Image and Text contributed by Roma Mehta, Taipei
This is one of my favourite photographs of my mother Indra’s family. It was taken in front of her family’s home in Sindhi Colony in Karachi, almost a decade before the partition of India and Pakistan took place. It is difficult to pinpoint an exact date but I estimate it was the 1930s.
It is possible this photo was taken on the occasion of my uncle (mother’s brother) Moti’s wedding but I cannot confirm it. Sitting in the middle are my grandfather, Gaganmal Jhangiani whom we fondly called Baba and grandmother, Laxmi Bai whom we called Ammi. Around them sit his children, his brother’s children and a relative-in-law.
Baba was a tall and dark complexioned man, and Ami was petite and fair. To me, they seemed like ebony and ivory. Ami and Baba used to play together as children and when Ami turned 12, the families got them married. It seems that my grandmother had basic elementary education but like most women of the time, she became busy with domestic matter and household duties.
My grandfather was an architect by profession and had studied in England. I have been told that he was instrumental in designing and planning the Sindhi Colony in Karachi. Life was good for the family : they had a lovely home, a horse carriage, and a great love of music and culture. Each one of them knew how to play an Indian classical music instrument. The family would even sing together on many occasions.
My mother, Indra always told us stories from her youth with utmost glee, reliving her days of fun and freedom. Here she stands directly behind Ammi on our right. My mother was independent natured, fierce and talented. She played the Harmonium, Sitar, Tanpura, and the Tabla. She also loved to sing and longed to perform on radio, which of course, was out of the question – For it was improper for a girl to do such things in society. Nonetheless, my mother found a way around and would sneak away from home in the horse carriage when no one was watching.
My mother and her siblings were staunch supporters of Mahatma Gandhi and participated in the struggle for freedom and would often march along with pro-independence processions against British rule. Later, they even joined the Dandi march (Salt march) initiated by Mahatma Gandhi, and the women would carry red chili powder in their fists in case they needed to protect themselves. Upon an arrest of one such march, my uncles were put in jail, but my mother and other women were set free and that did not sit well with her. My mother said she felt cheated from the rush of spending a night in jail – fighting for a cause she believed in.
During partition, the family decided to leave Karachi and move to the Indian side of the border. They were amongst the few with an already established base in Bombay (a grand-uncle ran a sports equipment business). The family traveled light to Bombay (now Mumbai) in midst of rioting, with bare clothing to keep the children safe. Like million of others who could never return – Bombay became their home and they began a new life.
Many of our relatives were displaced or lost their family members during this migration, and for months after their move to Bombay, my grandmother would search the docks and train stations, for relatives and acquaintances who needed help. Baba passed away soon after the partition and I never got a chance to meet him, but I did inherit his reclining armchair, that he sat on every day to rest and read.
Years later, when my parents were on a flight to London from Calcutta (now Kolkata), they had an unscheduled stopover in Karachi due to technical difficulties. My parents used this opportunity to visit the places they grew up in. My mother was delighted and deeply saddened at the same time to see her childhood home and an engraved stone plate that still displayed the family name.
A little bit of the past still lives on in the only surviving family member seen in this photograph, my mother’s first cousin, Radhika, sitting left in the front row. She celebrated her 90th birthday in August 2016.
Image and Text contributed by Jayati Gupta, India
Indian textiles were a major part of the East India Company’s trade since the 17th century. Hundreds of thousands of people in India were involved in the textile trade, as spinners, weavers and dyers. By the early years of the 20th century too, textile and textile technology was controlled and promoted by the British and colonial masters. Indian textiles was a rapidly growing industry, especially since the demand for British cotton had slumped during the interwar period.
During the booming era of the East India Company, raw materials were sent back to Britain and the finished goods were re-exported and sold in the colonies at exorbitant prices. The production and consumptions of textiles was controlled with imbalanced equations between the producer and the consumer, the coloniser and the colonised. When Mahatma Gandhi’s activism to promote khadi (homespun thread and home-woven cloth) became a big part of resistance to imperial authority, cotton became an important symbol in Indian independence and the Swadeshi movement began to overrule all. The resistance took the form of boycotting foreign goods and textiles.
