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Posts Tagged ‘Men’s Clothes’

118 – The only non-white students of the batch

Grandfather_Low

My grandfather, Dr. Preetam Pal Singh (seated) with his college mates at the King Edward Medical College. Lahore (Now Pakistan) Circa 1933

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.


108 – A batch of lost friends & acquaintances

Class of  B.Sc (Bachelor of Science), Poorna Prajna College (PPC), Udupi district. Karnataka. Circa 1968.

Class of B.Sc (Bachelor of Science), Poornaprajna College (PPC), Udupi district. Karnataka. Circa 1969.

Image & Text contributed by Nishant Rathnakar, Bangalore

In 2010, while cleaning my wardrobe I stumbled upon my mother Ranjini Rathnakar’s old autograph book dating back to the year 1970. This 40 year old book was filled with autographs and inscriptions of her classmates from her College, Poornaprajna college (PPC), Udupi.  The ink and pencil writings in the book still dark and legible, as if it were written yesterday.

It wasn’t the first time I came across the autograph book. In the past 29 years, I had found it time and again; and each time I was fascinated reading it. Some amusing inscriptions like  “First comes knowledge, next comes college, third comes marriage and finally comes baby in a carriage” always made me laugh.

I would asked my mother if she was in touch with any one of her classmates and her answer was always a ‘No’, leaving me a little disenchanted. However, she would say that her best friend in College was a girl named Rose Christabel, but she never saw Rose after college. She had last heard that Rose had moved to Vellore in Tamil Nadu. That was 40 years ago. I made several mental notes that someday I’ll find mom’s old friends, maybe even Rose and make them meet again. I think that inspiration stemmed from my own experience because I was blessed with such good and decades old friendships that I recognised the value of having them around albeit we had the help of the internet & social media. A technological perk that wasn’t available to my mother’s generation.

For instance, one of my closest friends is Santhu a.k.a Santhosh. We have been friends for a decade now. We were in college together, worked as interns, and got our first tech jobs at IBM. Around the time I quit my job, I took-off on my first photography trip to the coasts of Karnataka, to our roots, our hometown, with Santhu as my accomplice. It was a special trip for both of us.

One evening, scouring over the pages of her college autograph book yet again, I froze, and I am very certain my heart skipped a beat too. I had gone through that book time and again, but I had never noticed one particular inscription -
Best Wishes. Bhaskar Adiga K. Kuppar house, Shankarnarayana, Udupi (S.K)

Now Santhu, my friend I just told you about, his full name is Santhosh Kuppar Bhaskar Adiga, Bhaskar Adiga being his father’s name, and the house that I stayed at during the journey to our hometown was called the Kuppar house, and it was in a town named Shankarnarayana, in the present-day Udupi district of Karnataka.

With my heart bursting in anticipation, I asked my mother if she remembered Bhaskar Adiga, she had no clear recollection, but then she got up, went inside the house and came out holding this photograph in her hands. It was her only class photograph from college, taken during her graduation. A photograph she too had only come to possess a week ago, from my uncle while he was clearing up their now almost uninhabited ancestral home.

Humidity and lack of maintenance had damaged the photograph. In it few faces were recognizable, including my mom’s (3rd from left in the row of women.) but Rose Christabel’s face was crystal clear (2nd from right). Given that I was asking my mother to be part of an identification parade of faces that were hardly recognizable and that too 40 years later, she took sometime. Then, from left to right, slowly she named all the girls in her class. But the boys, she wasn’t sure of. She said “Maybe the 5th person from the left, on the top row, with a tie, could be Bhaskar.

She didn’t know him that well and his face was hardly recognisable. I too had met Santhu’s dad many times, but could not picture his face with this one. I immediately emailed everything to Santhu and then called to ask him if his dad was a graduate from Poornaprajna college (PPC), Udupi, and if he had graduated in BSc, Zoology, in 1970. He cross-checked with his mother, and Hurray! the credentials matched –it was indeed Santhu’s dad. The 5th person from left, on the top row, wearing a tie… he said, resembled his dad. After all, there where only two Adiga families in Shankarnarayana, and only one Bhaskar from the Kuppar house. It had to be him.

