The Age of Wisdom

My growing up years were like a fairytale, as it was for everyone who grew up in the 70’s and 80’s. It was truly the age of wisdom. Life was simple, charming, and beautiful, the basic philosophy of life being “living for each other??? We woke up to sweet birdsong and inhaled fresh clean air. The south breeze was a steadfast companion on spring and summer evenings, cooling the humidity off our skins. Seasonal markers of fruits, flowers, forms, and fragrances, like the amaltas and gulmohar, shefali and poinsettias, mango blossoms and palash, jasmine and jarul, ice-apples and rose-apples, mangoes and jackfruit, velvet mites and fireflies, arrived well on time to herald a new season. We played in rain puddles with frogs and snails and sailed paper boats. We picked those smooth round icy hailstones on summer afternoons and chucked them at each other. We hung out on trees on our favourite branches plucking mango, jamrul, berries, and, guavas. We waded inside ponds with waist-deep water, trying to get the frothy eggs of frogs onto a leaf, or attempting to catch silvery and slippery fish into our cupped palms. Snakes peacefully co-existed in the home compound without a single snake-related mishap in twenty-nine years. Sagely vultures and chirpy sparrows in hundreds also shared the home space, roosting on trees and skylights, alongwith many other birds that feasted on the fruits that grew abundantly on the many fruiting trees in the garden. We would twitch our fingers wildly at Black-crowned Night Herons foraging in the lawn, pleading with them to barter their conch-white nails with ours, following an age-old superstition that had taken the form of a rhythmical couplet (years later as a birdwatcher I was to discover that they actually have grey-brown-black claws). During monsoons, the sound of raindrops falling on leaves, the thunderous croak of bullfrogs, and the rhythmic music of night crickets became comforting lullabys, making us tug up our covers snugly to sleep.

We celebrated pujas and festivals with joy since they were the only regular source of entertainment we could have, threading garlands, drawing “alpana???and relishing rituals and “bhog???with equal fervor. Going to the cinema was strictly rationed and an old hindi movie at the Bhubaneswar Club next door provided succour to our visual cravings of songs heard on the radio. “Vividh Bharati”, “Binaca Geet Mala” on the radio and a basic mono or stereo cassette player -cum- recorder were soul companions. 1982 and the Asian Games gave us television with “Chitrahaar”, epic serials like “Mahabharata”, “Ramayana”, “Bharat ek Khoj” and “Buniyaad”, “Quiz Time” and “The World This Week” getting us totally addicted.

We bicycled around the colony visiting homes of neighbours and friends, unannounced, happily sipping “Rasna???or munching on home-made “nankhatai???offered to us by aunties. Mothers and aunts baked birthday cakes and birthday parties were celebrated only at home with chef mother dishing out the most delicious eats. Birthday presents were mostly books and return gifts were pencils and erasers. We got four new sets of dresses every year, bought or stitched, for festivals and birthdays and were expected to wear them for all occasions. On very special occasions we would get to cut up one of Ma’s silk sarees to make a dressy outfit.

Winter evenings were about sweat-dripping badminton; sultry summer nights meant sleeping on the terrace under the midnight blue star-spangled sky. Reading books was the best solitary pastime. With friends and cousins it was carrom, scrabble, monopoly, antakshari, hopscotch, kabbadi, marbles, kite-flying and spinning tops. We pressed leaves and flowers to make cards for all occasions as there were no fancy branded cards available in stores and even if they had been available, we could not have afforded them. We wrote letters in quaint letter papers in the best handwriting, and under strict instructions from father, we diligently maintained a diary, recording events of the day as a practice that would not only enhance memory and expression but also aid us in reflecting over utilization of time (the importance of writing a diary was impressed upon us with the citing of an incidence of a distantly related uncle who won a case in court on evidence gleaned from his diary, so diligent was he in recording events and hence so reliable the written testimony).

Nuclear family homes were more like joint family homes, with uncles, aunts and cousins dropping in anytime of the day and night. These were occasions for lessons in sharing and caring, empathy and bonding. Grandparents were living connects with the roots and commanded unconditional love and respect. Our elderly domestic helps and caretakers were our earliest educators on scriptures and traditions.

The wisdom of parents and elders was unquestioned. However high profile and busy the parents might have been, it was mandatory to take stock of the developments of the day and get an update on everything that was going on. Parents lived to sacrifice for their children. My aspirational parents sent me to one of the best boarding schools in India those days where the fees was a princely five hundred rupees a month. To manage this fee out of the very modest government salary of my father, the family did not eat mutton (favoured food of odias) for a couple of years. And this is an absolute undiluted truth. We were made to formally learn art, craft, music, chanting and language. Tutors who came home to impart learning were family. My mother played the sitar in the evening and we loved sitting around her listening to her playing tunes like “o sajna barkha bahar ayee??? “vaishnava janato???etc.

