Authors: Carol Jackson
Julie & Kishore (4 page)
The Hindi word for child is bacho.
There
were two things in his life Kishore felt would be his destiny: firstly, he
would settle overseas - secondly he would find an English
girl to become his
wife.
Kishore
retained happy and challenging memories from his childhood:
His
favourite childhood toy was a little red tricycle, how he loved that bike! He
enjoyed pedaling it around on the street below his house, pretending he was a
truck driver,
he
loaded the little tray at the back with bricks then
rode around the street
delivering
them.
He
once found a hole in the ground filled with water from rain the previous day
and decided this would be his pot full of dahl (cooked lentil soup).
Just like he had seen his Mother do, he found
a stick and stirred the dahl around in the ‘pot.'
About
ten minutes from their house was a
local
sports ground
where Kishore and his friends played cricket. The local boys enjoyed a game in
the afternoon, after school, using sticks as wickets. One of the boys owned a
bat and ball so he was in charge as without him there would be no game. It was
imperative as he played
that
Kishore kept one
eye on the game and one on the road, to keep a lookout for his Father, knowing
full well if he saw his son playing cricket he would give him a telling off.
His Father was not harsh
-
just stern as
he felt
his boy should be studying. India’s
population was huge and the only way for a person to better himself was to get
an education and a degree. Sometimes Kishore saw his Dad on his walk home out
of the corner of his eye - he would abandon his game and run like the wind in
order to beat him home. He’d race as fast as his legs could carry him along a
shorter route he knew of. Up the outside stairs and into the house he rushed,
breathing in deeply, he threw himself down on a seat at the table and picked up
his book in an effort to look studious. As his Dad walked in the door, Kishore
glanced up from his book, smiled and said hello.
As a teenager he hung out with his friends in
the market place. One day, one of his friends noticed a pretty girl coming out
of a shop alone. Feeling bold, or perhaps showing off in front of his friends
the boy shouted out to the girl, “Hi there, whaddaya doing?" This kind of
bold remark was not acceptable for an Indian boy and before he reached home his
Father was already there to scold him, angry with his son for being so blatant
in public and bringing shame to the family. The boy was rather puzzled, how did
his Father know what he’d been up to? Then he realised, the gossip network.
Someone must have seen him then told someone else, who told someone else and so
it went on until his misdemeanor
,
at lighting
speed reached the ears of his Father.
The
burning heat of the New Zealand sun compares to the sweltering hot summers in
India called the ‘dry season,’ a hot hanging heat no one can escape from. The
kind of intense heat that makes a person continuously perspire, even the most
well dressed, meticulously maintained lady can have sweat dripping down her
face with wet marks on her underarms and back. The air is hot to breathe - men
and women always carry a handkerchief to mop their foreheads to stop sweat from
constantly dripping in their eyes. A man or woman cannot cool down by putting
on a pair of shorts, they’re considered a young boys garment and are just not
part of the clothing attire.
Kishore’s
Mother washed the family’s clothing by hand and after ringing out each item she
would place it in a bucket. By the time she was ready to hang them on the
washing line they were already almost dry
,
due to the intense heat. On these stifling days she made lassi, yoghurt that
was whipped with a little sugar added, similar to a smoothie, a delightfully
cool and refreshing drink. Air conditioning at that time was thought of as a
luxury, the heat was unavoidable in most households. It was just a thing to
have to put up with, a long cool glass of water being extremely refreshing to a
dry parched throat.
Just
as hot were the nights. It was hard to find refuge from it. After a long,
sticky, almost lethargic day, the family was grateful for the arrival of
evening when the air became a little cooler. Kishore’s family carried their bed
cots up onto the roof-top balcony. The beds had a frame and legs of metal but
they did not contain mattresses, the base was woven with jute. This was quite
comfortable and the family would sleep happily under the stars in the cool
night air. Kishore covered himself with a light sheet to escape the bite of the
mosquitoes and would eventually fall into a slumber in the early hours when it
finally cooled down enough to be able to sleep.
Kishore
loved to go
to
the cinema with his friends, especially in the
summer when the air conditioning was on inside the theatre. The boys would meet
on a Saturday morning and head off into town by bus. The buses were always
overly packed with people - in fact men could be seen hanging off the sides of
buses. Kishore and his friends would try to sneak onto the bus without being
seen by the conductor to avoid paying. This was achieved on most occasions,
although once or twice they were thrown off after being caught. Once the group
of friends arrived at the theatre they were pleased to get inside out of the
heat. People bought tickets just to sit for a few hours to cool down. Kishore
found great pleasure in watching the scenery from other countries and escaping
into another world while being engrossed in the plot.
Electricity
in Delhi is spasmodic and the wiring from house to house is haphazard to say
the least. Power cuts are frequent but this is the way it always has been.
While growing up, Kishore’s family did not own a television. The Singh
’s
who lived downstairs were the first family in
Kishore’s apartment block to get one and when movies were shown, three sets of
families would crowd into the Singh’s family living room in eager anticipation.
