Today is the 5th of August 2011
It is another day for everyone but what a day it may be for some. I have been searching deep within my conscious mind for words that do not come to my finger tips as they hit the keys of this keyboard.
i was born on the 18th of July 1950 early in the morning, or so i was told by my then very young mother who was not quite nineteen when i was born as her second child. my parents lived with my maternal grandparents in 15 Jalan Dhoby Johore Bahru, which is a shop house. My parents lived upstairs and my grandparents lived downstairs.
i had a very peaceful childhood growing up with people who never raised their voices or their hands against any of us children.
my earliest memories of that house are vivid and yet vague. they have changed very little over the years.
My Doll
My dad got me a doll that could cry. i carried that doll everywhere and from then perhaps grew my love for children. one day, her arm came off and i saw the hollowness of the doll and she lost her magic. my dad fixed her arm but she was no longer real. i was three and my mum was pregnant with my younger sister sheela.
Ante Natal Checkup
My mother was going to the hospital for her checkups. I wanted to go with her. My grandfather took me in his arms and offered me an apple. i went to him and got the apple. when i turned around my mum had gone. i went to the stairs and cried for her but the door was closed and my grandfather in his gentleness told me that she would be back. i was so afraid that one day she would leave and not come back. it was also my first encounter with deceit. why did my gentle grandfather lie to me?
My sister arrives
My father took my mother to the hospital and he took me and my brother with him. my grandma was also there. we stayed in the garden while he went with my mother to the ward. i remember his returning with her sari. i watched silently and wondered what she was wearing. the sari was not folded. why? it was rolled into a ball. it was yellowish orange in colour with some design. it was stuffed into a bag. we walked back to Jln Dhoby along the sea front. the sea front makes all journeys seem too short.
I cannot sleep
i remember not being able to sleep. my sister is in the cot. i am on the ground on a mat with my mother. my brother is asleep. i pick up my pillow and tell my mother that i want to go to my grandmother. she opens the door and sets me outside the door and closes the door. i walk to my grandma's room. my uncle prakash leads me in. i lie on the floor between my grandma and my uncle. soon i am fast asleep. now when sleep eludes me, i picture that wooden floor, the straw mat and my mind slowly relaxes into sleep.
art
it is afternoon. my uncle prasad is on the floor with his art block, paint and water. he uses the saucer to mix the colours. i watch as he paints some pictures and i think what a great artist he is. he offers me the brush and allows me to dabble a bit. I am overjoyed and feel every so smart and important. he always treated us with respect. he was gentle and soft spoken, not very tall but well built. he had curly hair and a mole on his nose. he always laughed as he spoke to his mother, his father, my mother and to all of us.
school
i wanted to go to school. he was in form five in 1955 the year i was five. his cousin joined the navy but my grandmother was so afraid that he would drown if the ship would sink. he joined the teachers training college and trained to become a teacher.
he was a teacher in Temenggong Abdul Rahman School in Johore Bahru. he had loads of friends and they would all come to grandmas house. years later in 1960 when we moved to our present house in Jalan Abdul Samad he would bring his friends home to our place for meals. My mother was a great cook and he enjoyed showing off her cooking skills to his friends.
1958 ill with a fever
i was in standard 2 and all of us caught a fever. one by one the others got better. we knew we were well when mother gave us a head bath and allowed us to walk around. i was given a head bath twice but immediately afterwards was confined to my bed with a high fever. Dr Yeoh of the People's Dispensary was our family doctor. after the second bath and when the fever went up, it was decided that i had to be taken to the hospital.
mother waited for father to come. we were staying in Bukit Chagar and it was really very rural and no cars could come to the front of the house. when my father came home, he carried me in his arms and took me to the main road. from there he caught a taxi and took me to hosp. i was warded. he left me there and went home. i was too ill to cry and went to sleep.
somewhere in the night, close to midnight i believe, a gentle hand touched my cheeks. it was my uncle prasad. i am not sure how he heard about me. he was then teaching in Kota Tinggi. he spoke for a while and told me not to worry. i would be fine. he then went back.
last week on the 30th when i visited him in hospital, that night kept playing in my mind. i told him about it and he appeared to remember. role reversal.
playing football
there was a big field next to our house in bukit chagar. prakash and prasad were there one evening and they were playing football. how far they could kick the ball. they were so close to each other. prakash was in form six in english college. prasad was a teacher in jb again.
the quarrel
we all heard about the big quarrel. what caused it, we do not know. but what we do know is that the two brothers were never so friendly ever again, until prakash died in 1975. we never saw them fight or quarrel. but the easy friendship was gone. in 1964 prakash left for uk and we never saw much of him for a number of years.
