to love hearing me read and mispronounce words. He would barely walk into the class when it was a know fact that he would look in my direction and nod. That was the signal to start reading. I could be sitting in front, in the middle, in the corner or at the back – it mattered little - he would ferret me out. Seeing him chuckle when I mispronounced words made me cringe. I vividly remember another Math teacher – Mr D. He taught me Math in Grade eight If I am not mistaken. Straight back, no smile and no nonsense were words I would use to describe him. He was very good at his subject and one, whose methods I followed. However, after setting a sum he would walk up and down the line checking on what we were doing and, on the progress, we were making. Now you would know this fact – If you are not excellent at the subject and the master comes and stands beside you, you freeze. That has happened quite a few times with me. In order to overcome the pickle I would sometimes find myself in , I made it a habit to drink water , fill ink in the pen or start doing some hurried calculations on a rough sheet of paper away from his prying eyes. I am sure he knew why I did that but it mattered little to him and he continued ! There were these and a few more. However, the guy who had me on pins and needles was the instructor at the driving institute. Whether you know how to drive or not, mandatory lessons and a test are compulsory in the UAE. From the very first lesson, I knew instinctively that this was going to be one tough cookie and that put me off. His whole persona was of a cold mean man. He wore the company uniform along with a cap and very dark glasses and throughout the forty lessons, I saw his eyes and his teeth just once , as he never removed the glasses and he never smiled. Before the first lesson we introduced ourselves to each other, and I gave him my visiting card,hoping to impress him. He looked at it half-heartedly and threw it into the compartment between us. There were about fifty cards in there and I immediately knew that he had won round one. All attempts at softening him up by telling him where I worked, that I was the Principal of a large prestigious school etc seemed to fall on deaf ears. I then tried the personal touch by informing him that I was married and had two daughters . I felt he was deaf as he did not react at all. Then the ordeal began in right earnest. Whether I turned left or right, used the indicator or the break, started, stopped or parked – he was never pleased. Almost daily, he commented on the fact that I was either driving too slow, too fast, was extremely careless, casual or day dreaming. He called me sleepy, bad driver, distracted and very foolish. Things became so bad that I would pray that the forty-five-minute lesson got over. On the days I had driving, my work suffered and as the time approached, I was sure I had palpitations. Often when I returned from a lesson, teachers would ask me if all was well and as to why I looked pale and drawn. After about twenty lessons he brought me a supposedly confidential feed- back form to fill in about his teaching – part of quality assurance he mentioned nonchalantly. However, he lent me his pen and a book to rest on and peered over my shoulder when I was ticking the boxes. So much for the confidentiality! I was left with no alternative to give him a ten on ten and so the ordeal continued. Then things seemed to deteriorate, and he was even more strict. I asked friends if I should complain and ask for a change, but he seemed to have a sixth sense. That day he was “normal and a trifle kind” and so I changed my mind. The next afternoon he told me that I was a Principal in my school but a pupil in his car and I better shape up or I would fail. That frightened me even more as the classes were costly. However, the more I tried, the worse I seemed to drive. Then came the parking test and it was a miracle I passed in the first attempt as he was standing out of the car and glaring at me. I missed the parking line by inches, and I guess he was left with no other alternative but to pass me grudgingly. I felt that I had won this round. That hurdle being crossed I was more confident, and my driving improved by leaps and bounds. That week he seemed to sleep while I drove around and I was not sure whether he was sick, fed up of me, depressed or purposely not commenting and just waiting for me to have an accident. Vague thoughts continuously crossed my mind. I often peered at him through the corner of my eye, but he was the master of deception and I could not fathom out what he was up to. On a few occasions I tried to engage him in small talk, but he just grunted in reply as if in a dream. And then it was the big day when I was to be tested by a police inspector. There was just one last practice round with my instructor and I breathed a sigh of relief. As we cruised down a lonely stretch with me driving at ninety kmph, he asked me to pull over. I did so with trepidation and a certain amount of apprehension coupled with plenty of anxiety For the first time he took off his dark glasses, put his cap on his lap, wiped his brow and looked me in the eye. My heart was beating fast as I was sure he was going to give me hell for something or the other. He smiled, patted me on the shoulder and said “well done Sir” He told me that he had been strict as in the initial days I often behaved like a Principal in the car and if he had let that continue , I would never have been a good driver. He then gave me just one piece of advice which I will put down here in Roman Hindi. He said when you drive, remember just two words “ Bacho – Bachao” which roughly translated means- Save yourself and save others when you drive . I remember those words till today. He was such a strict teacher and I feared him – but he was a master of his trade. I once thought of going and meeting him after all these years but sadly I don’t even remember his name – Seriously, I would love to . Nevertheless – wherever you are – “Thank you, Sir”