I do not know how Santhu processed this information; But we were both thinking the same thing – “How I wish we had stumbled upon that page a couple of years earlier.” Santhu’s dad Bhaskar Adiga had passed away a year ago. I was in tears. For my parents or even most parents at the time, meeting with an old friend or an acquaintance was a rarity. My mom and her best friend Rose didn’t have the luxury of social media that I enjoy now. I was deeply disappointed . All along, I had wanted to gift my mother a small reunion with people from her younger days and her friends and I couldn’t do that.

That night I slept with great anxiety. I dreamt of Santhu and I getting our families together. I dreamt of drinking with them, laughing and talking about life. I imagined my mom and Santhu’s father recognising each other at the party, and talking about old times, about old friends, and about Rose Christabel. Maybe, Mr. Adiga knew where Rose might be. But I woke up to deep sadness and disappointment.

On the brighter side, Santhu was glad to see his father’s calligraphy skills in my mum’s autograph book. He said he would try hunting for the college photograph from his father’s collection. It may be our last chance to have a proper photograph of our parents from their college. I think the chances are bleak, but we are glad to have uncovered a shared history.


107 – She emerged from a rural home and became a lady endowed with knowledge & charm

My Parents, K. M. Devaki Amma & Lt. Cdr. P.P.K. Menon. Bombay. 1941

My Parents, K. M. Devaki Amma & Lt. Cdr. P.P.K. Menon. Bombay. Maharashtra. 1941

Image & Text contributed by Radha Nair, Pune

This photograph of my parents K. M. Devaki AmmaLt. Cdr. P.P.K. Menon was taken at a Photo Studio in Bombay in 1941, soon after they were married. My father was based in the city serving the Naval Force.

My mother, K. M. Devaki Amma belonged to Feroke, a part of Kozhikode in Kerala. Her initials K. M. stood for Kalpalli Mundangad and her family originally belonged to the Anakara Vadkath lineage. The large joint family of more than 25-30 people lived in a house called Puthiyaveedu which still exists in Feroke, however the members are now settled in far flung places and my grand aunts and uncles are no more.

My mother had to give up school very early in life. She came from a large family of 14 brothers and sisters and belonged to an era where a girl’s formal education wasn’t a priority. While they grew up under the tutelage of grand uncles and aunts, they learned to cook, clean, and learnt to make do with and share whatever little they had with their siblings without ever complaining. Congee (Rice Gruel) was what they mostly had for lunch and dinner, supplemented with a little coconut chutney, and may be a side dish of some green banana, but only if they were bestowed with a ripe bunch of plantains available from the kitchen garden.

My mother and her sisters’ daily life entailed preparing food for all members of their very large family. By the light of a wick lamp, sweating by the blaze of crackling coconut fronds they would wash dishes with ash from the kitchen hearth and rinse them with water drawn from the well. My mother in personality was very self-reliant and was happy with whatever little she had.

Arranged by my paternal grandmother, when Amma married my father, a man with an aristocratic lineage and a Naval officer, my father’s cousins would scoff at her and condescendingly regard her as a ‘village girl’. They had been educated in Queen Mary’s Women’s college, Madras (now Chennai) whereas my mother had studied only up to Class IV in a local village school in Karrinkallai.

Undeterred, my father, who knew his wife was a bright and intelligent woman took her under his wing and brought out the best in her. He taught her English and bought her abridged versions of books written by Charles Dickens, Walter Scott and many other great authors. He read out passages to her and patiently explained to her what they each meant.

Thus Devaki, my mother, slowly emerged from her rural background, and became a lady endowed with great poise and charm. Not only did she steal my father’s heart, but even of those who befriended her. She became a much sought after friend by wives of both British and Indian naval officers. She taught them to cook Malayali dishes and stitch & embroider; skills, which were executed by her exquisitely. She wrote and spoke English with such assurance that she could put a present day Post Graduate in English to shame. But despite all these changes, she remained loyal to her roots, proud of her humble origins, and very attached to her siblings.

Sometimes, deep into the night I would catch whispers of my parents’ conversation as they sat and planned the monthly budget, and spoke about their dreams of providing us with the best of every thing. It was my mother who insisted that my sister and I be given the best education they could afford. She firmly refused a State Board SSC education, and insisted on us being admitted into schools which followed a Senior Cambridge syllabus. She was efficient and fiercely independent. By comparison I was a pale shadow. In fact, many times I used to feel very unsure of my self in her presence, intimidated by her indomitable spirit and the complete control she had over any situation.