the rambutan tree
my uncle had a friend Mr Chak Ho Yen who lived in scudai. they together with my father got two rambutan trees for our garden. the red variety died. the yellow one survived. it is there, minus its heyday glory. those were happy days when we all gathered in our house during the weekend and trade stories outside near the gate until the wee hours of the morning.we would put mats on the cement and watch the stars. my uncles and mum would have endless stories of relatives in india and there was so much of laughter. dad never joined in.
my mathematics teacher
my uncle was a mathematics teacher in pontian the town he moved to just before he got married. he never came back to jb again to work. with his marriage, we lost the closeness and the friendship. we never saw much of him or his family. but i do believe the love was always there. he would help me with my maths when i was in form two. he never had a temper.
angry mother
my mother would get really cross with him for not visiting and would be scolding him. but the moment she saw him, she would smile and say, "How can anyone get angry with him? he is such a poor thing. "
war time and hunger
during the war, food was scarce and money from malaya from grandfather did not come for nearly three years. my great grandma would tell the children, my mother, uncle prasad and prakash not to come home for lunch for there would be no lunch.
my mother and prakash could stand the hunger but not my uncle prasad. he would walk to the house and when he saw the face of his grandma he would turn around and go back to school and play with his friends, thus forgetting his hunger.
after schoool at four the three of them would return from school. there would be porridge but no rice. he would look at the plates of the others and if his plate looked less full he would push his plate away and his grandmother would take her food and give him. he had a good appetite. i regret not taking him to India when i visited with my parents in 1997.
my brother called me this morning after ten to tell me that he is really in a critical state. why do i not feel the devastation that i should be feeling. he is the last surviving member of his family. they were such a close knit family. i would like to believe that they are waiting for him to enfold him in their warm embrace. there cannot be two more loving souls than my mother and grandmother and my great grandmother i am told. i get the feeling that he is going home.
i shall pack my bags and go home to jb tomorrow. tomorrow is another day. our family moved into jalan dhoby in the 1920s - my grandfather and his two brothers. his older brother was the very wealthy one. my grandfather was the ayurvedic medicine man and his younger brother opened the first photo studio in johore bahru. my father was brought from india by my grandfathers older brothers wife. she was his aunt. and my dad was about ten. before the war everyone except my grandfather and my father sailed back to the safety of india.
if my uncle should pass away, the tie with 15 jalan dhoby which lasted for close to 80 odd years will be severed. so today as i write it is truly the last days of 15 jalan dhoby for us.....................
Friday, August 5, 2011
as years go by
as years go by
Thursday, January 05, 2006
as time goes by
it's almost three in the afternoon and i am in my office. i can hear the excited voices of my clerks as they look forward to the coming weekend and the short week ahead with the tuesday public holiday.
so much and so little has been accomplished today and before it gets consigned to the cargo of uneventful days i have to state for posterity's sake that my day started at 2 in the morning when i drove my husband to the bus station to catch the morning bus to KLIA to catch the 8.30 flight to Chennai. gopal who stayed over with us, used my alarm clock to get up before 2. i took the clock back from him and forgot to reset it - hence i overslept.
from the bus station i got straight back. it was a very quiet drive and due to the spate of crime in this place, it was a little nerve wrecking too. when i got back i found that i wasnt sleepy. i rummaged thru the fridge and found some rice and prawn curry. i decided to tuck in cos rice always makes me sleepy. it did the trick. i ate rice and watched as arial sharon slowly died in israel.
how did i feel about sharon. one life is as precious as another. after so many unworthy iraqi deaths, i paid more attention to the prawns i was eating.
i slept the sleep of the tired and the peaceful. my husband woke me when he rang from KLIA where he was having a cup of coffee with gopal. lucky me, i was able to be in school before 8.
so many parents.
girls gets 4As and goes to the arts class with her mothers permission. father puts her in the science class.
girl gets Ds and wants to be a doctor.
my first day in 1 Eagle. its a wonderful class. they are going to do well. then the girl durga devi with the allergic reaction. and finally here i am listening the clerks who are very quiet. slowly munching some chick peas i write my first blog. is this history?? guess who i am ....
so much and so little has been accomplished today and before it gets consigned to the cargo of uneventful days i have to state for posterity's sake that my day started at 2 in the morning when i drove my husband to the bus station to catch the morning bus to KLIA to catch the 8.30 flight to Chennai. gopal who stayed over with us, used my alarm clock to get up before 2. i took the clock back from him and forgot to reset it - hence i overslept.
from the bus station i got straight back. it was a very quiet drive and due to the spate of crime in this place, it was a little nerve wrecking too. when i got back i found that i wasnt sleepy. i rummaged thru the fridge and found some rice and prawn curry. i decided to tuck in cos rice always makes me sleepy. it did the trick. i ate rice and watched as arial sharon slowly died in israel.
how did i feel about sharon. one life is as precious as another. after so many unworthy iraqi deaths, i paid more attention to the prawns i was eating.
i slept the sleep of the tired and the peaceful. my husband woke me when he rang from KLIA where he was having a cup of coffee with gopal. lucky me, i was able to be in school before 8.
so many parents.
girls gets 4As and goes to the arts class with her mothers permission. father puts her in the science class.
girl gets Ds and wants to be a doctor.
my first day in 1 Eagle. its a wonderful class. they are going to do well. then the girl durga devi with the allergic reaction. and finally here i am listening the clerks who are very quiet. slowly munching some chick peas i write my first blog. is this history?? guess who i am ....
