The Lioness and Her Cubs

Ma may have looked frail and meek, but when her children were in danger, like a lioness protecting her cubs, she could be quite fierce. On one of our frequent weekend getaways to Shillong, she proved beyond doubt that she was willing to do anything to save us.

The weekend started off quietly like any other. Deauta was busy but wanting a respite from the Guwahati heat, Juri, Ma and I decided to spend the weekend in Shillong. We drove down in the Ambassador car with the government number plates and the ‘lal batti’ on top and after an uneventful journey, settled into Assam House. We had a good time, visiting friends, walking in Golf Links and Ward Lake and shopping. On Monday morning, we were getting ready to leave when the manager told us we better leave soon, some unrest was expected in town. Tensions between the locals and outsiders (usually the Bengali traders0 was rising, and there had been calls for some protests. There were rumours that a curfew may soon be called in town.

Growing up in the Northeast, words like unrest, curfew, blackouts and protests were nothing new. Slightly alarmed but not unduly, we quickly finished our breakfast, packed and left.

We noticed as we drove that the roads were unusually quiet for a Monday morning, not many cars and only a few pedestrians. Even the busy shopping areas had few people around. I recall looking out of the window and registering two things: first, a police car with flashing red lights was following our car. Second, on the pavement, walking in the direction towards our car was a smartly dressed Khasi lady wearing red high heels. I fleetingly thought, wow, how can she walk uphill in those heels? And then I noticed that she looked behind our car, stopped, leaned down, took off her heels and ran barefoot in the opposite direction. Before the thought “That’s odd” had even completed in my own head, I heard a thud against our car window.

We looked behind, and behind us and the police van trailing us was a crowd of protestors, running towards us and throwing stones and god knows what else. The crowd was also forming in the front of the car. We were slowly getting surrounded by irate protestors. Our Driver was stunned, and was about to stop and turn the car back.

Ma rose to action. Without a thought, she grabbed both Juri and I, pushed us (none too gently) onto the floor of the car and threw her entire tiny body on top of us, while at the same time shouting instructions at the driver “DO NOT stop, put the accelerator and don’t stop.” Which is what he did. The crowd, stunned by the sudden speed of the car, gave way. The driver continued speeding down the now empty roads of Shillong and did not stop till we had safely passed the Meghalaya border. All that time, Ma kept her body on top of us and did not let us move.

Later she told us she did it on instinct, she did not even realise what she was doing, her only concern was that we should be ok, she did not care what happened to her. Truly only a mother’s love could be so instinctive!

Then there was the time when Juri, Ma and I were travelling alone from Vienna to Prague. We had booked a hotel in the center of Prague as we knew we would get late arriving back from Vienna. However, when we arrived, the travel agency informed us that the hotel had some leaks and could no longer keep any visitors so we had been transferred to another hotel. This hotel was not in the centre, but we had no choice at that point. We did not have enough money and were not familiar with the language to understand how to make alternative plans. Prague had just opened up, was not yet the touristy place it has since become and there were fewer budget hotels around.

We took the directions and got on the underground. That was the easy bit. Once we emerged from the underground station, we were lost. We had no idea where this hotel was. All we could see were miles and miles of Soviet era apartment blocks, grey and intimidating. As the sun was setting, we walked in different directions – no sign of a hotel. Using all kinds of sign language, we realised we had to cross this 4 lane motorway to get to the hotel which was on the other side. This resulted in a rather hilarious attempt by Juri to physically enact the question – how do we cross this big motorway in front of us? A part of us was laughing at her antics but partly we were scared as the sun was setting and we didn’t want to be three Asian women stranded in this lonely part of town at night. I cannot remember how, but eventually we managed to find the hotel just as it got dark.

The hotel could have been straight out of a novel or a Communist era movie. When we entered, the room was dimly lit by a few yellow bulbs, there were a few garish chairs and the receptionist was sitting ominously behind the reception. Unlike the cozy, welcoming receptions we are used to, this had lots of signs behind with rules and regulations and the receptionist was sitting behind a glass window. There was a narrow opening for her to pass us the keys. If I had ever imagined what it would be like to meet one of those stern, unsmiling Russian women you read about in cold war novels or movies, it was true to form. For added effect, we could smell the alcohol on her.

After grunting at us, she gave us the keys, but then insisted that she needed our passports for the night as it was ‘regulations’ and required for ‘reporting.’ Clearly, someone had not given her the memo that the Berlin Wall had long since fallen! In this part of town, Big Brother was still watching you.