When my father was suffering Cancer, she stood by him; nourishing him with love and healthy food, while my sister and I watched our father’s condition worsen by the day, helpless and often giving in to tears. My mother always remained calm, but only when he breathed his last in 1977 did she break down completely. He was her life force, and she was his guiding light. Theirs was an extraordinary relationship, always supportive of each other at all times and completely committed to each other till the end.

After I graduated, it was her dream that I put my education to good use. However, a few years after marriage when I was forced to give up my teaching post, she never forgave me till she breathed her last. To make up for it, I began to write and put together a collection of short stories, but the book never got published.
What pained me most was that I was not able to place a copy of my book in my mother’s hands and make my peace with her before she passed away in 2008.

 


75 – In love till their last day, they passed away within three months of each other

My maternal grandparents, Kali Pada & Sukriti Chakrabertti with their daughters, son and several nephews & nieces. Calcutta, West Bengal. 1970

Image and Text contributed by Anupam Mukerji

This picture was photographed on March 9, 1970 on the occasion of my maternal grandparents Kali Pada and Sukriti Chakrabertti’s 25th marriage anniversary (seated middle), at their home, 63, PG Hossain Shah Road, Jadavpur, Calcutta (now Kolkata). Here, they are with their daughters Sarbari, Bansari and Kajori, their son Sovan, and several nephews and nieces.

After graduating from school with a gold medal in East Bengal‘s Dhaka Bickrampore Bhagyakul district, the young teenager, Kali Pada Chakraberti moved to Calcutta. He began working while continuing his education in an evening college. The office he worked at was also his shelter for the night. Desperate for money to pay his college examination fees, he went to a pawn-shop in Calcutta’s Bow Bazaar to sell his gold medal.

The pawn broker at the shop however was a gentle and generous elderly man. He lent my grandfather the money without mortgaging the gold medal. Years later when my grandfather went back to the shop to return the money, he found that his benefactor had passed away and his son refused to accept the money stating he couldn’t, because his father had left no records of that loan. My grandfather then established  a Trust with that money to help underprivileged students with their education.

Bhai, as all his grandchildren fondly called him, graduated from college with distinction and built a successful career in the field of Insurance. He rose to a senior position in a public sector insurance company. He also bought a plot of land in Jadavpur and built the house of his dreams where this photograph was taken. Post partition of Bengal, many of his family members moved to Calcutta and everyone found food on the table and a roof over their heads at his house. Over time, many of them moved out and made their own homes, but 63 PGHS remained the place where everyone congregated for festivals and special occasions.

Sukriti Chakrabertti, my grandmother, was fondly known as Hashu Di. She was raised in Shanti Niketan and learnt Arts & Dance under the guidance of Gurudev Rabindra Nath Tagore and Nandlal Bose. She was part of the first batch of students of Shanti Niketan’s Kala Bhavan and went on to make a name for herself in various classical dance forms.

In love with each other till their last day, they passed away in 2000 and 2001, within three months of each other.


58 – Mary Jane shoes with a nine yards saree

My Paati and Thatha, Lokanayaki and RR Hariharan. My mother’s parents from Ravanasamudram, Thirunelveli District, Tamil Nadu. Circa 1920.

Image and text contributed by Vani Subramanian, New Delhi

He worked with the Indian Railways, and she raised her five children between Delhi and Shimla, learning Hindi and the ways of the ‘north’ as she went along. This photograph was probably taken fairly soon after they were married. Even my mum who is now 72 years old doesn’t remember them like this at all. So in a sense, they are both familiar and strangers as they appear in the picture. But I do remember the photograph framed and hanging on the wall in the house that they retired to in the village. A house they moved in to the day I was born: 22 Jan 1965.

My favourite part of the photograph is that Paati is wearing Mary Jane shoes and white socks with her nine yards saree. I never saw her in shoes in real life. As a matter of fact, I never saw my grandfather in a coat and tie, either. Though I am told that he wore a coat, tie, shoes and pants clipped with bicycle clips as he rode to work from Park Lane to the railway boards offices.