Thursday, August 4, 2011
The Links that Link us All
Sunday, 31 July 2011
I offer a lift to Molly Verghis' mother-in-law from JB to KL. She arrives with her small bag and her quite nervous smile with her son Jacob and daughter in law Molly. Molly is very special to me.
I met Molly way back in 1979 when she was fourteen years old. Her late father was a senior conductor in the estates / plantations and the family had just moved to Tuan Estate in Karak, Pahang. I believe it was a very reluctant move for this family, from Kuala Kubu Baru.
Chandra invited them to the bungalow and Mr and Mrs Verghis and their children came in the evening. Mr Verghis had a smiling face and so did Mrs Verghis. He had very tanned skin, most probably due to long hours under the hot sun, in the fields. Mrs Verghis had very light skin and she spoke about not being well and having a weak or sensitive stomach.
Emily had completed her Form 5. Sheela was studying in Singapore. Easaw was in Form Five and Molly was in Form Three. Then there was Shibu who was in boarding school. The children were all exceptionally good looking, extremely well mannered and endearing.
I think it helped somewhat when they found out that i was a teacher and would take the children to school. That was one problem sorted out - going to school from far away remote estates. They would be studying SMK Karak, where i was an English teacher. That was the beginning of my long friendship with especially Molly.
Molly and her siblings call me Chechi and i felt really like an older sister to them all. I was 29 when i met them. Today i am 61 and Molly is in her forties. I see the kid in her and i think she sees the older sister in me. As i grow older, i will need people like Molly in my life for friendship, companionship and care, when life gets lonelier. I know that she will be there for she never fails to remember me during special days and ordinary days as well.
The story of Molly and her family will continue another day. Now i have to prepare a recipe for Omi my Filipino helper, for my dinner when i return after work.
I offer a lift to Molly Verghis' mother-in-law from JB to KL. She arrives with her small bag and her quite nervous smile with her son Jacob and daughter in law Molly. Molly is very special to me.
I met Molly way back in 1979 when she was fourteen years old. Her late father was a senior conductor in the estates / plantations and the family had just moved to Tuan Estate in Karak, Pahang. I believe it was a very reluctant move for this family, from Kuala Kubu Baru.
Chandra invited them to the bungalow and Mr and Mrs Verghis and their children came in the evening. Mr Verghis had a smiling face and so did Mrs Verghis. He had very tanned skin, most probably due to long hours under the hot sun, in the fields. Mrs Verghis had very light skin and she spoke about not being well and having a weak or sensitive stomach.
Emily had completed her Form 5. Sheela was studying in Singapore. Easaw was in Form Five and Molly was in Form Three. Then there was Shibu who was in boarding school. The children were all exceptionally good looking, extremely well mannered and endearing.
I think it helped somewhat when they found out that i was a teacher and would take the children to school. That was one problem sorted out - going to school from far away remote estates. They would be studying SMK Karak, where i was an English teacher. That was the beginning of my long friendship with especially Molly.
Molly and her siblings call me Chechi and i felt really like an older sister to them all. I was 29 when i met them. Today i am 61 and Molly is in her forties. I see the kid in her and i think she sees the older sister in me. As i grow older, i will need people like Molly in my life for friendship, companionship and care, when life gets lonelier. I know that she will be there for she never fails to remember me during special days and ordinary days as well.
The story of Molly and her family will continue another day. Now i have to prepare a recipe for Omi my Filipino helper, for my dinner when i return after work.
Monday, August 1, 2011
Remembering Minni Nandey, Convent of the Holy Infant Jesus Johore Bahru
It is 1959. The place is HIJ Convent Primary, Johore Bahru. The specific place where it all began, is the little field next to my class, Std 3F which is next to the school office. The time is early in the morning before the bell rings for lessons to begin.
I arrive by car at about 7.15 in the morning and walk up the steps that lead to the marble statue of our Lady who stands there tirelessly, to receive us in her open arms. The nuns had told us stories of Mary and that we should look upon her as our Mother, and that she would never forsake us but always protect us. We believed them.
I walk down the corridor past the office and enter my class, go to my desk and place my bag by my chair. I look around and talk to some of my friends who are all eager to go out and play their favourite games with their favourite friends. We run out to the corridor on the other side of the classroom.
