Image and Text contributed by Priyamvada Singh, Ajmer, Rajasthan
The newly born baby in this picture is my father, Jitendra Singh, and the lady holding him is my grandmother, Hansa Kumari This picture was photographed at Saint Francis Nursing home, Ajmer (Rajasthan) in October 1956 – a few days after my father , was born. The lady sitting on the left is Dr. Albuquerque, one of the most proficient gynecologists of that time. The nun sitting on the right is Sister Beatrice – a senior administrator at Saint Francis. The three nuns standing behind them also worked at the nursing home, and even though my grandmother doesn’t recall their names now, she can never forget their kindness and compassion as long as she lives.
My family used to live in a small village Meja, about 125 kms from Ajmer (now a large township in Rajasthan). Our district at the time did not have very reliable medical facilities and so it was decided that my heavily pregnant grandmother would be taken to Ajmer for delivery. As soon as her ninth month began, my grandmother went to Ajmer along with my great grandmother by train. My grandfather went to drop them but returned immediately because someone had to stay back in the village to look after my bedridden great grandfather.
The plan was to find a reasonably priced hotel or a rented apartment for the delivery period, but when the nuns learnt that my family were outstation patients and that only two ladies were going to stay back in the city, they figured it was going to be an inconvenient, especially in case of a medical emergency. So they made a generous gesture and offered my family a room in the hospital itself, in return for a nominal donation.
The offer was indeed a blessing because 60 years ago, even well-educated women like my grandmother (who had completed her schooling from a convent – St. Patricks School, Jodhpur) weren’t very confident about living on their own and that too in an unknown town. The nursing home premises was a safe dwelling place and most importantly, my grandmother would have medical assistance 24X7. My grandmother and great grandmother lived at Saint Francis for nearly two months – the entire ninth month and a month after the delivery – and my grandmother has the most wonderful things to say about that time. She recalls how the nuns showered her with much love and affection, and made her feel so much at home that she never realized the absence of her family. They knitted woolens for her soon to be born baby, made chicken broth (my pure-vegetarian great grandmother was not comfortable touching meat), they accompanied her for evening walks and shared many warm moments.
Even after my father was born and things got more hectic, the nuns went way beyond their professional duties to lend a helping hand. Whether it was early morning or middle of the night, they were always there to offer their unconditional love and care. Soon the baby was about a month old and it was time to leave. But the bonds made over these two months lasted a lifetime, and every time that my family was passing Ajmer, they made it a point to meet the nuns. In fact, my family was so grateful for the kindness of these nuns that for several years after, during harvest season, my grandfather gifted sacks of grain to the nursing home kitchen as a token of appreciation. The nuns were reluctant to accept it at first, but when my grandfather insisted that it would help other outstation families like us, they accepted it graciously. With time, our association with Saint Francis got stronger – four of my father’s first cousins (my grandfather’s sisters’ kids) were born there, and years later, me and my brother as well.
When I had a baby, he was born in another city at a state-of-the-art private hospital. A four day fixed package was offered to me with highly professional staff & efficient service. I was home on the fifth day and I have no complaints, but sometimes I think about my grandmother’s delivery experience and feel that mine was so warmth less, and mechanical as compared to her experience. I wonder why didn’t I form such personal connections? My guess is that not all of us are fortunate enough to be blessed by the harbingers of humanity.
Image and Text contributed by Shavinder Kaur, Mumbai.
I was a 20 year old NCC Cadet (National Cadet Corps) of the Punjab Contingent and this picture in the ceremonial NCC Blazer was given to all the cadets who had been photographed for their participation in the Republic Day Parade and camp.
I remember that cold January 26 – Republic Day of 1967 clearly. It was very cold, and we were all up at 4.30 am to get into our crisp khakis and shiny marching boots. Everyone glowed with pride and excitement, and were set for a 10 kms march from Rashtrapati Bhavan to India Gate via Rajpath. It was after all the Republic Day Parade and we were the chosen ones, representing our respective contingents. I was at that time a Senior Under Officer and led the Punjab, Haryana, Himachal and Chandigarh Contingent. It was a very coveted position to be at. Among the thousands of countrymen and women who had flocked to see the celebrations, my mother too had traveled all the way from Jullundur, Punjab to watch me march.
The NCC in those days was a very coveted organisation. Thousands of young people aspired to join the NCC, while in school and college. The Sino-Indian war of 1962 & Indo-Pakistani war of 1965 had brought about a renewed sense of national pride among the young. NCC also offered opportunities to engage in adventure activities, cultural and sporting events as well as traveling and seeing new places.
