Visiting Sewri Cemetery, Doing Another Interview and Presenting at the Kala Ghoda Festival

Sunday, February 3, 2019
Bombay

Visiting Sewri Cemetery, Doing Another Interview and Presenting at the Kala Ghoda Festival

     Namaste from Bombay!
     It was another scintillating day--but such a fatiguing one! Gosh, I have never felt so drained as I did this weekend. It appears that my physical activity is catching up with me. Still, I am not complaining and I know that because I am making the most of every second in Bombay and drinking life to the very lees, there is a price to be paid.
      Awake at 6.00 am, I raced through a blog post and then up and readied myself for my early morning date with Dad. My friend Marianel had presented me with a cold roasted tongue (one of my favorite things to eat), fully salted and cured as only the East Indians know how to do! I decided to carve it up into slices, make sandwiches of it and take it to Dad and Russel for breakfast. With Marianel's homemade mustard (made to a recipe of her mother) the sandwiches were divine with coffee which I had at Dad's. A little after 8.00 am, we were both ready for our annual excursion to see the Dead of the D'Souza family!

Visiting Sewri Cemetery:
     Every year when I make my annual visit to India, Dad requests me to escort him to the Sewri Cemetery so that he can pay his respects to the deceased members of his and my Mum's side of the family. And we usually go on a Sunday when there is practically no traffic on the streets. We took a cab and were at the place about a half hour later as we were in the hands of a wonderful paan-chewing driver who knew the easiest and quickest route to get us there.
     Having enjoyed rambling through cemeteries in the West (Highgate and Brompton Cemeteries in London and Pere Lachiase Cemetery in Paris), I can tell you that I am always completely taken by a well-kept cemetery. My mind wanders off from the morbidity of death to take in the grandeur of the mortuary sculpture and the peacefulness of the environment.  In the old days, one spent so much money creating worthy monuments for those one had loved and lost. Today, we make do with a simple marble gravestone in India--even less in the West. So, I really do enjoy accompanying Dad on this annual venture.
    Dad knows the route so well now that he does not even have to consult the route map or the grave numbers.  We always start off with the grave of my Mum's side of the family--my grandmother Valerie is buried in the same grave with her sons, my Mum's brothers, Henry and Freddy. I attended all their funerals whilst I had still lived in Bombay, so pausing for prayers at their grave site is a very moving experience. Next, we visit my paternal grandmother's grave--my Dad's mother, Severine. She passed away four years before I was born...not having known her at all, I feel less moved at her grave but eager to know as much about her as I can. From there, we move on to the grave of my Dad's eldest sister, Lily and her husband. He died at the age of 49 leaving her widowed for a full forty years before she passed away too. And finally, we get to the grave of my Dad's eldest  brother Egil (who also died before I was born). It amazes me how many people died before they reached the age of fifty in those days and how much longer we continue to live in just one generation. At each point, when we pause for prayers, graveyard attendants come up with a watering-can to sweep and wash off the accumulated debris of a whole year: dried leaves from the gorgeous trees that form a canopy overhead--but, of course, with trees come bird droppings. Those too are washed away. We say a prayer at each site and move on. Dad was not as emotional this time as he has been in past years. I always end up taking pictures of the funerary sculpture that I find mainly at the front of the cemetery where the most ornate Victorian monuments are scattered: weeping angels, Celtic crosses, ivy trailing up urns...that sort of thing.
     However, I have to say that this time I found something quite incredible at a grave site.  The place was mobbed by crows and squirrels and so I wandered closer to see what the fuss was about. And I found a grave whose headstone was simply covered with freshly placed garlands.  At the grave itself were enough food items to cover a birthday party: there was chips and dips, a plate of cashew nuts, another plate filled with Indian mithai, yet, another plate filled with sweets, a plate with two huge pastries (chocolate pastry and pineapple pastry). I was baffled as I had never seen anything quite like this before. The grave attendant told us that it was the grave of a child who had died and whose grieving family had a first birthday party for him at his grave yesterday! That was simply too poignant for words! Poor little mite! It is sights like this that bring us in mind of the absolute misery of human suffering when confronted with the premature death of a loved one.

Doing an Interview with Alfred D'Souza:   
     Dad and I took the same cab back to Bandra--he had awaited our return by prior arrangement. However, I hopped off at St. Joseph's School on Hill Road as I had an appointment for yet another interview. This time I was meeting Alfred D'Souza, composer and conductor of the famous Stop Gaps Choir and singing teacher par excellence. Alfred was fantastic. Not only was he a gold mine of information but he was so economical with what he said--he did not go rambling all over the place, but stuck with the salient features (which made my life so much easier). Plus, he has such a string of accomplishments that he left me stunned. It was a sheer pleasure chatting with him. In fact, I also had the chance to listen to the rehearsals of his children' choir which had a new young 14 year old pianist that they were trying out for the first time.