First let me explain what my class is really like. It is a big room with four doors, two on each side. The doors open outwards and we fix a kind of hook from the door to the wall, so that the doors will not bang shut when the wind blows. There are no windows. But the class is really very bright. We have a long desk which two girls can share. We sit on a long bench which has two hands and a 'back' that allows us to lean back. Below the top of the desk, there is a kind of compartment where we place our books, there is no cover. Nothing ever got lost those days. There are lots of display boards on the wall in front, between the doors and at the back of the class. We are so proud of our work being displayed by the teachers.
From the corridor on the other side of the class, i cross the little drain and skip to the little field which is to me a really big field. So many of my friends are there and we begin to play, "The Farmer takes a wife", by forming a big circle by holding hands. There is one girl in the middle who is the farmer. She will choose the wife and the wife joins her in the middle. Then the wife chooses something or someone. And the game goes on. Today i wonder who the leader was who organized the game. I do know that some girls are natural leaders and all the others want to be their followers. If the leader 'friends' us then we have lots of friends. If the leader does not 'friend' us, then we can be isolated until we fall into line.
Then was a group of girls who fell outside this cycle and who were content to remain as onlookers untouched, or so they seemed, by the leader, followers, friend and won't friend rules! i was never a top leader. i was quite content to follow the natural leaders and kept my place by scoring high marks in all tests and examinations.
I remember seeing two little Indian girls standing on the outside watching the game. One is Sulochana Nair and the other is Minni Nandey. They are both in Standard One, light skinned and quiet. Sulo has black curly hair that is plaited into two plaits. Minni has short straight hair. Minni is a very confident girl who speaks well. Sulo is quiet at first. I ask them if they are Punjabi. Sulo is Malayali like me and Minni is a Bengali. Soon it is time for lessons. During our interval, and after going to the tuckshop, we come back to our field to play again, hopscotch or some other game. I do not see the girls during interval. I only see them in the morning.
I am in Form 1 in 1963, and Mrs Ramanathan is my class teacher. I learn that she was a Ms Nandey. Minni and Eva, Minni's sister, are her nieces. She is also the sister of Mr Nandey who travels to work in Singapore with my father. I begin to understand the confidence that the two Nandey children possess.
I am in Form 3 in 1965 and Minni Nandey comes into Form 1. We bump into each other before school and during interval. Our paths do not actually cross and we move on with our different friends and our lessons while smiling and exchanging the ocassional greetings.
I am in Form 5 in 1967 and Minni is in Form 3. We are both in our own ways known for the different things we do in school. I am very much into drama and theatre at school level. I finally leave school and go to Johore English College. I do not see Minni for two years. I leave English College in 1969 and both Sulo and Minni enter English College in 1970. I however see Eva who is a friend and classmate of my younger sister.
I enter the University of Malaya and do not see her for another two years. Then in my final year in 1972/3 both Sulo and Minni enter the same University. I see more of Sulo than i do of Minni. I shall come back to Sulo in another story. Her family and mine bought new houses in Lorong 2B Jalan Abdul Samad and moved in when i was in Std 4 and Sulo in Std 3, in November 1960, and we became more like family than friends and have remained so until today.
Minni and i are never great friends by any means but, we remain knowing each other, and remain tied by the ties of our school. I leave University and my life takes a path that i had not planned for, nor envisaged. My life takes a lonely path away from my family and friends, sometimes into the deep interior areas of New Villages and curfew, and to the poorest of poor districts of this country and sadly away from my friends. I who had so many friends, am suddenly without friends and slowly lose touch with almost all my friends except for Sulo, when i finally leave the University of Singapore in 1975. I make new friends but ....
Years pass and I am 47 years old in 1997. I am in my mother's house in JB and my sister in law Joyce brings me some fashion magazines and i see the name Suniti Nandey written on them. I remember thinking, "So this is what her handwriting looks like!". Suniti is Minni's actual name. Joyce's older sister Harriet got the magazines. I speak of the little girl i first met on the field and of the relationship or lack of it that i share with her. She is a teacher. She is still single. Joyce gives me some material and i make a couple of outfits following the patterns in Minni's books. I speak without much conviction about getting in touch with Minni. I go back to Ipoh.
The years move on and two days ago, it was the 30th of July 2011, i am 61 and sitting outside my mother's house as we usually do in the evenings, with my brother, roy and vivian. Roy, Vivian his girlfriend, and i had come down to JB for different reasons. Roy took part in a golf competition in Singapore and had come to my Dad's house in JB. i drove down from Ipoh, picked up Vivian and met Roy in my dad's house. Vivian and Roy wanted to meet The Chinese Traditional Medicine Doctor. I wanted to meet my only remaining maternal uncle who was ill in hospital, lung cancer. I also want to meet a pastor who has healing powers. My older brother is the kindest soul you can meet and his wife is ever so accommodating of our family. I never want to hurt my brother's feelings at all.