My father, Nirmal Chandra Ghosh (1911-1989), after his initial education in the Zilla School (district scool) in Hazaribagh, Jharkhand, (formerly part of Bihar), won a scholarship and decided to train as a textile technologist.
In 1930, he became a student of Victoria Jubilee Technical Institute (now Veermata Jeejabai Technical Institute/VJTI) in Matunga, Bombay (now Mumbai). He graduated in 1934 becoming that year’s recipient of the Dadabhai Nowrojee Gold Medal. His name appears on the Roll of Honour, a board that is maintained in the Institute. Those were heady days of the nationalist movement and my father was very far away from home living in a cosmopolitan city thriving with conversations on the movement. At the time, for such distances from Bombay to Jharkhand, a railway journey would take more than three days, letters reached after more than a week and telephone calls were unheard of.
My grand father Kshitish Chandra Ghosh, was employed as a Post Master in the Bihar Postal Service run by the State & British administrators. It was a transferable job and he had warned his children, a large family of four sons and five daughters, that any nationalist activity they indulged in could be interpreted as anti-government and lead to losing his job. He sternly indicated that any anti-government activity would have disastrous consequences for the family as he was then the sole earning member and hence they would have to be very cautious.
But my father, at the time a young man in Bombay, was inspired by the movement of resistance and found a way to express himself. In his final year (1933-34) one of the assignments that he had, was to design and weave a piece of cloth. Very ingeniously he wove several textile portraits of public and national figures, highly respected and feted by patriotic countrymen. He wove portraits of Raja Ram Mohan Roy, the Father of the Bengal Renaissance, of Rabindranath Tagore, Poet & Nobel prize winner and of Mahatma Gandhi, already an icon of Indian nationalism. One of those portraits woven of Raja Ram Mohan Roy by my father, as shown in the photograph, was framed many years later and still hangs in my sister’s Kolkata home. As a child, I remember the woven portrait of Gandhi hanging in my grandmother’s room in Hazaribagh. The other portraits may have been gifted by him to others and seem to be lost.
Luckily, this gesture expressing solidarity with the national movement went unrecorded and unnoticed by his sahib instructors. My father spoke of the act as an inspired passive resistance, and that it was a source of immense thrill and excitement when he was planning and executing the design. In volatile colonial times, it must have needed immense personal courage and extreme conviction to think and act in this manner.
My father was also an excellent amateur photographer. The image above was photographed and pasted by him in his album. The album also holds photographs from early to late 1930s from the time of his education in Bombay to when he lived in South India on his first and only job with A &F Harvey Limited, established in 1883 by two Scottish entrepreneurs. A & F Harvey Ltd., a british company, was incorporated as a private limited company in 1945 to manage textile and other companies in South India. It acted as the Management Agents of Madura Mills Co., Ltd., until December 1969. My father retired from his job in 1970.
Image and Text contributed by Soni Dave, Delhi
This picture was taken on December 26, 1939, the day my parents got married. I’m not sure of the location. It could be the Mainpuri District of Lucknow because I think my maternal grandfather was posted there at the time.
My father, Gurdial Singh Berar, an ace graduate of the College of Engineering Roorkee, stands here tough and tall with the talwaar (sword) in his hand, but he never even raised his voice in anger. And my mother Rajkumari may look meek and coy, whereas everyone knew her to be a very strong woman. I think they must have been in their early twenties. Together they made a perfect couple and it was one of the best marriages I have ever seen. I have been very lucky that I got to call them mummy and daddy, leading me to believe that it is not just some marriages that are made in heaven, but also parent and child relationships.
My father was a very attentive and loving father. He was well read, extremely self disciplined, a man of honor and respected punctuality of time. He was a self taught nutritionist and along with my mother, who would ensure it was cooked well, we always had nutritious food at the table. I remember he loved children and would take all the children of the family and me to the pool and teach us how to swim. Other kids at the pool would come to him too wanting to be taught. He was also a very hard working man, and I remember his last job before his health started failing was manufacturing furniture for the Asiad Games Village athlete homes.
My mother was one of the most efficient women I have ever known. In fact she was so efficient that she was nicknamed ‘intezaman‘ the organizer of the family. She excelled at embroidery, stitching, cooking, and was an excellent home-maker. I remember, she was also very quick tempered. My father used to joke with her that when angry she must count to ten before saying anything – to which she would say that counting until two was the most she could do.
