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The fashionable soul sisters of the 70s

The fashionable soul sisters of the 70s
My aunt Rashmi and mother Soma, at the annual town fair of Etawah, Uttar Pradesh, 1977

My aunt Rashmi and mother Soma, at the annual town fair of Etawah, Uttar Pradesh, 1977 Image and Narrative contributed by Juhi Pande, UK / Mumbai This particular photograph was taken in Etawah, Uttar Pradesh in 1977. My mother (right) had finished her graduation and was teaching in a school. My masi, the bike rider, (mother's sister) was in her 12th standard. They lived in Etawah, a town by the river Yamuna, with their father, Dr. Krishna Kumar, a Chief Medical Officer. My maternal grandmother, also Dr. Krishna Kumar (yes, they shared the same name) at that time was incharge of the Dufferin Hospital in Raibarreily and they had all come on holiday to Etawah. There used to be a local mela (fair) every year, which the entire city would attend, because that’s what you do when you’re in Etawah. There were food stalls and rides and balloon & air gun shooting galleries. And then there was this photostudio where one could take dashing, avant-garde photographs. So, of course Soma & Rashmi climbed aboard this cardboard bike and posed. I can almost hear Rashmi’s laughter once the picture was developed. I feel you cannot entirely be pretty unless you are a bit silly. My mother and my masi were born four years apart. But that’s just a technicality. Soulmates is a very vanilla word when it comes to them. Born to doctors, Soma and Rashmi lead a very nomadic life till their twenties. Moving from one city to another every couple of years meant that they mostly had each other for constant company.  Growing up from little girls to stunning young women I feel that they started to think alike yet…

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When all you had was a single airline called Air India

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

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 Narrative 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!

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A teenager couple’s fight for freedom

A teenager couple’s fight for freedom
My Grandmother Chameli Devi Jain and Grandfather Phool Chand Jain, shortly after their marriage. Delhi. Circa 1923

My Grandmother Chameli Devi Jain and Grandfather Phool Chand Jain, shortly after their marriage. Delhi. Circa 1923 Image and Narrative contributed by Sreenivasan Jain, Journalist, New Delhi Some text is paraphrased from the Book - Civil Disobedience : Two Freedom Struggles, One Life, memoirs of my father 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 Gandhians and freedom fighters. The only visible reminder of her brush with the 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 1932. 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 four 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, 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…

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The Beach Parties of Tanzania

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

My parents at the Beach Disco in Dar-es-salaam, Tanzania, East Africa. December 1973 Image and Narrative 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 Gujarati 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!!"

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The Wild Parties of JJ School of Art & Architecture

The Wild Parties of JJ School of Art & Architecture
Dance Party. 'Saawan' Architecture festival-C.J. Hall, Colaba, Bombay, Maharashtra. September 25, 1980

Dance Party. 'Saawan' Architecture festival - C.J. Hall, Colaba, Bombay, Maharashtra. September 25, 1980 Image and Narrative contributed by Charu Walikhanna, New Delhi This was a hot day with a baking hot floor. I was in 4th yr of Sir JJ School of Applied Art. And the same campus housed disciplines of Fine Arts, Textiles and Interior Designing. This dance party was an event organised by JJ School of Architecture during their annual festival SAAWAN. The dance party in the image was not in our campus but in a hall in Colaba. I wonder if it still exists. We used to then dance like mad, to songs of ABBA and other such English bands. There was no Punjabi rock or rap in those days and there were definitely no intoxicants or alcohol. Nor did anyone have bottles stashed away in their car like today in Delhi. Some people were into soft drugs though no one ever experimented openly and definitely not at college functions. We lived, ate and dreamed of Art & Design. Our heroes were Picasso, Salvador Dali and Charles Correa. We were so absorbed in our passions, that failure or success was not the ultimate goal. A well known joke was that if one failed at JJ and was yet successful, it may be better because Charles Correa, one of India's most famous architect was JJ drop-out too. In those days, film stars like Parveen Babi flocked to our college to hear J Krishnamurti's lectures on Philosophy, on campus under the huge banyan tree while the sun set and the crows cawed. I was a boarder in Bombay. JJ did not have a girls hostel so we girls…

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