My youngest brother attended the funeral of Sulo's oldest cousin on Saturday, 30 July 2011, while i accompanied Roy and Vivian to see the doctor. If i had accompanied Suresh, my youngest brother, i would have met Sulo. I would have attended Minni's funeral. Suresh met Sulo and she told him of Minni. Minni had passed away, stomach cancer. I do not say much. The news cannot and will not sink in.
Memories jostle with each other. Each one fighting to come to the front and be remembered with pain or laughter. I remember Mrs Ramanathan my teacher in Form 1, who is today Singapore's First Lady. I remember her in her skirts and blouses and short hair. She was plump and not very tall.
I remember her sister Mrs Ramakrishnan my class teacher in Form 5 and who remains till today the best teacher anyone could have. She is slim and tall and has long hair put up in a 'bun'. She is always dressed in a sari and she is the picture of elegance. She is by no means a loud person but one look at her and you know that no nonsense will be tolerated. In her class she allows us to do nothing but be educated. That is one lady who moulds characters.
I remember Mr Nandey who worked with my Dad, the silent man. I remember all those years when i could have been friends with Minni.
Yesterday it was the 31 of July, my brother spoke about Minni's funeral in his church and the strong police presence because of the President of Singapore and the First Lady. I am sure yesterday, Mrs Ramanathan was the aunt remembering what i remember today: a little girl, her hopes, her beauty, her brilliance, her pain and a life that ended too soon.
I remember the steps leading up to Mother Mary waiting with her open arms. I remember Minni as the girl in school. I never met her again after i left the University of Malaya in 1973, which is a shame. We can only talk and help our friends when they are alive. All these words written by me and others, after our friends are gone, are nothing but empty words. They are merely words we hope would act as a salve for our hearts, to help us come to terms with life's unfeeling, relentless march forward to a destiny and destination that we do not know.
She came into my life with Sulo and it was Sulo who told me of her passing. I remember the Convent days and the school song that we used to sing with such gusto with our young lungs bursting with feeling and often not hitting the right note. Today, the lyrics and melody come into my mind yet again, minus the gusto:
"Through weal or woe we forward go
United great and small
In virtue simple and duty strong
Is the motto for us all.
Tho far we roam from our ancient home
Our thoughts would often stray
Back to these happy Convent days
Where our hearts are warm and gay ..."
Minni if we meet again, i will surely speak to you more than i did in this world. Farewell my friend. May your soul rest in peace.
I arrive by car at about 7.15 in the morning and walk up the steps that lead to the marble statue of our Lady who stands there tirelessly, to receive us in her open arms. The nuns had told us stories of Mary and that we should look upon her as our Mother, and that she would never forsake us but always protect us. We believed them.
I walk down the corridor past the office and enter my class, go to my desk and place my bag by my chair. I look around and talk to some of my friends who are all eager to go out and play their favourite games with their favourite friends. We run out to the corridor on the other side of the classroom.
First let me explain what my class is really like. It is a big room with four doors, two on each side. The doors open outwards and we fix a kind of hook from the door to the wall, so that the doors will not bang shut when the wind blows. There are no windows. But the class is really very bright. We have a long desk which two girls can share. We sit on a long bench which has two hands and a 'back' that allows us to lean back. Below the top of the desk, there is a kind of compartment where we place our books, there is no cover. Nothing ever got lost those days. There are lots of display boards on the wall in front, between the doors and at the back of the class. We are so proud of our work being displayed by the teachers.
From the corridor on the other side of the class, i cross the little drain and skip to the little field which is to me a really big field. So many of my friends are there and we begin to play, "The Farmer takes a wife", by forming a big circle by holding hands. There is one girl in the middle who is the farmer. She will choose the wife and the wife joins her in the middle. Then the wife chooses something or someone. And the game goes on. Today i wonder who the leader was who organized the game. I do know that some girls are natural leaders and all the others want to be their followers. If the leader 'friends' us then we have lots of friends. If the leader does not 'friend' us, then we can be isolated until we fall into line.
Then was a group of girls who fell outside this cycle and who were content to remain as onlookers untouched, or so they seemed, by the leader, followers, friend and won't friend rules! i was never a top leader. i was quite content to follow the natural leaders and kept my place by scoring high marks in all tests and examinations.
I remember seeing two little Indian girls standing on the outside watching the game. One is Sulochana Nair and the other is Minni Nandey. They are both in Standard One, light skinned and quiet. Sulo has black curly hair that is plaited into two plaits. Minni has short straight hair. Minni is a very confident girl who speaks well. Sulo is quiet at first. I ask them if they are Punjabi. Sulo is Malayali like me and Minni is a Bengali. Soon it is time for lessons. During our interval, and after going to the tuckshop, we come back to our field to play again, hopscotch or some other game. I do not see the girls during interval. I only see them in the morning.