They both loved me a lot. A lot.
My parents you see in this picture were not my biological parents. I was adopted by them as an infant, from my mother’s younger sister, my natural mother – whom I learnt to call auntie.
Auntie had come to her maternal home in Daryaganj, Delhi from their farm near Nainital (now in Uttarakhand)- where I was born on February 10, 1959. I had two older sisters. My biological father, Harpal Singh, whom I later called uncle, worked in the merchant navy and was sailing at the time.
My mother and father, twenty years into their marriage had had no children and so on the suggestion of my maternal grandmother, and a deep understanding between the two sisters, I exchanged hands. When auntie returned with my two older sisters, I stayed back with my new parents, my mother Rajkumari and my father Gurdial. I called them mummy & daddy.
I was loved like one can only imagine. But no one in the family ever mentioned my adoption. No one ever told me my own story and over the years I have had to piece it together all on my own.
I remember when I was about eight or nine years old, an old lady neighbour blurted it out. After some days I confided in my cousin (my real sister) who confirmed that it was indeed true. However, no grown up ever spoke to me about it and I had to try to make sense of it myself. It left me with deep insecurities and lack of confidence. Being the plainest of all the cousins in the family only worsened everything and chipped away further at my confidence.
I went to one of the best schools in Delhi – the Convent of Jesus and Mary, but I was never good at academics, and so when I turned 16 and didn’t make it through Senior Cambridge, I was required to take the exam again before the schools phased it out to be replaced by the new Plus 2 systems. One of the schools still with the Senior Cambridge system was was in Nainital and so my parents sent me there to prepare for and appear for my exams. My biological mother and I got to play mother and daughter for a whole year.
However, our biological relationship remained unaddressed, until one day, amidst tears we spoke of it. I remember thinking that I looked like her, I was like her in many ways. Our personalities were similar and I completely understood why she did what she did. I loved her with my heart and bore no grudges and I knew she loved me too. I was glad that we had talked but it didn’t necessarily resolve my insecurities.
Back at home in Delhi, we would visit my father’s (Gurdial) side of the family once a year, during my holidays. There too I was a stranger to my cousins who were very close to each other and met very often. But I never felt included and it led to more confusion and feelings of abandonment, which no matter how much my parents loved me, the sense of exclusions left me wanting.
As an adult, I found a great life partner, we had two beautiful children and have been very lucky to have wonderful life together. I also discovered that I may not be have been good at academics but I was good at the creative arts. In early 2014, with a desire to find some more resolve and belonging in my life, I decided to travel to the United States and meet old school mates as well as my fathers family. They were cousins who I would be meeting after almost 40 years. All older and grayer, but this time with no hesitations of acceptance, they opened their doors and hearts with nothing but warmth.
When I came back and was cleaning up some cupboards, this photograph appeared, sitting there in an old box of photographs. My mother and fathers wedding day – and I decided to engage with it and think about our lives – this time for longer. Then I picked up a paint brush and made a water-colour of this photograph (image), my first ever – tracing their presence and love again, because I know now that I belonged to them and they to me. They were the best match made for each other and me, in heaven.
Image & Text contributed by Sarah J. Kazi, London
This photograph of my grandfather with his college mates was taken in 1933/1934 at the King Edward Medical College in Lahore (now Pakistan). He was around 25 years old at the time and he and the others in this picture were the only non-white students of their batch.
My grandfather, Dr. Preetam Pal Singh was born in 1908 at Gujar Khan, Rawalpindi District (now in Pakistan) and served as a doctor in the British Army. He was posted at Manora Island Cantonment, near Karachi when partition of India took place in 1947.
My great grandmother, grandfather, his wife, and two aunts boarded the train to Firozpur (Indian Punjab) and later reached Faridkot, where he and the family stayed for three nights at the railway platform before the Maharaja of Faridkot employed my grandfather as his personal physician. My grandfather was allotted an official house, and my father was born in 1950. This huge house in red (called the Laal Kothi) still exists and was recently visited by my father.