52 – The only photograph of a Kashmiri Pandit family, who disbanded due to ethnic cleansing

The only photograph of a Kashmiri Pandit Extended Family. My grandmother, Tara Dhar, (second from right in the top row), my grandfather Raghunath Dhar (fourth from right in the same row) Between them is my great grandmother, Sokhmal Dhar. Vicharnag, Srinagar, Kashmir. Circa 1915

Image and text contributed by Anil Dhar, Mumbai

This picture is of a Kashmiri Pandit family of Vicharnag, a small village that is situated on the outskirts of Srinagar, Kashmir. Vicharnag, when translated means “the spring of contemplation”, has an ancient centuries-old temple complex and there were at one time several Pandit families living here for many centuries.
The family pictured here is the extended Dhar family, one of the few Pandit families in this predominantly Muslim neighborhood. Perhaps this is the first photograph ever taken in Vicharnag. And as it turned out, also the last.
The headgear of the senior male members was different from the junior male members. Also, the women were not in purdah, displaying some of the liberal social and cultural aspects of the community at the time. The family does not exist in Vicharnag anymore, after several migrations which took place in 1947 and then again in 1990 because of  mass massacres and murderous assaults by terrorists on the Pandits. Their derelict temple complex and abandoned houses, now occupied by squatters, are the only memory of the community having lived here.
My grandmother, Tara Dhar, is the lady second from right in the top last row. And my grandfather Raghunath Dhar is fourth from right in the same row. Between them is my great grandmother Sokhmal Dhar. Most of the family’s descendants are now all over the globe and today, Vicharnag has no pandits living there anymore.


47 – When all you had was a single airline called Air India

My grandfather, T.S Sreekantiya and grandmother, S. Kamlamma with family and staff at the Arrival lounge at the Airport, Bombay, Maharashtra. 1978

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!


46 – Chameli & Phoolchand Jain. A teenaged couple’s fight for freedom

My Grandmother Chameli Devi Jain and Grandfather Phool Chand Jain, shortly after their marriage. Delhi. Circa 1923

Image and text contributed by Sreenivasan Jain, Journalist, New Delhi

Some text is paraphrased from a recent Book – Civil Disobedience, by my father Late. Shri LC Jain, noted economist and Gandhian.

This image was photographed in Delhi, shortly after my Paternal grandparents Chameli and Phool Chand, got married. She was 14 and he was 16. It was unusual for couples in our family to be photographed, especially holding hands, which turned out to be an indication of the unconventional direction their lives would take. They were both Gandhians and Freedom fighters.

The prestigious Chameli Devi  Jain award for Journalists was named after my grandmother . The only visible reminder of her brush with radical politics of the freedom movement was the milky cornea in her right eye, the result of an infection picked up in Lahore Jail where she had spent 4 months in 1943. Otherwise, she was Ammaji: gentle, almost luminous in her white saris, regular with her samaik (Jain prayer), someone who would take great pleasure, on our Sunday visits, to feed us dal chawal (rice and lentils) mixed with her own hands.

My grandmother grew up in a village called Bahadarpur in Alwar, about 4 hours south of Delhi, in a deeply conservative Jain family. The family was locally influential; they were traders in cotton turbans, woven by local Muslim weavers and sold in Indore, Madhya Pradesh. They also were moneylenders. As with much of rural Rajasthan, the women were in purdah. Within two years of their marriage, their first child, my father, LC Jain was born.

Ammaji moved with my grandfather into the family home in the teeming bylanes of Dariba in Chandni Chowk. But he had developed a growing interest in Gandhi and the nationalist movement and soon broke away from the family business to join the Delhi Congress. In 1929, soon after the call for Poorn Swaraj at the Lahore session, he was arrested for the first time.

My grandfather’s stint in jail exposed him to even more radical politics. Along with his Congress membership, he also became part of the revolutionary Hindustan Socialist Republican Association which counted Bhagat Singh and Chandrashekhar Azad amongst its members. (Azad, in an interview, acknowledged that he received his first revolver from my grandfather). He also became a reporter for the nationalist newspaper at the time, Vir Arjun, whose editor he had met in jail.

In 1932, Gandhi called for a major nationwide satyagraha against foreign goods.  It was also the year a bomb was thrown at Lord Lothian,an act in which my grandfather played a role. When he told my grandmother that he was going to jail, she said this time she would go to prison first, by taking part in the swadeshi satyagraha. The household was stunned. Ammaji’s life had revolved around ritual, the kitchen and ghoonghat. Her decision led to the following heated exchange; witnessed by my father, age 7:

Babaji: “You don’t know anything about jail.”

Ammaji: “Nor did you when you were first arrested.”

Babaji: “Who will look after the children ?”

Ammaji: “You will.”