I am in Form 1 in 1963, and Mrs Ramanathan is my class teacher. I learn that she was a Ms Nandey. Minni and Eva, Minni's sister, are her nieces. She is also the sister of Mr Nandey who travels to work in Singapore with my father. I begin to understand the confidence that the two Nandey children possess.
I am in Form 3 in 1965 and Minni Nandey comes into Form 1. We bump into each other before school and during interval. Our paths do not actually cross and we move on with our different friends and our lessons while smiling and exchanging the ocassional greetings.
I am in Form 5 in 1967 and Minni is in Form 3. We are both in our own ways known for the different things we do in school. I am very much into drama and theatre at school level. I finally leave school and go to Johore English College. I do not see Minni for two years. I leave English College in 1969 and both Sulo and Minni enter English College in 1970. I however see Eva who is a friend and classmate of my younger sister.
I enter the University of Malaya and do not see her for another two years. Then in my final year in 1972/3 both Sulo and Minni enter the same University. I see more of Sulo than i do of Minni. I shall come back to Sulo in another story. Her family and mine bought new houses in Lorong 2B Jalan Abdul Samad and moved in when i was in Std 4 and Sulo in Std 3, in November 1960, and we became more like family than friends and have remained so until today.
Minni and i are never great friends by any means but, we remain knowing each other, and remain tied by the ties of our school. I leave University and my life takes a path that i had not planned for, nor envisaged. My life takes a lonely path away from my family and friends, sometimes into the deep interior areas of New Villages and curfew, and to the poorest of poor districts of this country and sadly away from my friends. I who had so many friends, am suddenly without friends and slowly lose touch with almost all my friends except for Sulo, when i finally leave the University of Singapore in 1975. I make new friends but ....
Years pass and I am 47 years old in 1997. I am in my mother's house in JB and my sister in law Joyce brings me some fashion magazines and i see the name Suniti Nandey written on them. I remember thinking, "So this is what her handwriting looks like!". Suniti is Minni's actual name. Joyce's older sister Harriet got the magazines. I speak of the little girl i first met on the field and of the relationship or lack of it that i share with her. She is a teacher. She is still single. Joyce gives me some material and i make a couple of outfits following the patterns in Minni's books. I speak without much conviction about getting in touch with Minni. I go back to Ipoh.
The years move on and two days ago, it was the 30th of July 2011, i am 61 and sitting outside my mother's house as we usually do in the evenings, with my brother, roy and vivian. Roy, Vivian his girlfriend, and i had come down to JB for different reasons. Roy took part in a golf competition in Singapore and had come to my Dad's house in JB. i drove down from Ipoh, picked up Vivian and met Roy in my dad's house. Vivian and Roy wanted to meet The Chinese Traditional Medicine Doctor. I wanted to meet my only remaining maternal uncle who was ill in hospital, lung cancer. I also want to meet a pastor who has healing powers. My older brother is the kindest soul you can meet and his wife is ever so accommodating of our family. I never want to hurt my brother's feelings at all.
My youngest brother attended the funeral of Sulo's oldest cousin on Saturday, 30 July 2011, while i accompanied Roy and Vivian to see the doctor. If i had accompanied Suresh, my youngest brother, i would have met Sulo. I would have attended Minni's funeral. Suresh met Sulo and she told him of Minni. Minni had passed away, stomach cancer. I do not say much. The news cannot and will not sink in.
Memories jostle with each other. Each one fighting to come to the front and be remembered with pain or laughter. I remember Mrs Ramanathan my teacher in Form 1, who is today Singapore's First Lady. I remember her in her skirts and blouses and short hair. She was plump and not very tall.
I remember her sister Mrs Ramakrishnan my class teacher in Form 5 and who remains till today the best teacher anyone could have. She is slim and tall and has long hair put up in a 'bun'. She is always dressed in a sari and she is the picture of elegance. She is by no means a loud person but one look at her and you know that no nonsense will be tolerated. In her class she allows us to do nothing but be educated. That is one lady who moulds characters.
I remember Mr Nandey who worked with my Dad, the silent man. I remember all those years when i could have been friends with Minni.
Yesterday it was the 31 of July, my brother spoke about Minni's funeral in his church and the strong police presence because of the President of Singapore and the First Lady. I am sure yesterday, Mrs Ramanathan was the aunt remembering what i remember today: a little girl, her hopes, her beauty, her brilliance, her pain and a life that ended too soon.
I remember the steps leading up to Mother Mary waiting with her open arms. I remember Minni as the girl in school. I never met her again after i left the University of Malaya in 1973, which is a shame. We can only talk and help our friends when they are alive. All these words written by me and others, after our friends are gone, are nothing but empty words. They are merely words we hope would act as a salve for our hearts, to help us come to terms with life's unfeeling, relentless march forward to a destiny and destination that we do not know.
