She had a lovely smile – after all she always seemed happy. I never quite understood how she could be this happy. Maybe it was in the way she lived.
The lady in question – Lorna Martin, my grandmother.
My earliest memories of her were from the age of two. We were going through difficult times and stayed with my grandparents. Grand Dad was a police inspector and had palatial quarters in the police lines of Hyderabad, next to the present airport.
I remembered her sitting in a garden chair smoking Charminar cigarettes with a style that could have made the Marlboro man look like an amateur. She had great posture and a certain air of dignity around her that made you feel you were talking to royalty. Her quick smile however caught you off guard and very quickly you would be quickly taken up by her charm and sense of humor.
She was born into a typical middle class Anglo Indian family the eldest daughter of four sisters. At an early age she got to be responsible by caring for her pretty young siblings. At the age of twenty she fell in love with and was married to Alan Martin (my Grand Dad) a charming young educated Anglo Indian and a police officer.
They moved from the dusty outpost of Ballarsha a town in southern Maharashtra to quarters in Vikarabad a small railway town around 50 kilometers from the twin cities of Hyderabad and Secunderabad. They later settled down in Hyderabad.
Very soon they had five children the eldest Christine (my mom) Everad, Marilyn, Rosalind and Garene within the span of a decade.
She held fort at home while Grand Dad established himself as an honest officer who had a reputation for never taking a single bribe.
So when a dashing honest young man named George (my Dad) came along and married their eldest daughter Christine, I imagine they were thrilled and perhaps apprehensive (he worked in the private sector) of the union. They almost always stood by us in times of trouble.
Now in those days (the sixties) if you were a police officer, people presumed, that you had to have lived a comfortable life. After all corruption was rampant and it was not uncommon to receive bribes in cash to help augment a meager salary. But I know for sure that Grandma would have never tolerated it!!
Grand Dad’s salary was just enough so when my Dad fell on rough times and was laid off, we moved in to stay with them for almost a year and it was here that I recall some of my earliest memories of her.
She always believed in paying off her debts and never speaking an unkind word. She treated the servants (they had two) like equals and spoke to them like she would, to any guest. They took some time to get used to it! She would dress up and get ready around the time Grand Dad was due back home and made sure he had his cup of tea.
Later she would play the proper hostess with charm and wit and make sure that any guests of Grand Dad were properly taken care of.
I was around the age of ten when Grand Dad had retired and they rented a duplex home near the Begumpet that I heard of anecdotes that reflected her values of honesty, kindness and perseverance.
Values that have stood by me in very difficult times.
It was in 1985 that my Grand Dad was diagnosed with Lung Cancer and was admitted in St. Teresa’s. He would sit upright in his bed and look at her by his bedside, on occasion I did see them hold hands, and silently look at each other with what I concluded was love.
Her strong Christian beliefs that gave her strength to put her values into practice. So when he passed away a few days later, she cried a few tears and believed in the vision of hope that these beliefs imbibed in her.
He was given an honorable Police funeral. A big police truck drove by to pick us up and take us to the graveyard. It looked impressive. I thought he deserved the honor of a good farewell. He had a reputation. Years later when I was on a legal case and accompanied an Inspector from the Central Crime Station, he would remark, “ You are Alan Martin’s grandson?” Hmm, a very honest officer!! A lot of cops still remember him!!
My aunts and my uncle all of whom were married and had families by then, offered to keep her with them on rotation and so I did not see her for until much later. I was going through my teens and experiencing new challenges in life myself so it was not until I graduated from college in the early nineties that she came to live with us in our flat in Srinagar Colony. I looked forward to her stay. She was not doing too well.
A few years earlier while she was staying with Marilyn, her second oldest daughter that she had an accident and the auto rickshaw she was traveling in turned over and fractured her hand, she held her broken hand and calmly walked out and asked a bystander to help her to the local hospital from where she called an aunt of mine and informed her of her condition. My aunt never recalled her crying in pain, but told us that she looked a little uneasy!