Ma refused. I remember she drew herself up, stood tall and said in a very confident, imperious voice that it was not necessary. She gave all kinds of arguments, and said she was a diplomat and they could contact the High Commission of India. She flatly did not want to give up our passports. She refused to get intimidated by the receptionist despite the obvious difference in stature and size between the two women, and as the conversation dragged on in pidgin English, her voice got sterner and more angry. I noticed that she made sure she was in charge at that point, not Juri, not I, she was going to protect us and nobody was going to get in her way.

Eventually, worn down by Ma’s stubborn resistance, the lady agreed and took us to our rooms. We did not meet a soul as we walked up those dreary, dark corridors.

Inside the room was actually quite clean and pleasant but we were so shaken by the encounter, we hardly appreciated it. We barricaded the door with our suitcases and Ma insisted that she would sleep on the bed nearest the door. She later told us she did not sleep much that night, waking up at the slightest sound. She effectively guarded us all night and only relaxed when the morning light came through.

They say all things look better in the morning and sure enough, once the sunshine came streaming into the room in the morning, the room looked far less unnerving and creepy than at night. By the time we found the breakfast room and discovered lots of other tourists who were also staying at the hotel, happily eating and chatting away, most of our fears were dispelled. Nonetheless, we were glad that we only had to stay there one night! 

A Mother Who Never Gives Up

Ma may look frail and quiet, and so people often underestimate her. But when Ma sets her mind on something, she won’t stop till she gets it. She also does it in such a charming way that people often don’t even realise they have given in to her wishes!

This was what it was like when we went to the UK. Surprisingly, Ma, not Deauta took my education into her own hands. She was adamant that I had to finish my GCSEs in one year, so that when they left after 3 years, I would have finished all my school leaving exams and wouldn’t be left hanging in either the UK system or going back to India. Getting a school to agree to take on a student in September, teach her the GCSE curriculum from scratch and get her ready for exams in May was another matter altogether.

Ma was undaunted. When private school was clearly not an option once we found out the prices, we, thanks to friends who advised us, zeroed in on North London as an area with good schools. Ma patiently called and sometimes visited all the good schools in the area to find out about admissions. I remember we trudged up to Henrietta Barnett to do the entrance exams. We couldn’t find the bus, and not having money for taxis, we walked from Golders Green station and all the way up the hill. Ma was in her sari and it was bitterly cold, but she didn’t seem fazed at all. Instead, we enjoyed looking through the windows of all the lovely houses along the way and we made up stories of what their lives must be like.

I passed the entrance exams but the school was not willing to take me in for one year. In their words, they could not risk my ruining their school record by doing badly. Ma did not give up. Eventually she found another school, a local comprehensive, St Mary’s where they seemed interested. Like a spider who swiftly moves onto her prey, I remember how quickly Ma swooped in with arguments when Mr Metherell the Vice Principal showed a momentary hesitation about saying ‘no.’ As typical Indian parents, Ma was not usually forthcoming in her praise for me. So I literally had my mouth open listening to her saying how clever I was, how I always did well at school and she was 100% confident I could do the GCSEs in the time required.

When the English teacher, Mrs Webster asked in a slightly sniffy voice, “you know, English is difficult here. How well does she write essays?” Ma, without any hesitation replied immediately, “She can write excellent essays.” When I told her later, but Ma, I have never written an essay in my life, why did you say that,  she replied, “I said, she can, not that you have written excellent essays. And I know you can write because I know your English is very good.” On that front, her confidence in me was proved right, as I quickly became Mrs Webster’s favourite pupil and got my A in English literature in the end.

Her confidence and her persistence paid off as St Mary’s agreed to take me on. Not only that, they were so impressed with Ma they also offered her a job!!

Then it was Juri’s turn. Unfortunately, she got typhoid in India so she could not stay in the hostel. Which meant she had to come to UK a little earlier than planned. But again, getting her into Uni was difficult as UK does not recognise CBSE degrees. They wanted her to do her A levels first. They did not reckon with Ma. Off she went, found out who the admissions tutor was, took all the certificates and references she could find and went to Kings College. Poor Dr Brown did not stand a chance. She argued and argued, and pointed out that Juri was already making a compromise by starting her 1st year again. She was doing more than the usual curriculum at her college in Bombay and she pointed out how that college was the best in the country etc etc etc. She went on an on. Once she got home, she kept persisting and chasing Dr Brown. Eventually, he agreed to an interview with Juri and after that, things went smoothly, and with her records, references and performance at the interview, she got into her BSc. She had to do the 1st year again, but at least she did not have to redo A levels all over again.

So thanks to Ma, her persistence and her unwavering belief that both of us were capable of doing it, we managed to get through our school and University education.

The Disciplinarian

If My Granddaughter Wants It, She Will Get It