(My bro, Robin D'Cruz, reminisces about his real heroes using his excellent writing skills on our Uncle Walter's 82nd birthday today.)
There has probably been more than one heroic
figure influencing most people throughout their lifetimes.
For many of us, as we keep getting older and
wiser, heroes, and along with them, our values, continually change.
Now, contrasting this, if I say that there
usually is only one real hero in a person’s life and that is the person
himself, does it sound confusing? That is because it really is . . . The “hero”
or what the person imagines or perceives as the “hero” is what actually the
person himself aspires to be or to become!
Now, just between us - I was lucky to have
three siblings as heroes (the trio) and they were decided at a very young age and most
surprisingly, for me they have never changed!
Chasma “Uncle“ – The Hero that influenced our
everyday
My beginnings as far as I can go back and
remember is what started with nice and loving folks around me, every need taken
care of, every whim satisfied and needs fulfilled. Later, a nice home but with
a divisive environment. Still later, a properly divided home with a proper wall
in the middle.
Our mom constantly struggled to survive in
the unfriendly environment that we called home and protected us while she held
a teacher’s job far away in the city. There was a choice between being left
exposed to the constant barrage of harsh, non-child-friendly words, and an
unpleasant environment or a peaceful oasis of love, warmth and protection. For
us, our mom chose the latter.
The ever-increasing conflicts and problems at
our ancestral home ultimately fractured our big family. The impact was so great
that it resulted in our separation from not only our dear cousins but also from
the entire village for a brief period of time which can never be erased from
our memories.
Dad decided he had had enough and one fine
day just walked out with all of us in tow, out of his ancestral house. I was
probably 7 or 8 then with a younger sibling, about 4. We did not know where we
were going but knew for sure it was going to be hard being away from our
comfortable world. This is when we most needed support and the courage to move
forward when our own had abandoned us and made us feel like outsiders.
Luckily for us, Chasma uncle was always
around. He was always so confident and played his part in our lives with
selfless love. He took extreme pains to ensure that we were all connected and
did not feel outcast. This could only be accomplished those days by physically
being available most of the time. Dial-up phone conversations were for the
privileged few who could afford them, who proudly displayed their landline
phones at home. Mobile technology was not on the horizon yet, let alone
electronic social media.
He would arrive on his blue Marshall classic
bicycle with the tick ticking sound. The cycle commanded attention due to its
peculiar look and class. I and many others have trained with “Marshall” and
have had multiple minor accidents too while training but can say with
confidence, that was the finest bike I ever rode. Bikes were everywhere and
people knew exactly who was where, and at whose house, by the presence of his
bicycle. The blue bike was still the most desired and so very identifiable with
uncle.
So bored were we in the rented tiny home that
we anxiously waited for uncle’s arrival so we could go to Chulna, a small
village on the outskirts of Manickpur. Here, we talked, played, ran around and
explored the bushes, the colorful birds and reptiles. Uncle had a knack with
kids and his playful nature truly bonded with us. The trip would eventually wind down just
before dark and not before we finally got to eat “tenduls” (Ivy gourd / Tendli
vegetable), our favorite. There were many varieties of tenduls growing in the
Chulna bushes and one could easily get caught or fooled into accidently tasting
the bitter ones, or worse, poisonous clones that appeared exactly the same. The
right ones were sweet, a little tangy, and tasted really awesome. Uncle’s
uncanny ability to tell just by appearance, which ones were which, was amazing.
He understood so much about the healing powers of plants and he was so apt at
“testing and tasting” this stuff that upon his word, we just went in after the
really tempting red ones!
A few years later, though our parents took us
back to our old house in the village, we kids never actually settled there and
would just find any excuse possible to be with our uncles at our maternal
grandmother’s house (Mamara) and not return for days during vacations, until
mom came and took us forcibly back!
The leisurely chess duels between our dad and
uncle on weekends after lunch went on for hours, and sometimes, we actually saw
them taking long naps between chess moves. The chess pieces, obviously in some
defensive or aggressive formation on the board made sense to them but appeared
hopelessly scattered to us kids. Eyes, sleep-laden and heavy, half open,
sometimes even snoring. When woken, they would perfectly remember the last
played positions they were in with the last move and then continue on as if
nothing happened in between! In between naps, we kids often pestered them with
frequent requests to take us to the beach.
Weekend trips to the beach were fun and
adventurous. The long walk by the adivasi houses… the Hindu crematorium… a halt
at the small grocery to buy “farsan” and “shev/chiwda” that went so well with
the local brew and scent of the sea for elders and with the salt and sand at
the beach for us kids… the piggery where wooden bridges had to be crossed by
balancing oneself on one foot at a time. Without handrails or other barricade,
we kids were hoisted up by our elders as they carefully navigated one step at a
time, the wind blowing in their faces and the hightide waters gushing about 6
feet below. We often closed our eyes out of fear of looking down and disturbing
the balance of those who carried us across. That was the most precarious part
of the journey apart from the thought of going near a Hindu crematorium after
nightfall on our return leg where the embers of the pyres lit earlier continued
to glow an eerie dark orange.
