Almost full circle

Although Sabeen and I were there on business, the thrill of meeting our friends was always an overwhelming thought. And what a wonderful time we had. Four-and-a-half hectic days, working with some of the best people in Journalism, loads of Idli & Dossa at Sagar, great - and sensibly priced! - Espresso at Barista, interspersed with mad rushes through Mercury Records, FabIndia, PeopleTree, and - ooooh - those adorable and intoxicating little bookshops!

However, for me, this trip to Delhi had a very special meaning. [C'mon guys, change the name: You have Kolkata and Mumbai ... why not Dehli, at least, if not Dilli!] ... We landed there on the 4th of October, almost 60 years to the day when Ummi (my mother) and I had left to visit her sister in BudgeBudge - an oil-bunkering station near Calcutta for ships on the Hooghly River - where my uncle was posted by the Indian Customs. I was just 6 ... and totally unaware that we were leaving our house for the last time, to become an unintentional part of the frenzy that was the partition of India and the creation of Pakistan.

Before setting out for Dilli, this time, I had decided - very firmly - that I would formally begin writing my memoirs on that day ... even if it meant jotting just the first few lines. And, so, this is just to report that 'Ships and Shoes and Sealing Wax' has now DEFINITELY begun. One chapter will deal with a child's view of the 1947 chaos and may be of interest to more than just the immediate and extended family for whom these memoirs are being written.

To whet your appetite I just want to say that my family ended up here not of choice but by fate. Abi (my father) came in from the Middle East - where he was posted as a doctor in some medical Camp for recovering soldiers - and went to Dilli to see how things were and judge if Ummi and I could move back there, because my uncle had 'opted' for Pakistan and would soon be sailing out to Karachi. He found that the house in Dilli where we lived, and had hoped to continue living in, was burnt and razed to the ground during the insane riots that accompanied the Partition ... so, we left with my uncle for Pakistan (after a whole series of adventures and dangers between Calcutta and Bombay - but, for that, "Buy the book!") ... not without almost an assurance by Abi's Muslim friends and leaders in the Congress Party, including my wife Nuzhat's grandfather, Dr. Syed Mahmud, that the madness would soon settle, that the two countries and communities would forget and forgive - there were even rumours that Gandhiji was planning to move and live in Pakistan - and we could shift back 'home' in a few months. Haah!

My parents never did go back to the city they loved and had decided to make home - away from the qasbaat of Lucknow where they were originally from. Here is a poem Abi wrote. I did want to keep it in his own handwriting. It's been difficult to scan, but I hope it is, for the most part, readable. You may need to use the magnification tool in some browsers.