Later in 1957 my grandfather specialized in Radiology from the King George Medical College in Lucknow (Uttar Pradesh). In the 1960s, the whole family moved and settled down in Patiala, Punjab and I have fond memories of visiting the city to meet my grandparents. My grandfather passed away in 2003, at the ripe old age of 94.
Image and Text contributed by Deborah Nixon, Australia
This image was found in my father Leslie Nixon’s private collection. He was born in Agra in 1925, was schooled in Mussoorie, and trained with the Gurkhas. Later he joined KGV’s 1st OGR (King George V’s regiment).
My Anglo Indian family has a history of having lived in India for four, or possibly five generations- they were all Railways people, and my father worked during the Partition to transport refugees in and out of the Gurkha head quarters. He archived all of the family images in India and thanks to him I have been lucky to have a ‘bird’s eye view ‘ of partition. He kept a lot of old army documents and memorabilia from the few years he served with the Gurkhas. When he migrated to Australia he went to University and became a Geologist.
There isn’t a lot to say about this image as there was nothing written behind it, but to me it is a very arresting photograph. My father says he remembers the ‘tiger men’ used to come around in Jabalpur, his family home, and dance as part of the Islamic festival Muharram and he imitated the dance himself as young children do.
There is another image and narrative on my father here that sheds some light on his life in India.
Image & Text contributed by Sawant Singh, Mumbai
This is an image of my grandmother Kanwarani Danesh Kumari photographed in Patiala, Punjab around 1933.
She would have been 20 or 21 years old at the time. It was photographed by R.R. Verma, a Photo artist from Cawnpore (Kanpur). Formally, she was addressed as ‘Rajkumari Bibiji Danesh Kumari Sahiba’. This is the only photograph I have of her in my possession, even though my memory of her is vastly different from this.
I remember her as a simply clad, dignified, exceptionally proud woman, who would spend her time gardening, shopping for groceries in the market, or chatting away with the gardener & her domestic staff or entertaining friends from out of town in Dehradun, (now in Uttarakhand); many of whom were people who belonged to royalty or influential circles. Her home “Sawant Villa”, named after my great grand father, was an open house with people constantly streaming in and out.
My grandmother was fondly called ‘Brownie’ by her family and friends. She was the wife of late Maharaja Kumar Aman Singh of Bijawar (now in Madhya Pradesh) and the daughter of Maharaja Bhupinder Singh of Patiala (Punjab) who was known as ‘the proud owner of the world famous “Patiala Necklace” ‘ manufactured by Cartier.
Brownie or as I called her, ‘Dadu‘, was brought up in the lap of great luxury but she understood and adapted to the simple life very well. A beautiful, strong, non-judgmental woman, she wouldn’t suffer fools and was known to never mince her words. The only thing that impressed her was a good education and believed that it was the only way one could change their lives for the better. She thus ensured that all her children and grandchildren would appreciate the value of literacy and education.
Dadu was a very social woman and loved going into the city to meet her friends. Everyone knew her in Dehradun. I remember her dragging me to meet her dear friend, Mrs. Vijaylaxmi Pandit and they would spend hours chatting away while she would keep tucking my hair away from my forehead and eyes. She was as comfortable in a Rolls Royce as she was in a local bus in Dehradun. The latter was how she travelled to visit me when I was studying at the Doon School. She insisted on teaching us how to walk barefoot on Bajri (pebbled) pathways and chew on a Datun (Neem twig commonly used to clean teeth), in retrospect I think it was to prepare us for the real world.
I also remember, a few of her interesting obsessions were collecting imported soaps and canvas shopping bags. Anyone who ever travelled abroad had to bring back bars of soaps, the canvas bags and chocolates. I remember one soap in particular in her bathroom was shaped like a fish. It seems that her quirky fascination with soaps may have passed on to me.
After an accidental fall in the early 90s, her health began to fail and she passed away in her sleep, peacefully in 2005.
This photograph of my grandmother is framed and hung in my dining room. While I never saw her dressed like this, the dignity and pride I see in it is alive and inspiring.
Image & Text contributed by Jason Scott Tilly, United Kingdom
I will never be sure if my grandfather Bert Scott, would have wanted me or anyone else to find these negatives;
They were his secrets for all of his adult life. He had after all kept them very safe, hidden from the moment he left India.