The preparations for the Republic Day Parade began more than a month in advance – Three weeks at our regional headquarters in Chandigarh and three weeks at New Delhi. The camp at New Delhi was truly a melting pot of cultures from across the country. For the very first time I met and made friends with cadets from Assam, Maharashtra and Southern states. I also learnt an Assamese song from my friend Nirmaali from Sibsagar. Most of the girls were from small towns and this was their first trip to the capital.
The training at the camp was tough – we had to pitch our own tents, prepare for the cultural event as well as practice the march past throughout the cold days. Hot water to bathe was available only once in two days. But the sense of camaraderie and national pride was unparalleled. One of the highlights of the Republic Day camp was interacting with the Defence Minister Sardar Swarn Singh. And then there was High Tea with the President Dr. Sarvappali Radhakrishnan at the Rashtrapati Bhavan lawns which was truly a memorable experience.
I confess I harboured hopes of joining the Armed forces but women were not to be allowed in general & flying categories entry for another 25 years, until 1992. My love for the uniform though continued when I married Group Captain Raghbir Singh (now retired), a Flying Officer in the IAF (Indian Air Force) at that time. The family tradition continued with my son joining the NCC Air wing and subsequently becoming an officer in the Air Force as well.
I am now 68 years old and live in Powaii, Mumbai with my husband. During my 40 years of professional life as a teacher and Principal, I have encouraged my students to follow the tenets I learnt 50 years ago as a young cadet. Unity & Discipline, the motto of the NCC is all the more relevant today and I do hope more young men and women would commit themselves to the service of our wonderful country.
Image and text contributed by Vaibhav Bhosle, Mumbai
At the time this photograph was taken, my mother was in her third year of her employment with the State Police of Maharashtra and was on an official trip to Agra. The purpose of this journey was to return an abducted girl, a native of Uttar Pradesh who was found and rescued by the police in Bombay (Mumbai).
After the girl was returned safely to her parents, my mother Meenakshi and a female colleague accompanied by a male senior staff had a few hours to spare before their train’s departure to Bombay. My mother wanted to visit the Agra Fort but her colleague wanted to see the Taj Mahal. Eventually she agreed to visit the Taj Mahal, where this picture was taken by a local photographer.
When my grandfather Yashwant, a farmer, suffered huge losses in his grocery business, he had no choice but to relocate to Bombay in search for a better job. My grandmother along with all the children moved to her maternal home and took up odd farm jobs to add to the sustenance. After many years of struggling, my grandfather eventually did find a job in Dalda company and could afford a princely sum of Rs 500 to buy an apartment in the suburbs of Bombay, only then he had his family to move to Bombay.
New to a big city, and with five children, my grandparents’ means were limited, so the family set up a Milk delivery service, in which all their children pitched in. My mother too enrolled herself in a Tailoring Institute in hope of finding a job ; and she also applied for Government employment. A few days later, she received a call from the employment agency informing her on an unconsidered avenue, recruitment for the Police Force.
My grandfather accompanied her to the recruitment center. But skeptical of the type of candidates he saw there, he was discouraged and asked her not to give the exam, yet my mother went ahead and also got selected for the Force. At the training camp, she was the only one with her own blanket.
An employment with the State Government was an achievement for the entire family. The nature of the job and the independence it brought with it shaped my mother’s personality. She was the first in the family to travel out of state or to even own a pair of Sunglasses.
While growing up, we would be fascinated by all the stories that she would tell us about her work. On the rare occasions that we were taken to the Police station, seated on the bench for 2 hours my sister and I would gather enough visuals and sounds to boast to our friends, including the Dal and Pao (Lentils & Bread) that was served to the inmates because it looked most delicious. For every mischief that my sister and I got into, my mother had a story equivalent to where mischief makers were eventually put in jail.
No doubt, it was a tough job for my mother. It comprised of long hours, which got longer on festivals. The night shifts sometimes begun by a knock on the door at 3 am in the morning, or the out of town trips which were conveyed hours before they begun.
This is a special photograph to me because it is the most glamorous image of my mom that I can recollect and it is as special to her as well because she thinks the same.
Image and Text contributed by Mitul Patel, Texas
This picture was taken on a school trip to Calcutta in 1970. My mother Chandan Patel’s best friend Manixi (right) suffered cancer and passed away in Memphis a few years ago. My father, mother and I now live in Rockdale, Texas. We now run and own a hotel, Best Western – Rockdale Inn. My mother is the Vice President, my father, Jawahar Patel is the CEO, and I am Director of Operations.