As soon as we awoke to the 5.30 am chime of the Big Ben of BBC News Service, father would be waiting with a handmade cotton swab and a bottle of Mendel’s throat paint. We’d open our mouths wide and get the tonsils slathered, hating every bit of it. We were made to do some stretching exercises for seven to ten minutes for sleep to wear off, after which we had to brush our teeth for a certain number of minutes to a certain methodology. We read the headlines in the English newspaper, chanted Sanskrit shlokas, and then got down to an hour of study, the air redolent with the fragrance of incense sticks as the morning puja would have just concluded around that time. Alongwith newspapers, there were subscriptions of “Reader’s Digest??? “Time??? “Newsweek??? “Illustrated Weekly of India??? “Blitz??? “Current??? “Sunday??? “Sportstar???and “Femina???that enhanced our general knowledge, writing skills, and, world view. Stories and poems we read were simple, happy and beautiful. We did not need anyone to explain the meaning of poems to us, so simple and relatable were they. By age ten, we were given abridged versions of classics like A Tale of Two Cities and Great Expectations by Charles Dickens, Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen, Moby Dick by Herman Melville, Short Stories of O. Henry etc. We were introduced to shorter versions of Shakespeare’s plays by the time we were into our early teens, and also introduced subtly to the poems of Wordsworth, Keats, Frost and Shelley. Talking of subtle ingraining, my father made me read the word “budget???from the newspaper headline when I was barely two and a half. I obviously pronounced it incorrectly but that was my introduction to economics. Each year, he would show me the headline on budget day and make me recollect the past year’s conversation on the topic and then go on to add something more age-appropriate.  “Letters from a Father to his Daughter??? “My Experiments with Truth??? and, “The Discovery of India???were our reads in our school and college going years. Infact, I remember my father directing me to walk with a book on my head on a straight line drawn in the courtyard, ensuring that the book did not drop off, a practice to ensure grace of posture (apparently Jawaharlal Nehru had done the same with Indira! ) Alongwith these, we had our fair share of lighter readings that everyone else read, like all the comics, some novels, Mills & Boon, film magazines etc. It was not enough to just read ???we had to summarise stories that we read and memorise poems and quotations. We were introduced to world art with the paintings of impressionists and post-impressionists. We knew Vincent Van Gogh’s “Sunflowers???and self portrait, Leonardo da Vinci’s “La Gioconda???or “Mona Lisa??? Auguste Renoir’s “The Bar at the Folies???Bergere???and Monet’s Water Lily series, by the time we were in our teens. The book that opened up this world to me especially was ???00 World Famous Paintings???–??I, particularly, was enamoured by a painting titled “Carnation Lily Lily Rose??? I was enchanted by the pastel coloured flowers and chinese lanterns in the garden and the two young girls in beautiful floral patterned dresses. Printed beside the artwork was a write-up which I would keep reading over and over again, just to replay the mood of the artist in my young impressionable mind. I have always wanted to have a print of that painting but somehow it remains elusive, inspite of many other acquisitions in adulthood. We were introduced to Hindustani and Western Classical music and old Hindi film songs (the great velvet voiced Mohammed Rafi becoming my favourite since a very early age), thereby developing a taste for Tchaikovsky, Beethoven and Bach, as well as Pt. Ravi Shankar, Pt. Bismillah Khan Saab, Pt. Amjad Ali Khan, Pt. Alla Rakha, Pt. Bhimsen Joshi, Panditaa Gangubai Hangal, Vidushi Kishori Amonkar etc. We watched Bengali films of Satyajit Ray and listened to bangla and odia songs, ghazals and bhajans. We were introduced to English cinema with “The Sound of Music??? “My Fair Lady??? “Pride and Prejudice??? “Roman Holiday???and many more as also to English country music, singers and bands.