Bert Scott, (lower right) was my grandfather, and he was born in Bangalore in 1915. He was educated at Bishop Cottons school and he joined the Times of India in 1936 as a press photographer, where he worked until the outbreak of World War II.
With trouble brewing during Indo-Pak Partition, he and his family fled and he left his whole life behind; his country of birth, India, his friends and home. Travelling with minimum luggage would have been conditional so he chose to take only the necessary in just a few metal trunks.
Inside one of those trunks were several photo albums and pocket-sized blue negative holders that I came across many years later in my grandparent’s cupboard in 2006, a few years after Bert, my grandfather passed away. The little blue pocket-books held as many memories as it did negatives, about 100 precious moments of reflected light captured on film of our family and of some places where they had lived, but inside one particular folded grease proof sleeve were four negatives that were cut up into single frames and they were of one particular young lady; of a Margurite Mumford, a beautiful young Anglo Indian girl.
I remember one Sunday when he was alive, sitting with his photograph albums on my lap, my grandmother looked at me and stated, in a tone which sounded somewhat incongrously jealous for a woman in her late seventies, “those books are just full of photographs of his ex-girlfriends!”. My grandpa who was sitting across us, either didn’t hear the remark or chose to ignore it – the Snooker on television providing a timely distraction.
After he passed away, I found an extraordinary number of photographs of Margurite. The photographs of her are always infused with a certain playfulness during day trips to the beach or picnics by the river. There is something so obviously personal and intimate about the images. Margurite clearly loved to play to the camera or to be more precise she loved playing up for the photographer, flirting with both the camera and the man whose eye followed her through the lens. The books did have many photographs of other beautiful young women of the Raj too, but the intimacy I saw in Margurite’s images proved to me that only she was actually a girlfriend of my grandpa before he met my grandmother.
As time wore on, I became more intrigued as to whom Margurite really was. I wondered why their romance had ended. I spent hours scouring the internet in the faint hope that I might be able to find someone from her family with whom I could share her beautiful photographs. With not a clue in sight, eventually my hope began to wane but I never stopped wondering about her.
Only recently while pouring over the pages of the albums for the nth time, I noticed a faded scribble “Margurite ‘Lovedale’” by a photograph. Intrigued as to what the word ‘Lovedale’ meant I returned once again to the internet and within seconds I was on to something. Lovedale is the nickname of the Lawrence Memorial Military School in the town of ‘Ooty’ in the Niligiri Hills. My great-grandfather, Algernon Edwin Scott, had a summer-house in Ooty and my grandpa would spend weekends with him whilst he was studying at St Josephs College in Kannur. Ooty would have been the place where he must have met Margurite!
Perhaps, college sweethearts; They kept their relationship going from their first meeting in the south Indian Hills of the Deccan Plateau to the humid coastal city of Bombay where my grandpa had begun working for the Times of India. I know from the amount of photographs that I have found, that the couple took days out to Juhu beach and the Hanging Gardens on Malabar hill along with trips out to the Ghats outside of Bombay. What was most obvious is how much Margurite meant to my grandpa because he kept the negatives separate from all of the others that he had saved. The memories held on film, of Margurite seem different to the rest, they seem more personal, more intimate.
I immediately contacted the school in Ooty. They in turn put me in touch with ex-pupils who although now in their late eighties and nineties were still in touch with one another. My search led me to a woman in America, Moira who very kindly informed me that she was still in touch with one of Margurite’s sisters, Gladys, who also lived in America. I was soon sharing these images with Gladys and she remembered my grandpa very well. She let me know that Margurite was still alive and living in New Zealand, but she was now ninety-six years of age and living in an old people’s home. Her memory had dimmed, but she was physically quite well. I was then put in touch with Alecia, Margurite’s daughter and I began sending them pictures of the young Margurite – images I presume they had never even imagined existed.
In my eagerness and excitement at re-uniting people with a ‘more than half -a-century-ago’ memory, I also sent a photograph of my grandpa. I was told Margurite’s poignantly hopeful reaction was simply, “Is Bertie here?”. My grandpa was indeed the love of her life. But her family had to leave India during Partition, she had then married an Irishman and moved to New Zealand.
