OUR TORN FABRIC
LT COL NOEL ELLIS
12/VI/2022
If a ‘man’ from Ajmer could co-exist with a lady from Gorakhpur, then every human being can live peacefully. The only thing required was to fall in love. Yes, that is the story of my Dad & Mom. To amalgamate two people with different upbringings was the work of the Almighty.
Work brought my father to Punjab, Sainik School Kapurthala as a teacher. Mom was a nurse and later a teacher. It must have been difficult for them to adjust in Punjab. None of them understood, spoke, let alone wrote Punjabi script. Dad learnt and taught us the ‘Punjabi Qaida’ of ‘Oora-Aira-Sassa-Haha’.
Our upbringing was in a very open environment. We had Sikhs and Hindus all around us. Dad being the only Christian in the school. Parents took us to the Golden Temple, Vaishno Devi, Jawala ji and so many Dargahs and shrines in Punjab, J&K, Rajasthan and Himachal.
Kapurthala was a ‘State’ with total religious freedom. There was a State Gurudwara, a State Church which unfortunately was converted into a club. A state Mosque and a prominent Mandir maintained by the state. One had the privilege to visit all of them. It was freedom to practice & preach one’s faith.
His Highness, Maharaja of Kapurthala had a Christian, a Hindu and a Sikh wife. The Sikh lady had a palace for herself, but the other two stayed in beautiful houses co-located to the main Palace, which later housed the Registrar and Principal of our School. So far for religious freedom.
We, as children, came from all communities as friends. Good friends at that. Eating, sleeping, playing in each other’s houses till cows come home. Dads and moms gave a whack on the bums to remind us that we had a family too. Who ate what, at whose house, didn’t matter? It was the company which mattered.
We knew each and every fruit tree in our friend’s house. No one bothered if you plucked an Aroo or a Guava. Rather at the end of the day to save your skin, auntie would give a paper bag full of something from her kitchen garden, so that mom does not get annoyed for being late.
Come Gurpurb, an excitement would build. We would wait for the ‘Jaikara…. Bole So Nihal…. Then it was party time, Kada Prasad followed by langar. That ‘Dal and Parsaada’ tasted better than any meal. We ate sitting on the floor, till our tummy’s burst. We would die to taste drinks offered at a ‘Chabeel’. Mind you ‘Charan Amrit’ tasted even better.
One of our friends' fathers was our Sanskrit teacher and a Pandit. He would perform ‘Havans’ for all festivals. We used to look forward to errands. Firewood was collected for ‘Holika Dahan’. We would drag big fallen branches tied up behind our cycles to the spot of the function & compete who got the maximum.
Come ‘Kanchke’, yours truly would be invited as girls fell short. The sabzi which one would refuse to touch if mom made, was gobbled down like a glutton there. We would get a few paise after the ceremony. We would shoot to the wet canteen to buy delicious ‘Besan Barfi’ at 10p a piece.
Come Christmas, our house would be buzzing with activity. Friends would pre-book an evening. How they disliked us if we went away for Christmas break. They would be ‘Kutty’ if we went. People would ‘charge’ on the cakes and goodies. All would admire the Christmas tree. Imagine the whole staff congregating at our house. Those feelings were priceless.
Come Holi, we children would be out on the street way before the real playing of colours began. From one end, people would keep joining the group till everyone had greeted and played with colours. If your packet of colours finished, no one hesitated to offer colours from their own packet.
Come Diwali, we would burst crackers centrally. Then move from house to house, savouring Mithai. That is what we as kids were more on a look out for. Those days things were homemade. Irrespective of the religion, everyone prepared mouth-watering eats.
Come Lohri, we would join kids to sing ‘Sundarmundri-ay-ho’…., collecting money for Lohri. Sometimes fight when the booty was not equally distributed. Let there be a ‘Paath’ or ‘Pooja’ in anyone’s house, we would be there uninvited. Sing ‘Magal Bhavan amangal Haari’…., or recite ‘Ek onkar sat naam…. with the same gusto as we sang a hymn in church. ‘Arti’ & ‘Gayatri mantra’ are still by heart, so is the Lord’s prayer.
We were never put under any restriction. No one told us this was good & that was bad. Gone are the days. Unluckily, we did not have any Muslim friends, or else we would have enjoyed Eid too.
What has happened to our fabric today? I wonder!!!!!!!!!!
JAI HIND
© NOEL ELLIS
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