The Vasai “Bena” beach was a treat back then.
Though black sand is prevalent in this part of the Indian coastline due its
proximity to the creek, the beach itself presented a pristine environment and a
fun-filled water adventure. It was free of littering or man-made structures.
The Poshpir lighthouse stood in the distance across the beach to the right. To
the left were the Gorai hills overlooking the sea – so near it felt as if one
could actually walk over to Gorai through the shallow waters during low tide.
Besides swimming and frolicking on the beach, the watermelon farms and
black-eyed “Chawli” beans on the way back home were a scrumptious attraction.
Sounds of the sea, the setting sun and the typical call of the sea birds at
dusk all made the return journey very adventurous, especially because it grew
rapidly dark by the time one left the beach and in no time there would be total
darkness except for an occasional solitary lamp flickering in some field
laborers home in the distance. Torches were common those days and without them
life would not be easy.
Uncle worked with the prestigious firm –
Hindustan Thomson Associates. Those were the times I learnt as a teen how to
decipher coded messages in the daily newspaper headlines that most today won’t
get even close to solving. The literary meaning is generally taken at face
value.
I was about 15, a teenager at home after 10th
grade exams about to launch into the real world outside. Uncle suggested I help
him with his work and in return could make some much-needed pocket money. What
better could a teen wish for! I helped with his advertisements, and after a
while I forget about earning and took an interest in the choice of words,
setting and the layout, the graphics etc.
that could make or break an advert or a product. The adverts needed to zero in on the exact
manner how readers could get interested or hooked. So much responsibility was
entrusted to me and I felt so important!
Uncle’s home office would shift from his own
extended room sometimes to the dining room or the living room depending on the
mood and the nature of the work. So wherever we worked, it is still so fresh in
my mind that I can smell the whiff of the peculiar odor of petroleum liquid
glue (the gel-like substance that smelled like petrol) that could be applied
with the back end of a pencil and was used extensively in the trade. The dried
glue quickly formed a rubbery blob at the end of the pencil and served as an
eraser, if needed, or to remove any excess glue that could just be rolled off
the paper with the blob at the end of the pencil. Such a clean and hygienic
method! The cleanest of glues that would probably do a better job of
disinfecting than the sanitizers being marketed today. It helped detach and fix
paper clippings as many times one wanted to without ruining the base paper
material or the newspaper cutting/clipping.
I was perhaps too young for national
politics, did not understand it and was not interested either, but it still
became a habit and topic of discussion with uncle while working. At my age it
was not expected for anybody to understand what was going on in the political
world but all the same I developed an interest in looking and solving the
subtle messages and the carefully camouflaged jabs aimed at opponents at a very
young age and could easily debate with others.
The flashy advertisements, the captions and
the underlying message from crafty, ingenious ways that reporters resort to
with blessings from their editors that common people so often take the meaning
literally and fail to grasp the real thing. Teachers painstakingly guided us on
how to “read between the lines” in school. My uncle taught me how important it
was to use this in dealing with the real world.
We grew up at Mamara, and because of that, I
remember all things fondly and so well. This is in contrast to any other places
we had been during childhood which we would like to forget. There were days of fun and serious study and
Sunday mornings where music blared in the hall and people prepared for church.
There were leisurely walks with uncle down the garden looking at the health of
his plants. He was ever-interested in discovering new qualities, especially the
medicinal benefits in plants, and very passionate about them. He enjoyed their
company and took special efforts to look after them. I felt then, and still
feel, that the wonderful green beings have been reciprocating in kind.
Long Live Uncle Walt. Best Birthday!
Joe Uncle – The Protector
The one whose physical, psychological and
spiritual strength I admire is my other hero. Fearless and direct sometimes
though considerate and tender at other times. He sees world relations in a
perspective that is so simple and fit for purpose, that many people fail to
grasp its importance. His thinking considers the situation, the circumstance
and the solution largely dependent on what is at stake! Extremely simple and
most practical solutions have come out of this hero that I have adopted in my
life too.
By large, I have been a shy and timid kid
until technical college. The continuous pressure from home to always be good
characters and not put family names in bad light were utmost important. Though
coming up in an area/village known for its drunken nightly brawls and
surrounded by villainous, notorious characters, picking up fights was not my
favorite past time and standing up against bullying was a problem due to lack
of confidence and physical strength. Though this all had drastically changed
after college, the seeds were definitely sown in early days.