It had been obvious to me all along, by the very nature of the photographs, that they were in love, that they both meant an awful lot to each other. Proof, if it were needed, of the indelible nature of first love.
Image and Text contributed by Waqar Ul Mulk Naqvi, Punjab Province, Pakistan
This is the only image of my Late father Syed Ali Mehdi Naqvi I possess. He was born in 1930 in a small district called Beed then in Hyderabad, Andhra Pradesh, India. In 1960, when new states were created on the basis of linguistics, the Marathi dominant town of Beed became a part of Maharashtra.
My father graduated from Usmania University, Hyderabad (now Osmania) in Masters of Persian when he was only 18, in 1949.
My grandfather Hassan Naqvi was a lawyer with the High Court of the Nizam of Hyderabad at the time and also owned a lot of agricultural land in Pimpalwadi (District Beed, Now in Maharashtra). Agriculture was a big part of the family income.
When Partition of India and Pakistan was announced, my grandfather was still very optimistic that Hyderabad will be declared an independent state. The Nizam of Hyderabad was very adamant about that. But the Indian Government did not comply and the Nizam had to surrender in 1948.
With a lot of sorrow, and seeing no other option in a very precarious India, my grandparents along with their children were finally forced to join thousands of others and leave India in 1955. All of our assets, a house at Muhalla Qila as well as the cultivated agricultural land were left behind, abandoned.
They migrated to Karachi via Bombay on a ship. With our roots, and legacies all left behind, my family had to go through a lot of hurt, disillusionment and suffering. Consequences of which can be felt till today. In my family’s words “we were simply plucked and sent into a dark and dangerous journey to Pakistan with no home, no job or even land to call our own.” Many people along with them, never made it to the shores of Pakistan and many were killed right after they landed.
I feel great sorrow when I think about that. Now I work in a financial institution as a manager in a Punjab province of Pakistan with my mother and two siblings. In all these years, I have never stopped thinking about what could have been.
Image and text contributed by Mrs. Shamlu Kripalani Dudeja, Kolkata (www.calcuttafoundation.com)
I am a Sindhi and I was born in Karachi in 1938.
This is an image of my father on 20 Jan, 1937, in DJ Sind College, Karachi. The photograph is courtesy the College (which now stands in Pakistan) where my father was a Professor of Mathematics till 1945. It shows a scene from Rabindra Nath Tagore‘s play “Dak Ghar” (Post Office) which was staged by the teaching staff of the College in Karachi in 1937 during their 20 year celebrations. Here my father is in the role of Gaffar. I presume the play was translated in English, because the cast was all non-Bengali, in fact, most of them are Sindhis. In 1930s, Tagore had himself acted in ‘Dak Ghar‘ as Gaffar, the same role that my father played.
My father and his wife, Sushila moved from Karachi to Delhi via Bombay, in September 1947 during partition, with me, my younger sister Indu and youngest brother Gul. We lived there for 10 years. My father got a job in the Ministry of Commerce & Industry due to his mastery in Statistics as in those days Statistics was not a very commonly studied subject. I studied Math, got married, taught Math, and by a string of happenstances got involved in the Kantha revival, 25 years ago. In 2009/2010 I began depicting scenes from Tagore’s pictures through the medium of Kantha, where I sat with my women aritsans and artists from the villages of Bengal. I am now 73 and have lived in Kolkata since 1962.
55 – Six generations of a British Family in India, one of whom was a Photographer for Times of India.
Image and Text contributed by Jason Scott Tilley, Birmingham UK
These are two photographs from My Grandfather Bert Scott’s family photographic archive. The photograph on the left, of my Great Great Grandparents Edwin and Emily Scott was taken on Christmas day in 1925 at 3, Campbell road, Richmond Town, Bangalore, our family’s house which was one of the old British Bungalows and has sadly like many of the rest, been demolished. On the old ground now stands St Philomenas hospital, right in the very heart of Bangalore.
On the right, are my great grandparents Algernon Edwin Scott and Desiree Leferve with my Grandfather, Bert Scott as a two or three year old boy, the image was taken in 1919 in Cannanore, Karnataka. (now Kannur and in the state of Kerala)
My family came to India in 1798 when James Scott Savory joined the East India Company as a writer of the Records of state. He was the second assistant under the Collector of Krisnagearry (Krishnagiri). Edwin Ebenezer (left image) is his great great grandson. From the church death records at St. Marks Cathedral in Bangalore it states that Edwin Ebenezer was the Assistant commisioner of Salt in South India.