He thought it was like having your own movie theatre next door. Everyone sat
anywhere, furniture or floor, to admire and marvel at the wonders of television.
Invariably, as soon as everyone was settled and eager for the movie to begin,
the power would go off – to the instantaneous groans of everyone there. The
ladies would get up to prepare cup
s
of tea and
snacks. Because of the unreliability of the power supply, most Indian kitchens
rely on gas. Tea is made in a pot on the gas element: milk is the base with
spices and sugar added. When the tea is ready it’s poured into a teapot that
already contains the tea
leaves, once brewed, the delicious tea is poured into
cups.
The
children would sit in front of the TV for a few minutes hopeful the power would
return, eventually losing interest they would drift off to play when – suddenly
– the power would return. Shouts of, “It is on, it is on, come back quickly,”
could be heard throughout the house, everybody rushed back and sat in front of
the screen. It didn’t matter that the movie had already begun.
But
all of these recollections of Kishore’s childhood had a dark cloud hanging over
them. These memories were from
the
time when he
actually came to live with his family, before then he lived somewhere else.
The Hindi word for queen is rani.
At
the start of my last year of high school I was sent on a work experience course
one day a week at a veterinary clinic. I always loved animals and knew in some
way I would end up working with them, this course easily set my career path on
track. At the end of that year as I finished school forever, I already had
employment at the clinic as a vet nurse student. I began studying theory in
conjunction with being employed and all going well, I was to be a qualified vet
nurse in two years.
I
loved my job and my junior role was so exciting. It was a busy clinic with
three vet’s and four nurses, five including me – one senior and three trained.
The senior nurse ran a tight ship, she was a trifle scary and I avoided her as
much as possible. She was a buxom woman with
exceptionally
large breasts that sat on her waist and her hair was pulled back so tight her
eyebrows stretched across her forehead. The other staff behind her back called
her Mrs T, you know from
The
A
Team
– and just like B.A. Baracus, she showed a tough
exterior but in fact she had a heart of gold. She barked orders at everyone
including the veterinarians
- who were also
scared of her but when it came to the animals, she had the Midas touch,
even
the most aggressive dog was putty in her hands.
As
I arrived at the clinic each morning, I assisted the other three nurses,
steering well clear of Mrs T, cleaned cages, answered the phone, made
appointments and ensured the animals were comfortable.
But
the following year, soon after my eighteenth birthday, something changed within
me. For an unknown reason I began to have doubts about becoming a vet nurse. I
kept telling myself not to be silly, I loved my job and it was the career I had
always wanted. True, I was constantly scratching my red, itchy hands - I had
discovered I had a reaction to the cleaning chemicals used in the clinic. The
other nurses assured me my skin would become immune to the chemicals, as the
same thing had happened to them when they first started but I knew something
else was not right.
Sarah
and Brett had recently married and had just returned from their honeymoon in
Sydney. They were full of exciting stories about their trip and I was secretly
jealous. I thought maybe my desire for change could be a yearning to travel.
Finally, I bit the bullet and resigned, forging some lame excuse to my boss,
muttering something about needing to spread my wings. Although this was true I
knew in my heart it was not enough of a reason to leave the career I loved,
what I thought was my destiny. With no job prospects in the pipeline, I
reluctantly said goodbye to the clinic and the friends I had made while working
there, even Mrs T.
Over
the coming weeks I regarded my next career move. To be honest with myself I
wasn’t ready to travel and certainly didn’t want to go overseas alone. On the
other hand, I hated being idle, I had gone straight from finishing school to
working at the clinic so I was bored sitting at home doing nothing. I had
absolutely no idea what to do next, knowing only I wanted to do something
exciting and different. I even thought about joining the army, that wasn’t
boring, would take me out of my comfort zone and would turn my life around.
As
another week went by I became increasingly anxious, I had to do something
drastic to change the course of where I was heading. Then as often happens in
these situations, a friend of a friend happened to mention she knew of a
vacancy at Office Supply Warehouse or
O.S.W
.(
everybody
knew the jingle from
the
radio and TV
advertisements
–
O.S.W
…
O.S.W.
– your stationery needs are no
trouble, at…O.S.W!) They were looking for a person to take inventory and supply
office products to companies.
I
put the phone down, I had got myself an interview and after a short meeting
they offered me the job. I decided then and there to take it. Working at O.S.W.
would be a good fill-in position until something better came along. My job
description was to visit the workplaces on the company’s database, inventory
their stock and take orders for their stationery requirements. This included
paper, paperclips, envelopes, staplers, staples
and
even
post–it notes. The clincher of the deal for me was any additional sales above
usual orders would result in me getting a commission.
A
few weeks after starting work, I wondered why I had accepted the role in the
first place. It wasn’t, in reality, my ideal job. But, with a clenched smile I
carried on, biding my time, waiting to be shown the yellow brick road…the next
path in my life.