Sensing that things were getting out of hand, my great grandmother, Badi Ammaji locked both of them into a room. But my grandfather apparently fashioned an escape from the window using knotted dhotis and Ammaji, head uncovered, marched with other women pouring out of their homes towards the main bazaar. The crowd had swelled into hundreds. There were cries of ‘Mahatma Gandhi ki Jai’. As they began to move around picketing shops selling foreign goods, they were arrested, taken to Delhi Jail, and charged with 4 and half months of rigorous imprisonment.

Her arrest, not surprisingly, outraged the family in Alwar. Umrao Singhji, Ammaji’s father, came to Delhi and had a big argument with my great grandfather, accusing the in-laws of  ‘ruining our princess’. But Ammaji found an ally in her in-laws, who refused to pay her bail out of respect for her satyagraha. Umrao Singhji then tried to talk his daughter out of it when she was being transferred to Lahore Jail.  ‘Chameli, apologise, ask for pardon.’  But Ammaji asked him not to worry. ‘Bolo Bharat Mata ki Jai’, she said, as she was being led away in a rickshaw along with the other prisoners.  ‘Bharat Mata ki Jai’, responded her father.

She returned from Lahore 4 months later, a minor heroine. But there was also loss. Lakshmi, her daughter, 5 years old, fell from the balcony of the house and died when she was in Lahore jail. And there was the milky cornea – the loss of an eye. But her world had somewhat widened. She wore her ghoonghat a few inches higher. She gave her Rajasthani ghaghra choli away, and wore only handspun. She spun on the charkha. She would attend meetings with other women on matters of community reform, like widow remarriage and also became more involved in the activities of the local sthanak, the Jain community’s prayer and meditation hall. She had, as it turns out, quietly fashioned her own blend of Jain renunciation and Gandhian abstinence.

In the years that followed, my grandfather retained his engagement with the freedom struggle. He would often go to sit in the family’s property agency in Model Town, but his real passion, which consumed most of his last 30 years was compiling a massive index of freedom fighters, a staggering 11 volume chronicle of the stories of countless ordinary men and women, who took part in protests, bomb conspiracies, went to jail, lived and died. For my grandmother, it was a gradual return to a more conventional domesticity.

But, that single action that morning in 1932 had opened up a world: a young woman from a deeply conservative family, who became  the first Jain woman in her neighbourhood to go to jail, who was named on the day of her arrest in the Hindustan Times with all the other satyagrahis, who would return home to other freedoms, even if minor, like a ghoonghat that could be worn a few inches back.

And for that, she would one day have an award named after her.


44 – An All India Heavyweight Wrestling and Weightlifting champion

My paternal grandfather, Manjerikandy Ramchandran, Cannanore, Kerala. 1927

Image and text contributed by Sheetal Sudhir, Mumbai

This picture of my grandfather Manjerikandy Ramchandran was taken when he was 16, just before he set sail for Dar-es-salaam for the first time. He came back to India 5 years later and won the All India Heavyweight Wrestling and Weightlifting championship beating several champions including the Sri Lankan heavyweight wrestling champion in 1937.

His son Sudhir Ramchandran is my father who was born in British Tanganyika and retains his British Citizenship until this day. My grandfather was also responsible for building gymnasiums in Cannanore (Kannur) and in Tanzania. There are several tales of how he used to be called to handle African robbers, who existed in plenty those days. His happiest life was in Dar-es-salaam.

After he retired in 1968, he moved back to Cannanore, India to build a house but passed away the same year of cancer. My dad believes that I have adopted his no-nonsense approach to life and loyalty to friends.


43 – The Beach Parties of Tanzania, East Africa

My parents at the Beach Disco in Dar-es-salaam, Tanzania, East Africa. December 1973

Image and text contributed by Sheetal Sudhir, Mumbai

“These were the happiest days” say my mom, Sandhya (nee Parina) and dad, Sudhir Ramachandran, a photographer.

This picture was taken at a beach disco in Dar-es-salaam called Bahari Beach Hotel. These were times of the early 70s floral hippy patterns and elephant pants combined with an Elvis spillover from the late 60s. My dad recalls that they had just finished an engrossing session of ‘soul’ dancing and were moving to the beach to relax and then a friend clicked this picture, with dad’s very first Hasselblad camera and a large Metz flash!