 We ate whatever was cooked and no fuss over food was ever entertained. Dinner time was family time during which conversations ranged from budget to politics, to the weather, and family gossip. We were subtly ingrained with lessons of being stoic in grief and handling moments of jubilation with humility and calmness. We were always taught to admire, appreciate and profusely compliment the efforts and achievements of others. Amidst all of this, we went to school and college, had tuitions, practiced hobbies, and, were subtly introduced to the nuances of literature, art, music, aesthetics, gardening, social etiquettes, and, a deep love for nature. We were entrusted with serious family responsibilities like nursing an ailing relative in hospital, or, looking after guests, even as early as age sixteen. While I was writing my M.A. exam, my paternal grandmother was admitted into the hospital for treatment. Alongwith my mother, aunts and uncles, I was also put on the roster for duty everyday for three hours. Duty was duty, exams notwithstanding.  We were trained to be proficient in cooking and acquire competency in basic household skills in order to be self-dependent later on in life. Very importantly, we were always told to look after our material belongings, books, clothes, sports accessories, bicycles etc and to ensure that they lasted for as long as possible. We saw father polishing his “Cross???ball point pen with his dhoti until it gleamed. His shoes and clothes would last for years because they would be handled with lot of care. So did Ma’s sarees. Our refrigerators and televisions remained unchanged for decades. To me this has been an enduring lesson, a lesson that I have held very closely in my heart.

If guests were going to be invited for a meal which was a regular affair, then my parents would sit in long discussions on the menu with Rehman, our in-house “khansamah??? a strapping six and a half feet tall pathan of Afghan origin with magical culinary skills. We siblings would listen and soak in the nuances of planning a balanced menu, harmony of flavours and the power of spices, herbs and condiments. From shami kababs to biryani, baked bhetki stuffed with river prawns, zafrani pulao and lacchha paratha, cakes, puddings and Indian desserts to the subtleties of a “pakhala???spread, it was the best version of these and a hundred more dishes that were laid out on the table. My father’s ratio of meat to rice in biryani was two kilos meat to a kilo of rice because he believed that biryani should be about meat coated with rice instead of the diner having to look for meat in the dish. Under his instructions, Rehman would then laboriously go about the intricacies of biryani, the fragrances of the spices in the meat harmonizing with “zafran???and “kewda???wafting around the house as he set the vessel to “dum???in a cavity of burning charcoal under the earth. Till date, that biryani has remained incomparable. We also had a fine version of “Kofta Biryani???and “Nargis Kofta Biryani??? recipes that were adopted by other cooks subsequently and served at weddings and other functions. We learnt to make chicken and mutton “salami???at home, pasting “kheema???by hand on the grinding stone, seasoning it with chillies, pepper and salt, then pushing it into an empty tin of canned fruit, sealing the ends of the tin with dough and then putting the tin into boiling water for ninety minutes. An unbelievable fresh, delectable and perfectly shaped “salami???roll would result which would then be frozen to be later sliced with elegance and served on buttered toast. Very frequently my parents would organize “Mahaprasad???evenings for family and friends. The “Mahaprasad???menu again would be minutely detailed alongwith instructions for hot ghee to be poured into the earthen pots just before dispatch.

A great deal of thought was also given to laying of the table with all protocols of buffet service or sit-down meals perfectly in place. My father always taught us that food is first eaten with the “eye???and if it’s served beautifully then the eating experience is elevated manifold. So our lovely antiquated dining table with a creamy sunmica top would be dressed with a lace table cloth, crockery and cutlery arranged in various patterns. My parents would personally oversee every guest coaxing them to have an extra bit and bite. These lunches and dinners were our earliest introductions to social skills, fine dining and interior decoration. Both parents were extremely house proud – even with modest means, very ordinary furniture and accessories, they ensured that the house was always beautifully done up with lots of plants and flowers and kept spotlessly clean. During his one year stint at Oxford University my father would skip lunch on most days to save money to buy exquisite crockery of English porcelain and prints of paintings of great Master painters. My mother was adept at the Japanese style of “Ikebana???and would use bamboo twigs and flowers from the garden to conjure up some very “zen???flower arrangements. My father, the unrelenting perfectionist with the eye of an hawk, would dot the floor with a marker so that the house help would replace the carpet at perfect 90 degree angles after cleaning up. One lesson that got firmly ingrained into us at a very young age was that you did not need opulence to be aesthetic. Even the most simple and mundane things could be made to look very classy and sophisticated if used in the right manner.