She came into my life with Sulo and it was Sulo who told me of her passing. I remember the Convent days and the school song that we used to sing with such gusto with our young lungs bursting with feeling and often not hitting the right note. Today, the lyrics and melody come into my mind yet again, minus the gusto:
"Through weal or woe we forward go
United great and small
In virtue simple and duty strong
Is the motto for us all.
Tho far we roam from our ancient home
Our thoughts would often stray
Back to these happy Convent days
Where our hearts are warm and gay ..."
Minni if we meet again, i will surely speak to you more than i did in this world. Farewell my friend. May your soul rest in peace.
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Remembering Convent of the Holy Infant Jesus Johore Bahru of the 50s and 60s
Today is the first day of my life as a blogger and i would like to start by writing about my school HIJ Convent jb. The fact that i can write is because of all my teachers who took me by my hand and led me into the world of the written word.
I salute my teachers who from the day I stepped into Standard one and until i left for the last time after my form five examination in 1967, kept me on the path to discovering the potential that i had in me.
i remember every teacher who was my class teacher and who taught me not just right from wrong but also how to be righteous.
My uncle Prakash who in 1957 was sitting for his Senior CAmbridge exam, studied French under Sister Helen, He registered me in the Convent. He was 17 and i was 7. He took me to buy my first books and it was the blue eyed Sister Helen sold the books to me. She stood there so straight and tall as she spoke to him. I did not know what she said.
I took in my hands the new books, so sacred and so holy and held them against my chest. That was a defining moment in my life. Until today, the thing i love the most is a book.
I could smell the books. I opened one and held it up to my face and inhaled. It was sheer joy and until today, when i open a new book i hold it close to my face and inhale the smell that only a book can have.
Once in a while i get a waft of that smell of my first book on Old Lob the farmer who opened my small world and took me into his world of reading, writing and speaking in English. It was the world of Percy the naughty chick, Master Willy her friend, a mischievous pig. Then there was Mr Dan the dog, Mrs Cuddy the cow, Mr Dobbin the horse, Mr Grumps the grumpy goat, Mother Hen, not sure if she had a name, Miss Tibbs the cat. That farm, the farmer and the animals were so real and so alive, that til today, when i think of them, my heart fills with the kind of joy that only a young heart can feel!
I was until i entered the Convent educated by my mother who had come from Kerala in India, and for a bit by the teachers of The Public School in Johore Bahru. Mum taught my older brother and me Sanskrit prayers, how to read and write in Malayalam and speak the language to some degree of fluency. She always spoke so highly of the Convent and how that school was second to none when it came to educating girls.
On reaching home with my new books, I could not put the book away from my face. So captivating was the scent of the paper, the words and the hidden knowledge. I could not explain to my mother what that smell did to me. Dad covered the books and i was heartbroken for a while. I wanted to see the colourful cover and not the brown paper. He wrote my name neatly in all my books. Then i began my wait for the first day of Standard One. Everyday i looked at my books, i touched them and held them.
Mum took me to a Chinese tailor in Jalan Lumba Kuda and she sewed my new uniform. I had three sets of uniform. It was a luxury to have three sets. She made them a few inches below my knee so that i could wear them for a few years - the blue pinafore with three box pleats in front and at the back, in cotton and the white blouse with peter pan collar, white shoes and white socks and blue, black or white hair ribbons and no jewellery. i wore that uniform until the end of Standard Four when it was a few inches above my knee and considered no longer a decent length.
January 1957 was slow in approaching. An uncle who stayed with us, found a trishaw rider who would take me and his nephew to school in a trishaw. We were in the afternoon school. I went to the Convent and nephew went to Bukit Zahrah.
Life was not rushed. The trishaw would come to the front of the house and the man would ring his bell. Mum would help me into the trishaw togeher with Abhi, the nephew. When it rained, the rider would pull a flap across the front and we would be protected from the rain. We enjoyed the slow, swaying ride. Cars were few in Johor Bahru and we felt so safe.
The young Malay rider would talk to us but we spoke no Malay and very little English. So we just smiled at each other. One day, he shared a snack with me. It was sticky rice. I was in a dilema. Mum had taught us not to accept food from anyone. The rider was insistent that i tried it. I took and held it in my hand for a long while. Then he peeled off the burnt banana leaf and told me to take a bite. I did. It was salty and did not taste like anything i had ever eaten before. i chewed on it slowly and with the man watching me, i managed to swallow it. The rider rode and i held the food in my hand, and when i thought it was safe, let it drop from my hand behind the trishaw. He never ever offered me food again. I remember his kindness and nothing else about him. I would like to thank him for sharing his food. i would like to apologise for my bad manners in throwing it away.
