Since I turned 70 recently, I thought I would try and remember birthdays of mine when I was younger.  But now, try as I might, I cannot remember a single one of my birthdays as a child.  The only birthday I do remember was when I turned 15, in 1966, my last year in school, when we appeared for the Senior Cambridge exams, equivalent to O levels at that time.

I was the youngest in the class and I recall more of what my friends did in school.  Possibly I remember this birthday also because I kept a diary through a large part of that year, which I still have with me, and that certainly jogs my memory.  I remember getting my first lipstick and two lovely saris.  

Somehow, what comes to mind are Christmases.  Often, while we were in Bombay, we spent Christmas in Pune with my mother's sister, who lived and worked there.  We decorated the house, though I don't remember a Christmas tree as such.  The highlight was Christmas breakfast, mainly because my aunt had a tape recorder and she would proceed to turn it on in the morning and our singing and breakfast conversation was all recorded.  Those were those big spool tapes and she had a huge collection.  She would then play some of the recordings from previous Christmases.

As I get older, I find that the events I remember are less and less.  But there are little vignettes, snapshots in my mind, of places, things and people and those pictures are very sharp.

It is a pity that I can't remember birthdays, because my mother was the sort who did celebrate our birthdays in some way.  Ah well, I guess my children will remember more about their birthdays as, by then, cameras were ubiquitous and so photographs abound.

Collecting chocolate wrappers

I was slowly and methodically straightening out a piece of aluminium foil, which had wrapped some dish we had delivered recently; (yes, I clean and reuse aluminium foil if I can, as here, where I live it is difficult to dispose of them).  As I was straightening it out I suddennly remembered how, when I was young, Cadbury's chocolates came wrapped in a silver paper, inside the printed paper wrapper and for many of us young kids, the greatest joy was collecting these.  It was a delicate process as the silver paper was very fragile.  So, if you were impatient it went to pieces.  I remember using a thin handkerchief and oh so slowly rubbing the silver paper to straighten it out.  It was an achievement to get a couple of whole papers.  Besides, one rarely got a bar of chocolate for oneself.  It was usually one bar (of around 40 gms) to be shared between at least 2 kids.  So to get the paper for yourself was really great.  It was only much later, when Cadbury started making the smaller bars, that they came in printed thicker aluminium foil.

Riding in Ooty

A chance black and white picture I came across , of a group of riders during the British Raj, reminded me of my days in boarding school in Ooty (now Udhagamandalam).  We could choose riding as one of our extra curricular activities.  As I loved anything to do with animals, my parents agreed to riding as one of my activities. 
We had an Englishwoman as our riding instructor (one of those who chose to stay back after Indian Independence).  She had a lovely big, black horse.  We learned to ride on the Ooty ponies.  As I was just a little over 8 years old at that time and the others with me were all around that age, the ponies were much better for us. 
After the initial days going round and round the paddock, we were taken out to ride on grasslands called the Ooty Downs at that time.  I wonder how much of the Downs remains now.  I loved riding over the Downs.  Once I took a toss into some bushes.  But that did not dim my enthusiasm.
Our instructor also insisted that each of us learn to take off the saddles at the end of the ride and brush down our ponies.  How I loved that bit!  We were given carrots to feed our ponies too, at the end of the ride.
Once, the instructor allowed me to ride her big horse, as a special treat for doing well, but of course just around the paddock.  That was thrilling for me.
Ah well, that was 58 years ago.   I have had only a chance or two after that to ride and that too, not to ride off on my own, and I guess I may no longer be able to control a horse. 
But of the two years I was in boarding school, riding was one of the nicest bits.

A post on Instagram by a friend about World War II brought back memories. 
I had an uncle who had fought in WW II, in North Africa mainly, as I remember him telling me.  I was 13 or 14 at that time and had read any number of books on the war, mainly non-fiction.  I had read 'The Desert Fox' about Rommel and to me the fact that he had fought in a battalion against Rommel seemed romantic. 
Once it happened that I wanted to see the movie 'The Great Escape'.  I had already seen it once and wanted to see it again.  The only person who was free to come with me was this uncle.  He first refused to come with me.  But finally, being the really sweet person he was, he came very reluctantly.  Sometime during the movie, I looked at him and he had his eyes closed.  It is only much later that I realised how difficult it must have been for him, though the war had been over almost 20 years by then. Nobody knew about PTSD then.  Now that I do know, I realise what a sacrifice he made to come with me for the movie.