Here she was seen walking around the ward making friends and praying over other patients whenever she could. She would share her food with anyone who needed it and would be seen frequently advising younger women who perhaps saw in her a woman who could be trusted.
She was least concerned about her hand! In fact she did not even remember the pain, she would often remember the names of the people she was able to help while in hospital, so when she was discharged it was not surprising that she had a small coterie escort her till the gate of the hospital so she could get an auto to come home with an aunt of mine.
She never was able to use that hand again. It was useless from the wrist down. She did try to grasp things with her thumb and forefinger but after some time it was apparent that she would need to use her left hand so she practiced till she was able to achieve a few basic actions that would fulfill the need for her to be able to refuse any help with objects that she would use in her daily life. I never heard her once complain.
She would just say, “Hmm I’ve got to get used to this bally thing”!
I often spent an hour at least talking to her. She shared the same room, and I would catch up on the time she had spent with her family and learn from her experiences.
“You must get a good job, baba”! She would tell me. “Always help your Mom and Dad”!
“Never be dishonest”! “Marry a good girl”! But mostly it was from her personal example that I learnt. Her grit and courage while in pain or when financially down and out was what I admired. She also prayed a lot.
I did get a “good job”. One that took me almost 400 kilometers northwest to Pune as a field officer with a finance company. This was the first time I lived alone and got ample opportunity to practice the values I learned from her.
Years later I did “Marry a good girl”! I would have loved for her to have known and seen Anne. After all she was a girl just like her!
I also believed I was honest and helped my Mom and Dad. And most of all I try to set a personal example.
So when I got the call that she had passed away I took the earliest available bus and travelled back to see her. I reached home at around 7 in the evening after a drive of almost 10 hours - and still remember looking at her. She seemed serenely at peace. If ever there was a feeling of peace, I felt it then. Not sadness, strangely. I gazed at her and missed her. I wanted her to share my success - to see the fruits of her example.
A couple of days later we buried her next to her beloved husband Alan. It was the night before she passed on, that my youngest brother Dean had dreamed that Grand Dad had come smiling and extended his hand to her. He had awoken with a start. They both looked completely happy.
I believed quite naturally, that they were!
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Monday, May 19, 2008
A Father's Love
For my Father, George T Francis (June 4, 1933 - Aug 21, 2008)
It was Christmas 1980.
As usual we were going for the long awaited Christmas Tree Function which was held to celebrate Christmas - marked by the attendance of all of the Anglo Indian community of Hyderabad and Secunderabad, members of the All India Anglo Indian Association.
What made it special was the sports and games that were held for children and the Christmas Toy that you got from Santa at the end of the Function. Of course you had High Tea and a few games for the adults too. But it was the Christmas Toy from Santa that was the highlight of the evening. At least to a nine year old with starry eyes about how much more wonderful the world seemed to be at Christmas Time.
Back then Santa was wonderful too. Of course contrary to the growing trend today - I still loved the message of Christmas. It was to celebrate the birth of Christ. It was the birth of hope to me.
It was an event that we looked forward to as children. After the half year exams had finished you looked forward to Christmas. You had great food to eat. It was the time we definitely had chicken to eat and bagar rice. Oh! Mom was a great cook and her culinary skills definitely shone through the season. I liked the carol singing too.
And so we found ourselves going by autorickshaw (a luxury) to St. George's Grammar School, the venue for this year's party.
As usual we reached there a little apprehensive. I was not the one that was too keen on participating in sports. Brian liked to do that. I liked to watch. I was just interested in the toy. I liked a gun. And it had to look like the original. At that time the choice was limited. We got wooden ones that had a spring loaded action and shot out plastic caps. Whatever. As long as it was a gun. None of those other toys for me. If it was not a gun. It was not a good Christmas. After all, all our time was spent fighting imaginary wars with each other. That or playing Cowboys and Indians. How we got hooked on this American way of life in the West, I don't know. After all we lived in Mettugudda, home to numerous Anglo Indian Families. A small town next door to the more popular Lallagudda or Li'l England (this town had plenty of Anglo Indians) we literally imitated the West or atleast imagined we were foreigners living in a land that somehow tolerated us.