Son of Algernon Edwin Scott and Desiree Marie Louise Josephene Leferve, (she was the daughter of a French professor of English from Pondicherry). Algernon Scott (Bert’s father) worked for the ‘Salt and Abkeri’ before he joined the army and went to Mesopatamia region from 1916-1919. After Algernon Scott left Mesopotamia he then went to the North West Frontier province until 1921 when he was discharged as Lieutenant. In 1925 he joined Burmah Oil company until 1933 he worked at Caltex until the out break of War.
My Grandfather Bert Scott, whom I fondly call ‘Grandpa’, was mainly brought up by his Grandparents, this must have been because his parents were away much of the time. He was educated at the famous ‘Eaton of the East’, Bishop Cottons school in Bangalore and then at St. Joseph’s college in Cannanore on the way up to Ooty in the Nilgiri’s. In 1936 he took a job as a press photographer at the Times of India Newspaper in Bombay where he worked until the out break of World War II. He initially joined up as a ‘Gunner’ but soon took the Job as Head photographer for the Indian Army during the second world war where he worked out of GHQ New Delhi (Now Parliament), His duties include photographing ceremonies and Japanese positions behind enemy lines in Burma.
My grandfather married his Bride, Doll Miles at the church of redemption in New Delhi and 1943 and my Mother Anne Scott was born later that year in Amritsar, Punjab, whilst he was away on active duty during the war. He was in position on 14th August 1947 to photograph the hand over of Power and watched as the Mountbattens left Vicregal lodge (now Rashtrapati Bhavan). During the troubles of partition, because my family were Anglo Indian, they fled from Delhi to Bombay, and then took a ship to the new country of Pakistan where in November of that same year they left for a new life in the United Kingdom.
For more images via Jason please click here
Image and Text contribution by Anusha Yadav, Mumbai
This is a collective image of my mother and her sisters, photographed holding their degrees with pride, between 1961-1971, as it was the custom at the time for women to be photographed to prove that they were educated. Some of these images were also then used as matrimonial pictures. All the sisters (Left to right) Kusum, Madhavi, Suman, Aruna, Shalini and Nalini were born between 1935 – 1946 and brought up in Raja Mandi, Agra in Uttar Pradesh. There were also four brothers, the eldest of which is Rajendra Yadav, one of the foremost Hindi writers of the country. My grandfather Mishri Lal, was a very well respected Doctor, with a signature white horse which he rode when out on rounds, and my grandmother, Tara, his second wife hailed from Maharashtra with a royal lineage.
My eldest aunt Kusum (left most), passed away in 1967 under mysterious circumstances, some say it was suicide and some that it was food poisoning, and my youngest aunt Nalini, found courage to elope from home to marry, her neighbor in old Delhi, the love of her life at the time, a Punjabi gentleman. A move which was considered extremely scandalous for an highly respected intellectual but a conservative Yadav family. The rest led quieter lives, doing what was prescribed at the time for ‘good’ Indian women to do.
Quite amazingly all sisters were highly educated, triple degree holders, in Bachelors, Masters and Commercial Diplomas in Science, History, Economics, Dance, Arts, Painting and Teaching and each one was formally trained in Tailoring, Embroidery, Shooting, First Aid, Swimming, Horse-riding, Music, Dance, Crafts and Cooking in Delhi, Kota, Mathura and Agra. It still baffles me that, not one sought pro-actively to form careers of their own, and my aunt Madhavi (middle, top) says it was due to the protective brothers, who didn’t think it was appropriate for single women to work before marriage.
Only Aruna Masi (left bottom) and my mother Shalini did continue to work after their marriages. Aruna, with a Masters in History, moved to Oregon, USA after her marriage and still works (out of choice) as a Chartered Accountant and my mother is now retired, but only worked because she had to, after the death of my father.
All sisters still get along, well, more or less, however as all conservative families go, when ambitions in women lie unfulfilled, it channelizes that frustration in different aspects of their lives for years to come, with consequences that are both good and bad. Marriage did offer them security, but the desire to do something with their lives aside from being great home-makers still causes angst.