My mom, a Gujrati Muslim and my dad, a Malyali, got married in Tanzania and then moved to Bangalore, India in 1975. I was born in 1976. Lately, they have been visiting Dar-es-salaam more often to see my maternal grandmother, and my uncles & aunts. In my father’s own words, whenever he sees this photograph, he is in “His fav town with his fav girl…and those were the days!!”


38 – The men who contributed acres of land to the Railways of India

My Great Grandfather M M Venugopal Reddy Yekollu (holding a Cane), with his brother M.M Rajagopal Reddy (sitting right) inspecting the freshly re-laid Jolarpet - Bangalore railway track. Circa 1930

Image and text contributed by Sanjay

In this image My great grandfather M.M Venugopal Reddy Yekollu (holding a Cane), with his brother M.M Rajagopal Reddy inspects the freshly re-laid Jolarpet-Bangalore railway track. His father had donated the stretch of land to the British to lay tracks from Jolarpet to Kuppam. This place hasnt changed much, it is only some 10 to 15 mins before the Kuppam station. My great Grandfather’s brother Rajagopal Reddy died from Tuberculosis.


37 – As a magistrate he could impose a large fine of Rs.10

My Great Great Grandfather, Mukuntha Madhav Reddy Yekollu, Zamindar of Yelagiri. (far left, with hands folded) with associates from the region. Jolarpet, Tamil Nadu. Circa 1880

Image and text contributed by Sanjay

This photograph of my Great great grandfather Mukuntha Madhav Reddy Yekollu (sitting far left, on chair) was taken in my ancestral home in Yelagiri near Jolarpet. He later went on to become a honorary civil magistrate/judge with a capacity to impose fines upto Rs.10 ( a princely sum then). He committed suicide in 1907 for reasons no one knew, but we conjecture- it was depression. All I know of the two European gentleman in the picture is that one was a Railway supervisor of Jolarpet which was an important railway junction. The other was a Police Inspector of Italian origin.

My Great Great Grandfather was educated up to form three. He had two wives, four sons, six to seven daughters and an elder brother who died on the eve of his marriage.

The last time I visited  my ancestral home in India I also found a letter that was never posted (Dated : 1927) With an interest to find out more about my ancestry I searched and found distant uncles and aunts. Some were not welcoming at all, and some wouldn’t allow old photographs to be scanned. This photo was given to me by my great grand father’s sister’s son. He thought it would be better off with me than him.


32 – A Telugu family

The group photo at my father’s elder brother, Gadepally Suryaprakasam's wedding, Kakinada, Andhra Pradesh. 1913

Image and text contribution by Lt Col (Retd) Dr. G.Kameswararao, Secundarabad

This photograph is a wedding group photo of my  father’s elder  brother, Gadepally Suryaprakasam (also known as Surya Prakasarao). It was photographed at  Kakinada, then known as Coconada, in the East Godavari District of Madras Presidency. He served the Nizam government  in the Education Department. My  grandmother, my father’s siblings, his paternal, maternal uncles and their children are a part of this group. The  famous Telugu poet, Devulapalli Krishna Sastry is seated last on the right (on the chair). He was married  to the daughter of my  father’s paternal uncle. My paternal grandfather, Gadepally Venkata Sastry was in the service of Pithapuram Raja. He was a Sanskrit Scholar and a Trustee of the famous Sri Kukkuteswara Swami temple in Pithapuram, in which lies an incarnation of the lord Shiva, in form of a Kukkutam, a ‘Cock fowl’. He wrote in Sanskrit a Stotram , in praise of Kukkutam, which my mother got published in 1990. My grandfather passed away by the time this photo was taken and my grandmother is seen herein (middle, standing) as a widow, wearing the traditional white dress covering her hairless head.

- The Contributor is a financial patron of Indian Memory Project


26 – A blind date

My wedding, Calcutta, West Bengal. 1969

Image and text contributed by Lata Bhasin, New Delhi

I met my husband Anil Bhasin, a business man, on a Blind date in 1966. We got married three years later.

We lived in Calcutta a while, had two daughters and then moved to Delhi in 1985. ‘Bouffants’ hair dos were in great style then, and all of us friends would keep up with trends. Most of our friends moved to other countries, after their respective marriages.