I had watched my hero face many undesirable
situations, negotiate, and overcome tough, sticky situations. I always wondered
how he would always come out unscathed, be it a family issue, internal or
external. It would not have been easy for sure. Gradually, by closely following
the hero, the “what’s” and “how’s” opened a whole new perspective for me on how
to confront seemingly complex issues with relative ease and try resolving them
first with common sense, before panicking, getting help, or involving more
people. This worked most of the time and so it stuck! A lot was learned and the
knowledge and interest just kept growing.
People those days, especially friends and
relatives, relied on uncle for managing their events. So confident were they
that their trust was total. Uncle didn’t fail in his responsibility, ever. Even
to this day, uncle Joe is so sure about event management that once he has taken
over, he handles any event as if he owns it. He absolutely enjoys the
responsibility. Kids my age would still remember him as someone who could not
be outsmarted with the guile of innocence or guise of deception. Funnily, I
still remember an episode where we, little kids, were tricked by older ones
into smuggling coca cola bottles out of a wedding dinner. The boys had another
party planned elsewhere and the plot was to use the cool coke at the expense of
the wedding party! We were too small to
realize at the time what we were just about to do. Their plan was to use us as
there would be least suspicion involved.
Uncle Joe’s keen eye picked something amiss in no time and as the
investigative instinct kicked in like a flash, there was commotion as one by
one all the culprits were lined up for identification. He accurately
pin-pointed the possible destination of the coke bottles through an improvised
and self-devised method he used then, now more popularly known as “contact
tracing”!!!
Of course, there are many other “good” and
“not so good” things one could learn from our heroes. One of his habits was to
tune in to the family radio at six in the mornings every single day without
fail to Western music. As he brushed silently, the music played, occasionally
wandering out to the garden to spit out the minty Colgate out of his mouth.
When I was still a kid, I had this gem of a
person who took really good care of me, my godfather. Among many things kids
expect, he knew exactly how small minds worked. This reflects in my collection
of gifts and presents over the years... An extremely attractive orange table
lamp, a Phillips transistor radio of my own, an HMT watch for my 10th class
exam, all these were just a few things I treasured and still would like to hold
onto. Also imagine this - A real swimming pool, deep blue, seen from a
high-rise airconditioned office window pane, fruit salad with jelly and ice
cream, fried potato slices (didn’t know what wedges or French fries were back
then) served with ketchup, by a waiter as we sat on a table by the sea. This, I
said is imagination because I had seen it only in the movies. My uncle had actually made this experience
possible for me, and it felt so great. I did not know if he could afford it but
I could definitely not forget it.
Mom – The Inspirer
As my dear own mom is part of the trio, the
biggest share of my fond memories naturally revolves around her. Due to her
teaching profession, physical stress of travelling to the city for work and
back, the unstable situation at home due to the family wrangling, tending to
our studies, cooking for all of us, took a toll on her health. She had to do
housework after she returned from work, and having had endured a lot of pain
and anguish all her life, resulted in frequent bouts of illness that had turned
chronic. Nevertheless, she kept going and urging us on.
“Never quit” is the one thing she has firmly
instilled in me forever and that exactly is what keeps one going, regardless of
the situation, or who or what one is up against. Though frail and weak, as she
would look for most part of her teaching career, she was anything but that. I
learnt that the hard way. She was very loved and respected in school (I have
been to many of her schools during her teaching career). She would never tire.
I realized then - My hero was really a giant! I also learnt that being a teacher’s son was
good and gets one respect and a lot of attention, but to live up to that during
entire school life is not as easy. Much more difficult to preserve the
reputation for self and your parent!
I must say for her times she was too
forward-looking and advanced. Let me give an example that aptly proves this -
The present COVID crisis has taught a lot of lessons to people and the most
prolific among them is not to touch surfaces with hands that others have used,
lest one gets infected. Well, I still somehow remember being a toddler and
growing up in the early years. Touching anything at the railway stations or bus
stops even the safety railing of stairs, window panes or bars in busses and
trains drew instant reprimand from mom!
Always warning to be careful while travelling and avoid touching things
that people who lived unhygienically (beggars, street dwellers), may have
infected with spit or touch or even dust that may have accumulated that may
have bacteria and germs. She insisted one needed to be smart and not touch such
surfaces. Her constant reminders are so imbibed within our characters that they
make me flinch and think again even today at public places like metro station
or airports while extending my hands to hold onto handles and railings and then
I realize now how very right she had been a good 50 years ago! While people are
learning now how “not to touch surfaces”, I already have a masters in the
subject, thanks to my mom, and now busy learning something else!
So, in school I’d brag about my heroes so
much that I remember having been told by some they had uncles and a mother too!
When I went to technical college, fellow mates challenged me sometimes and I
took on. Later, with colleagues at work was different. They took note initially
but after a few episodes they thought I was overdoing it. They did not
understand the greatness at all and I couldn’t stand it. Well I still can’t!
I could not have trusted anyone or anybody
more than my heroes.