On the way home from school, the trishaw would travel in front of the Cathay cinema. The ride was an uphill one. The rider would tell us to get down and push the trishaw while he pedalled until we reached level ground again. Abhi and i enjoyed this part very much but we never mentioned it to our respective parents. This joy came to an end when Abhi's uncle saw us pushing the trishaw one day. That was the end of trishaw rides for us. Until today, there is nothing so tranquil as a ride in a trishaw with the wind blowing so gently on your face and through your hair.
To be continued.
I salute my teachers who from the day I stepped into Standard one and until i left for the last time after my form five examination in 1967, kept me on the path to discovering the potential that i had in me.
i remember every teacher who was my class teacher and who taught me not just right from wrong but also how to be righteous.
My uncle Prakash who in 1957 was sitting for his Senior CAmbridge exam, studied French under Sister Helen, He registered me in the Convent. He was 17 and i was 7. He took me to buy my first books and it was the blue eyed Sister Helen sold the books to me. She stood there so straight and tall as she spoke to him. I did not know what she said.
I took in my hands the new books, so sacred and so holy and held them against my chest. That was a defining moment in my life. Until today, the thing i love the most is a book.
I could smell the books. I opened one and held it up to my face and inhaled. It was sheer joy and until today, when i open a new book i hold it close to my face and inhale the smell that only a book can have.
Once in a while i get a waft of that smell of my first book on Old Lob the farmer who opened my small world and took me into his world of reading, writing and speaking in English. It was the world of Percy the naughty chick, Master Willy her friend, a mischievous pig. Then there was Mr Dan the dog, Mrs Cuddy the cow, Mr Dobbin the horse, Mr Grumps the grumpy goat, Mother Hen, not sure if she had a name, Miss Tibbs the cat. That farm, the farmer and the animals were so real and so alive, that til today, when i think of them, my heart fills with the kind of joy that only a young heart can feel!
I was until i entered the Convent educated by my mother who had come from Kerala in India, and for a bit by the teachers of The Public School in Johore Bahru. Mum taught my older brother and me Sanskrit prayers, how to read and write in Malayalam and speak the language to some degree of fluency. She always spoke so highly of the Convent and how that school was second to none when it came to educating girls.
On reaching home with my new books, I could not put the book away from my face. So captivating was the scent of the paper, the words and the hidden knowledge. I could not explain to my mother what that smell did to me. Dad covered the books and i was heartbroken for a while. I wanted to see the colourful cover and not the brown paper. He wrote my name neatly in all my books. Then i began my wait for the first day of Standard One. Everyday i looked at my books, i touched them and held them.
Mum took me to a Chinese tailor in Jalan Lumba Kuda and she sewed my new uniform. I had three sets of uniform. It was a luxury to have three sets. She made them a few inches below my knee so that i could wear them for a few years - the blue pinafore with three box pleats in front and at the back, in cotton and the white blouse with peter pan collar, white shoes and white socks and blue, black or white hair ribbons and no jewellery. i wore that uniform until the end of Standard Four when it was a few inches above my knee and considered no longer a decent length.
January 1957 was slow in approaching. An uncle who stayed with us, found a trishaw rider who would take me and his nephew to school in a trishaw. We were in the afternoon school. I went to the Convent and nephew went to Bukit Zahrah.
Life was not rushed. The trishaw would come to the front of the house and the man would ring his bell. Mum would help me into the trishaw togeher with Abhi, the nephew. When it rained, the rider would pull a flap across the front and we would be protected from the rain. We enjoyed the slow, swaying ride. Cars were few in Johor Bahru and we felt so safe.
The young Malay rider would talk to us but we spoke no Malay and very little English. So we just smiled at each other. One day, he shared a snack with me. It was sticky rice. I was in a dilema. Mum had taught us not to accept food from anyone. The rider was insistent that i tried it. I took and held it in my hand for a long while. Then he peeled off the burnt banana leaf and told me to take a bite. I did. It was salty and did not taste like anything i had ever eaten before. i chewed on it slowly and with the man watching me, i managed to swallow it. The rider rode and i held the food in my hand, and when i thought it was safe, let it drop from my hand behind the trishaw. He never ever offered me food again. I remember his kindness and nothing else about him. I would like to thank him for sharing his food. i would like to apologise for my bad manners in throwing it away.
On the way home from school, the trishaw would travel in front of the Cathay cinema. The ride was an uphill one. The rider would tell us to get down and push the trishaw while he pedalled until we reached level ground again. Abhi and i enjoyed this part very much but we never mentioned it to our respective parents. This joy came to an end when Abhi's uncle saw us pushing the trishaw one day. That was the end of trishaw rides for us. Until today, there is nothing so tranquil as a ride in a trishaw with the wind blowing so gently on your face and through your hair.
To be continued.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)