Much later, after reading more books on the horrors of the War and the concentration camps, I became a pacifist.

1965

Today my husband and I were talking about the Vietnam war as he has been watching a Netflix series on the Vietnam war.  We talked about those years.  That awoke memories of 1965 when there was a war with Pakistan. 
I was in Calcutta then, in the 10th standard, which, at that time, meant one more year of school.  What I remember clearly was that when the war started, all of us 9th and 10th standard students were sent to paste brown paper on all the glass windows and ventilator shutters.  As we did not have a hostel in school, it was not for black out, but apparently to prevent the glass shattering inwards, if a bomb was dropped.  We of course thought it was great that we got away from classes for quite a few days.
I also remember the air raid drills, sometimes during the day and sometimes at night. If we were in school, the bell would ring when the air raid siren went and we were all supposed to gather on the ground floor in a specific room.  If the siren went off at night, at home, all lights were to be put off and we were to gather in the centre of the house, on the ground floor.  As our flat was on the ground floor, we did not have to go out.  Now I think about it, I can't remember anyone telling us to turn off the piped in gas, used to cook and to heat the water boilers.
Anyway, one night there really was an air raid warning.  It must have been around 7.30 or 8 pm.  I guess we must have all put out the lights.  But what was worrying was that my father had not yet reached home.  His office was way over near Barrackpore, on the Barrackpore Trunk Road.   There were no cell phones then.  So we had no idea where he might be.  I think my mother rang the office and found he had left.  My mother, my sister and I sat in the centre room and waited for the all clear.  We heard planes overhead.  The all clear must have sounded after an hour or so.  My father arrived sometime after that.  He said he had been on the road when the siren sounded.  Apparently all the cars stopped, and all lights were switched off--headlights, streetlights, traffic lights, everything. 
Next morning we learnt that a bomb had been dropped in Barrackpore on the Air Force base there and there had been air fights.   There were more sorties in the East, near and around Calcutta. 
During the day, life went on as usual and we went to school.  I don't remember getting a holiday due to the war.  But then again my memory may be playing false.
What I do remember is that the duration of studies for engineering was cut short, as in, those in their last year of the engineering course had 6 months reduced from the course, so that many engineers would be ready to help the country if the war continued.  So my older brother, who was in his last year in IIT in Chennai, finished his course and came back home much earlier than expected and was around to help me with my studies. 
I just read up about it on Wikipedia and realised it was quite a big encounter.  But, I don't remember feeling worried about the war.  All I remember is wishing I could become a pilot.

Goats and kids

I have written earlier about staying in Kerala with my maternal aunt.I remember the visits as idyllic times.
 It was an old-fashioned farm. There were many cows and milk was sold. There were many hens too and maybe eggs were sold too, though I can't remember.  I remember that more than once, when I went to stay, my aunt would buy a pregnant goat, so that when she gave birth I could have goat's milk.  But my big thrill was having the kids to look after.  I was usually allowed to be there at the birthing.  Once the goat had 2 kids and I think on another occasion there were 3 but the memory is probably false.  It was lovely watching the kids being born and then watching them stand up on unsteady legs.  But in about a minute they would be jumping around.  I remember the first such goat I called Milly and the kids were just Milly's kids.  My aunt showed me how to milk the goat too and I was allowed to milk the goat--occasionally I guess.  The kids were my friends and I loved playing with them, with them running around behind me.
I stayed with my aunt there on numerous occasions from when I was about 4 and for quite a while when I finished high school at almost 16 and many more times in between.  But to write about the times there requires many blog posts.

Hill Road, Bandra, Mumbai

When I was around 4, we moved from Napean Sea Road, in Mumbai to Mt.Mary Road, now apparently called Hill Road.  It was a huge British Bungalow, opposite the St. Stephen's Anglican church.  I used to often walk across by myself, to church to go to Sunday School.  At that time Hill Road did not have much traffic, especially on a Sunday.
So I was thrilled when my niece, who had just started working in Mumbai, said she had found a bed-sit for herself on Hill Road, very close to St. Stephen's Church.  I looked it all up on Google maps to see how much it must have changed.  I last visited Hill Road maybe i 1999.  I am now looking forward to visiting her some time to renew my acquaintance with the road in it's latest avatar and certainly to slip into St. Stephen's as well as Mt. Mary Church.