Having said that, as kids, my sisters, my cousins and I learnt a lot, from each and every one of these women. They were all feisty, fiercely talented and ensured that we received at least some of their knowledge from the time we could walk. We were encouraged to read, Hindi Literature and English, we were trained in classical and folk music & dances, embroidery, painting and cooking – first at home and then some of us were sent to schools to further that knowledge, even if it were private lessons. I do realise, that cultural knowledge like that is now hard to come by, and our own children by virtue of being 21st century products, will never fully have a grasp on such enriching guidance, however domestic it may seem. For which I will forever be grateful.
Image and text contributed by Prasad Ramamurthy, Mumbai
Both my grandparents’ families were Tamil Palghat Brahmins and migrated from Kerala over generations through Karnataka to finally settle in Bengaluru (Bangalore) . A few years after they got married my grandparents moved from Bengaluru to Bombay in 1932.
In the late 70’s when all you had was a single airline called Air India to fly you out the country to anywhere, you really needed to ‘know’ somebody to help you get Emergency Quota tickets air travel and that was a well and truly a big deal. So when you set off somewhere or returned it meant the entire family, extended family and the house staff turned up to say hello or bid you goodbye.
Like, when my grandparents who had gone to Iran to visit an uncle of mine (he worked for the Tata’s and was building power plants for the Iranian government then) returned. We; my parents, the three of us, my uncle, the house staff, my uncle’s office staff and two others I don’t even recognise turned up garlands in hand and with those curious things that every newly married couple was made to hold onto in those days while greeting guests at the marriage reception. I’m sure my uncle was thankful that when he set off a few years later, on what then to us was an epic trip to the US for three whole months, we didn’t do the garland-bouquet routine. But of course there always was a mandatory picture, family, extended family, staff included!
Image and text contributed by Sanjay
Image and text contributed by Yashoda Joshi.
My Grandmother Vatsala Bhimsen Joshi (nee Mudholkar) was a very beautiful person. She was born in 1928 and was the fifth child of the family. She had 3 elder sisters, an older brother, four younger sisters and 2 younger brothers. She was a great singer as well, and appreciated and encouraged lot of young musicians. She inculcated the love of music and life in all her children, grandchildren, brothers, sisters and nephews/nieces. A very enthusiastic and strong woman she loved travelling. Collecting and wearing beautiful sarees was her passion. She was married to Padmashree awarded, Indian Classical Vocalist Pandit Bhimsen Joshi and had three children.
This photograph of the Mudholkar Family is taken in Pune with her parents Shrikrishna and Saraswati, grandmother Laksmi and brothers and sisters. Two of her younger sisters were not born yet.
Image and Text contributed by Mallika Ganguly.
Kamala was my father’s older sister. She grew up in Allahabad and Calcutta, married Dr. S.L Brahmachari, a psycho analyst and later moved to the UK, USA and Canada. She was an extremely elegant and sophisticated woman. A wonderful raconteur, she was worldy, well travelled and witty. She died in 2010 shortly after her 96th birthday .
Image and text contributed by Usha Bhandarkar
My mother Maya Shivdasani is now 90 year old of age. She was born in Hyderabad Sind in 1919 and came to Bombay after her marriage in 1937. After her marriage in 1937 Maya moved to Bombay but would visit her parents in Hyderabad Sind (Now Pakistan) at least twice a year. This photograph was taken on one of her visits to Hyderabad where she was the epitome of style and sophistication: sleeveless sari blouse, short hair, long, painted fingernails.
She has lived in Cuffe Parade all these 73 years, read the Times of India every single day and visits the Cricket Club of India once a week. One of her favourite haunts is the Sea Lounge at the Taj Mahal Hotel. She was truly saddened to see it damaged in the Mumbai attacks of 2008. On the day the Sea Lounge reopened she was there sitting at a window table, sipping their wonderful Viennoise Coffee.
Image and text contributed by Usha Bhandarkar
Shanta Bhandarkar, my Mother in Law, turned 100 on February 25, 2010. On the occasion of her birthday our family gifted her an album with a collection of these old photographs. See her here as a baby.