Those were exciting days!
I was working in the Foreign Affairs section of the Central Secretariat in Delhi.
I used to give my name for any assignment abroad, mainly to escape from the domination of my mother-in-law. Ultimately, I was sent to Sweden and stayed in Young Women’s Christian Association hostel.
The driver attached to the hostel was a young fellow, with poetic heart, who befriended me. On holidays, he used to take me for sight seeing. He would read a story about his own life and I used to hear it. It was interesting.
Having nothing to do, on Sundays I used to go to some Park. I was sitting in the lawn, when an elderly gentleman passed by me. He turned back and asked:
Are you from Asia or Africa?
India.
Are you a visitor?
No; I am working in the Embassy.
Where are you putting up?
In YWCA hostel.
He came and sat by my side.
“Sorry if I am encroaching on your privacy, Madam.”
“No, uncle.”
He went on to say that he and his wife were living alone, as his only son was in the States. He was a teacher and knew English. We went on talking and promised to meet again, next Sunday.
I sent a detailed letter to my husband who was against my going abroad. He called me and said he was happy to learn about my new friendship.
Next Sunday, my “uncle” took me to his flat and introduced me to his wife who seemed to be somewhat depressed. I used to make Indian cuisines, which they relished and aunt became more lively, when I stayed there.
He had a good home library, with books on almost all subjects. I borrowed some, whenever I went there I came back.
Uncle was really wealthy. That Christmas holidays, he hired a yacht and the three of us visited various islands in the Mediterranean sea. I carried my painting kit with me and painted a portrait of uncle and aunt. But we had to cut short our visit, as aunt fell ill. We hurried back by plane and admitted aunt in a hospital. Her uterus had withered and had to be operated. I took leave and stayed in her room.
Her son came and looked at me with an unpleasant look. He asked his father, who this nigger is?, meaning me, as I am dark skinned.
Uncle turned livid with rage.
“She is an Indian. They had developed literature five thousand years ago, when Europe was in wilderness. Apologize to her,” he said.
I had taken leave for about a month and this did not go well with my in-laws. But my father complimented me. I do not remember my mother.
My efforts to renew my tenure in the embassy failed.
I invited uncle to visit and stay in India; he promised to consider it. In the meantime, he had told his son to deposit in the Swiss bank one lac dollars in my name. He gave the papers to me.
At the airport, I lay my head on uncle’s shoulder and wept. He too was tongue tied…
When the plane took off, I felt as though I had woken up from a sweet dream….
I was working in the Foreign Affairs section of the Central Secretariat in Delhi.
I used to give my name for any assignment abroad, mainly to escape from the domination of my mother-in-law. Ultimately, I was sent to Sweden and stayed in Young Women’s Christian Association hostel.
The driver attached to the hostel was a young fellow, with poetic heart, who befriended me. On holidays, he used to take me for sight seeing. He would read a story about his own life and I used to hear it. It was interesting.
Having nothing to do, on Sundays I used to go to some Park. I was sitting in the lawn, when an elderly gentleman passed by me. He turned back and asked:
Are you from Asia or Africa?
India.
Are you a visitor?
No; I am working in the Embassy.
Where are you putting up?
In YWCA hostel.
He came and sat by my side.
“Sorry if I am encroaching on your privacy, Madam.”
“No, uncle.”
He went on to say that he and his wife were living alone, as his only son was in the States. He was a teacher and knew English. We went on talking and promised to meet again, next Sunday.
I sent a detailed letter to my husband who was against my going abroad. He called me and said he was happy to learn about my new friendship.
Next Sunday, my “uncle” took me to his flat and introduced me to his wife who seemed to be somewhat depressed. I used to make Indian cuisines, which they relished and aunt became more lively, when I stayed there.
He had a good home library, with books on almost all subjects. I borrowed some, whenever I went there I came back.
Uncle was really wealthy. That Christmas holidays, he hired a yacht and the three of us visited various islands in the Mediterranean sea. I carried my painting kit with me and painted a portrait of uncle and aunt. But we had to cut short our visit, as aunt fell ill. We hurried back by plane and admitted aunt in a hospital. Her uterus had withered and had to be operated. I took leave and stayed in her room.
Her son came and looked at me with an unpleasant look. He asked his father, who this nigger is?, meaning me, as I am dark skinned.
Uncle turned livid with rage.
“She is an Indian. They had developed literature five thousand years ago, when Europe was in wilderness. Apologize to her,” he said.
I had taken leave for about a month and this did not go well with my in-laws. But my father complimented me. I do not remember my mother.
My efforts to renew my tenure in the embassy failed.
I invited uncle to visit and stay in India; he promised to consider it. In the meantime, he had told his son to deposit in the Swiss bank one lac dollars in my name. He gave the papers to me.
At the airport, I lay my head on uncle’s shoulder and wept. He too was tongue tied…
When the plane took off, I felt as though I had woken up from a sweet dream….
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