23 – Felt hats, Chiffons and Pearls

My parents Maya and Lachu Shivdasani (center) with friends, at the Turf Club, Mahalaxmi Race Course, Bombay, Maharashtra.1941

Image and Text Contributed by Usha Bhandarkar

Men and women were always very smartly turned out for the races…”you never repeated a sari!” Men wore full suits and felt hats; women wore Chiffons and Pearls. My mother Maya is appalled at the current dress code at the Races which she finds positively sloppy.


21 – Shanta Bhandarkar as a grown up lady

Shanta Bhandarkar, with her husband Dr. S.S. Bhandarkar, soon after they were married. Bombay, Maharashtra.1935

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.


13 – Culturally from Mangalore, they adapted to Maharashtra with ease

My great-grandparents Tavadappa Talwar with his wife Laxmibai Talwar. Bombay, Maharashtra. Circa 1900's

Image and Text Contributed by Manorath Palan, Mumbai

My great-grand parents Mr Tavadappa Talwar and Mrs Laxmibai Talwar migrated to Bombay from Mangalore, Karnataka in the early 1900′s. Cultures like the Marathas were unheard of for a native of Mangalore, yet my Great Grandparents adopted the native Maharashtrian attire and culture without any compulsion or threat from the locals as opposed to the present situation in Mumbai.This picture was taken weeks into their moving to Bombay, sometime in the early 1900s.


12 – The first captain of the Indian cricket team to play England

Cottari Kanakaiya Nayudu, or C.K. Nayudu, Nayudu, Indore, Madhya Pradesh. - Circa 1940

Image and text contributed by Geetali Tare, Simla, Himachal Pradesh.

Cottari Kanakaiya Nayudu, or C.K. Nayudu, as he is better known, was born in Nagpur in October 1895.
He made his debut in first class cricket 1916, playing for the Hindus against the Europeans. He  played first-class cricket regularly until 1958, and then returned to the game for one last time in 1963 at the age of 68. He moved to Indore in 1923, on the invitation of Maharaja Holkar and would transform the Holkar team into one that would win many Ranji trophies.
Nayudu was the first captain of the Indian cricket team to play England in 1932. His playing career spanned six decades.
This picture was found in an old family album belonging to my uncle, Madhukar Dravid. My great-uncles Vasant Dravid and Narayan Dravid were great friends of Nayudu and his brother C.S. Nayudu.

This picture was taken by my great-uncle, Late Vasant Dravid who is some manner also related to Rahul Dravid.

The year the photograph was taken is not known, but my uncle puts it around 1940.

More on C.K. Nayudu


7 – The Professor who founded the Surat University

My maternal grandparents, Surat, Gujarat. 1925

“My Grandfather was a very progressive man. Though he married my grandmother very young, 17 or 18 I think, he decided not to have children until she was in her 20s. He understood that she was too young to have kids so early. He was a Chemistry professor in Surat. After being trained in Manchester,  he and 2 other professors joined hands and found the Surat University.

The watch that my grandmother proudly wears in this photograph, was a gift bought for her in Manchester.”


4 – Later they heard, their home and assets were all burnt down

Hand painted in New York (in 2000), my maternal grandparents, Lahore, (Now Pakistan). 1923

Image and text contributed by Dinesh Khanna.

My grandparents, Balwant Goindi, a Sikh and Ram Pyari, a Hindu were married in 1923. She was re-named Mohinder Kaur after her marriage . They went on to have eight daughters and two sons, one of the daughters happens to be my mother.

Balwant Goindi owned a whiskey Shop in Lahore. He was a wealthy man and owned a Rolls Royce. During Indo-Pak Partition, he and his family migrated to Simla, without any of his precious belongings; assuming he would return after the situation had calmed down, however, that never happened. After moving around, and attempting to restart his business with other Indian trader friends, they finally settled down in Karol Bagh. The area was primarily residential with a large Muslim population until the exodus of many to Pakistan and an influx of refugees from West Punjab after partition in 1947, many of whom were traders. It must have been a very sad day when he heard that his home and his shops in Lahore were burnt down.


1 – They went to receive the groom, but returned empty handed

My grandparents Mr & Mrs H.E Chowfin on their wedding day. Lahore, (Now Pakistan). December 28, 1938.

Image and Text contributed by Madhypriya Sinha

Mr Chowfin was part Chinese and part Indian. When the strapping Pathans from the bride’s family went to the station to receive the groom, they returned empty handed claiming that the grooms family never arrived, there were however, many chinese people hanging about at the station.