We dug mud and planted saplings and then watched excitedly as they flowered after months. Both parents would spend a full two hours in the garden every morning, tending to trees and plants alongwith the retinue of six gardeners who were responsible for the landscape and garden that spread out over half an acre in the sprawling government quarters. Before they went into the garden, my father would enquire about the menu for the breakfast to be served to the gardeners. This was a practice that was followed diligently as my father knew that the gardeners would not have had time to have breakfast since they set out of home very early in the morning. This was one of our first lessons in “Empathy”, the ability to stand in the shoes of the other person and feel his or her need. If we had a cold or sniffle, then one of the caretakers would pluck some eucalyptus leaves, crush them in his palm and make us sniff it. If we cut or bruised ourselves while playing, then the nanny would pluck some magical “bisalyakarani???or aloevera leaves, scrape out the gel and apply it on the wound. We plucked hundreds of mangoes, jackfruits, cashew-apples and jamruls from the trees and enjoyed being a part of the pickling process. We loved watching large fish being cut into pieces by staff under supervision of both grandmothers, the roe carefully separated, after which fish delicacies were cooked again under grandma’s directions. Bringing stray dogs and cats into the house was normal after which they became extended members of the family alongwith other pets. Cowsheds at home were quite common, fresh milk sourced from home bred cows was consumed not only at home but also shared with neighbours. We loved to watch the milkman and his wife milking the cows, sometimes putting our fingers into the milk bucket to get a taste of that fresh frothy layer on top. The process of making cowdung cakes was another fun pastime. The moment the domestic help ladies would start the process, we would go and put our hands into the mix and then paste the dung mounds on the wall, trying to make them as round as chappatis. These dung patties were used as cooking fuel in an earthen chulha for the huge quantity of rice that was cooked for the domestic helps, and also as insecticide and fumigation when burnt and smoked in the evening hours at the entrance of the house.

 The children of house helps living in the compound were our fondest playmates, the elderly helps our reliable guardians and mentors, on whom trust and faith was unwavering. Front doors of homes almost always remained open until it was time to sleep. Cycle rickshaw was the most often used mode of transport for mother and us until the mid-80’s when she would take us to the nearby market or to relatives homes in the city. Ambassador, Fiat and Jeep were the cars that roamed the quiet roads until Maruti 800 made its appearance. Airconditioning appeared in our lives only in the early 90’s. Before that it was wet grass mats that cooled us to sleep on hot summer nights. The sounds of gongs, bells and conch shells alongwith fragrances of “jhuna???and “dhoop???welcomed the dusk hours. A good wash and change of clothes was mandatory after play time before we sat down for evening study. So still were the early hours of dawn that we could hear the first bus of the day at 4.30 am. So were the silence of the nights, when calls of jackals and hyenas seemed as if the creatures were bellowing right outside the window.

Doctors were friends of parents who had one simple syrup for every ailment that seemed to work wonders. Antibiotics never made the cut on to a prescription. The only time we got icecream was as consolation and comfort after a tooth filling or extraction. Coke, Fanta and other fancy drinks were only served at parties or at the club. Perfumes that were gifted by relatives visiting from abroad belonged to mother and we’d be thrilled to get a few squirts from the bottle when we were going out on special occasions. Pocket money was Rs 150/- in 1986, the year of my graduation and it was never inadequate. The postman’s bell was eagerly awaited in the afternoons, for he was the only connect with news of loved ones living away.

Marriages and get-togethers were simple traditional affairs that enabled togetherness and family bondings amidst celebrations. Visits to homes of relatives was mandatory, as was an annual visit to the native village, where we spent idyllic moments catching fish from the expansive ponds in the country home, plucking fruit off the ancient trees in the family orchards, took pride in ancestral roots, and, prayed to the family goddess. Close friends of parents were more like family as there was a generational bonding which remains firm until date. Outings on weekends to the homes of these close friends were looked forward to with excitement and spending holidays at each other’s homes was the best entertainment we could have asked for. Family holidays outside Odisha was rare  ???the first time we went on one was to Delhi for the Asian games in 1982 and this was the first and last time that my father availed of the government’s LTC facility. Programmes arranged by the IAS Officer’s Wives???Association were highlights when bonding and camaraderie took centrestage between families at picnics, meena bazars or variety entertainment programmes for which we used to rehearse dance, drama and song for over a month, finally culminating with the main show at the Soochana Bhawan auditorium. The Chief Minister of the state was not someone who was unreachable: he would be invited as Chief Guest on these occasions where he would mingle, make small talk, eat and spend relaxed moments with everyone. So simple was life and attitudes that an iconic Chief Minister would unhesitatingly visit a bureaucrat’s home to discuss important affairs of state and grab a bite of fish cutlet that he loved.

To sum up, life in a small town of the 70’s and 80’s (which was a capital city), was simple, happy, carefree, guided by the wisdom of frugality, of living within means as means were limited, and of not being covetuous. But enveloping this frugality was a sense of plenty ???there was a feeling of always being satiated with what we had. The city was slow, ensconced in the green of elderly trees that would have shaded so many generations. People were sober, peace-loving and law-abiding. Co-existence with all forms of nature was never spoken about, but, was sacrosanct. This was the life that our parents had given us.

“Tasmai Shri Gurave Namah???/strong>