Lunch with Dad and Russel:
     I walked home from Hill Road past Bandra Gym where I stopped to order lunch for Dad, Russel and me--Chicken Alfredo Pasta (with Garlic Bread) and Chicken Chilly. I told Samir that I would return to pick it up. Then I got home for a bit of a lie-down as I was already feeling tired. I also reviewed my synopsis of my book in readiness for my presentation in the afternoon at the Kala Ghoda Festival. About a half hour later, I got dressed and went off to pick up my food and took it to Dad's.
     Lunch was absolutely delicious as Dad and Russel were in the throes of watching the cricket match between India and New Zealand. Russel has become fully involved in cricket again--much to our relief. With fresh fruit for dessert, it was a fine meal indeed.

Off to the Kala Ghoda Festival:
      Shahnaz was supposed to go with me but she ended up pulling her back and backed out. I did meet my Fulbrighter colleagues, Michelle and Megan, however, at Bandra Station and together we took the train to get to Churchgate and back. We crossed the Oval Maidan on foot and arrived at he venue where I was quite amazed at the huge scale of the affair.
     The Kala Ghoda Festival was initiated 20 years ago and has grown into India's largest cultural festival. It hosts events under several categories: Literature, Children's Literature, Film, Music, Dance, Drama, Heritage Walks, Food and Art. The entire street that is known as Rampart Row is occupied by the festival and closed off to traffic.  The festival gets its name from the statue of the black horse that stands at a traffic island opposite Elphinstone College and the Jehangir Art Gallery. In a space that was beautifully festooned with a multi-colored half-shamiana, we walked past security and into an area filled with art installations at which the multitude of people present were posing. There was an array of food stalls and a whole host of one-of-a-kind craft stalls that sold clothing, home goods, hand made paper supplies, that sort of thing. Had I not been so tired, I am sure I would have loved to have browsed through a place where every event was absolutely free. But I could not spend too much time loitering as I had to get to the garden of the David Sassoon Library for my panel discussion which would begin at 4.00 pm.

Participating in a Panel Discussion on Migration and Displacement:
     When I arrived in the garden of the David Sassoon Library, there was a session going on. It was, from what I could gather, a book of war poetry that was penned by a very young (16 year old) person on the death of a male loved one (her father?) on the Indian Front. The discussion focussed on Indian soldiers and the travails they undergo both in war and peace times to keep the nation safe. Ten minutes later, when they were done, my session began.
     Up until the very last minute, I was not sure who would be on my panel as the program literally kept changing daily. Eventually, our panel was made up of Anita Heiss, an aboriginal poet and writer who has just edited an anthology of poetry by Australian aboriginals that bring out their plight as a marginalized people. The session was moderated by Rebecca Lloyd from Bristol, a short story writer and novelist, who asked questions that the two of us attempted to answer.  I was there, of course, to talk about my book on Britain's Anglo-Indians in which I discussed my ethnographic field-research in the UK.
     It is amazing how quickly time flies when one is talking books.  Before we knew it, our 45 minutes were up and the questions were thrown to the audience. I had to take about 3 questions--all of which were very relevant indeed and which I enjoyed answering.
     The best part of all was finding my sixth grade teacher, Aruna Fernandes, in the audience. She was so proud of me, she said, and asked for a picture with me taken against the backdrop of the stage with all the festival information behind me. It was a very good experience and I am so glad I was invited and was able to participate.
   
Back Home to Vegetate:
     However when it was done and after I had a number of people come up to speak to me about my book and my research, I was exhausted and simply did not have the energy to do anything more than think about getting home on the train.  Thankfully, Michelle and Megan had exactly the same idea and we walked across the Oval to get to Churchgate. But I was dying for some sustenance and told them about K. Rustom and its amazing ice-cream. And so there was I getting myself a kesar pista ice-cream which was wonderful and just what the doctor ordered.  Rustom does these ice-cream sandwiches--placing bars of ice-cream between twin wafers. Megan had rose (which tasted like a falooda) and Michelle had strawberry.
     On our way back, we stopped off at Gaylord's, a restaurant I remember well from the days when a friend of mine who has since passed away, Vinod Mehta, and I used to go there for Waldorf Salad--simply the best in the city. I stepped in there when I found myself passing their bakery--I needed bread and I found a loaf, plus a pastry counter with an array of the most mouth-watering pastries. Of course, I got their chocolate eclairs and a lemon tart!
     We took the train and a rickshaw back home and all I wanted to do was curl up with a movie. But I also badly needed a shower--so I hoped in and then vegetated.  I spent the evening with a gin and tonic and blue cheese on crackers and pistachio nuts. Dinner was the Chicken Reshmi Kebab leftovers with Pau and Waldorf Salad--with just one-third of an eclair (because I might be eating fattening stuff, but I am at least exerting portion control!).
  I began watching Grace and Frankie on TV (which everyone has been recommending)--good acting, great cast and the most incredible home interiors as everything seems to be shot on location in some unbelievable California houses that are brilliantly decorated! Then, I downloaded a British detective show called Agatha Raisin which is proving to be rubbish--still, I am not giving up. It is set in the Cotswolds and I am hoping it will pick up. Right now, it seems to be moving at snail pace.
     I was too exhausted to move, but I found the energy to brush and floss my teeth and get to bed at 11.00pm. after a throughly stimulating weekend.
     Until tomorrow...