It was not like we did not like anything Indian. It was just that we loved anything English or for that matter American, culture et al.
The games started. Brian as usual ran in front to participate. I watched from a safe distance next to a tree. I could see he was making rapid progress. It was a blind man's race. You got a handkerchief tied over your eyes and you made a run for the finish line about 25 yards ahead.
Brian went for about 20 yards. And then made an abrupt right turn towards the toilets. What the heck was he thinking? Turn men, turn. Not that way!! But no, he began to run like a mad man towards the toilets. Perhaps he wanted to pee, I thought. He had his hands in front of him and was confidently running away from the finish line. The boy that was following him had already finished the race. So did the others. I finally had to go after him after following him for around 50 yards parallel to the finish line. We had a good laugh about it later that evening.
It was an hour later that Santa finally walked in. He looked good. Tall, fat and a great big bag!
Hmm wonder how he carried all of that stuff in his sack? Anyway as long as he had a gun for me!
I liked meccano sets too! I loved the one I got from my Grandfather when I was 3 years old. Loved to see how the tools worked. I actually got a hammer with a red handle! A real hammer!
But this was now and I wanted a nice authentic replica of the BSA .177 air gun that we had in the house. And was still too heavy for me to handle.
And then I heard my name being called out. Santa looked pretty familiar to someone I once seen. Was it Uncle Newton? Well he had a nice smile! And he gave me a long oblong cardboard box wrapped in some colored gift wrapping. Ah! This must be it! Unlike in America where it is customary to rip the packaging apart and check out what someone gifted you. We had ours wrapped till - well at least till the end of the function.
I seen Brian and Dean get similar looking boxes. Oh! This Christmas was going to be good!
We took the number 12 bus back home. It dropped us off one stage before the no. 17 bus did opposite St. Anthony's Church. But we did not bother. Until of course, Pa asked me for the gifts. And then I realised that I left it on the bus! I never did see my Pa act so fast. He ran after the bus. Brian and Dean looked like I just commited a capital crime. I could have been Hitler at that moment in time. I could see my Pa running after the Bus for as long as a mile. He would catch up with sooner or later. After all the bus made a final stop at the Railway Boxing Stadium near the Lallagudda Post office.
The walk back home had me see myself in various positions of compromise. I felt I let down the whole family. "You had to leave it on the bus"?! said Brian.
And that too Christmas was two days away!! We walked home in silence. Numbed by what had just happened. Surely Pa would get us back our gifts.
I prayed. I hoped. I prayed again. Ma was silent when she heard of what happened - narrated by both Brian and Dean. She kept quiet. It was around 9 o'clock in the night when I heard my Pa walk in. I ran into the kitchen to hide. From the safety of my shelter (I had hid behind the kitchen shelf) I heard him say. "I could not find them", the driver said he had seen someone say he would give it back to the family as he knew the owner". Whatever that meant. Goodbye gun. Goodbye Christmas! And not just me but I had spoilt it for my brothers too. I felt like crap.
I said a silent prayer. Please give us back our gifts, Lord. Not for my sake but for my brothers and most importantly for my Pa who gave it his best to get it back for me. Don't let his love for us go in vain.
The next evening Pa came back from work, clutching a big package under his arm. He looked happy. I could not face him.
"Chris, come here son"! I thought, this was it! He slowly opened the package and lo and behold there were the three of the most amazing replicas of guns I had seen. WOW!! My prayers were answered. I never seen my Pa look so happy.
He seemed happier than the three of us. Brian and Dean had grabbed theirs and already were planning battle tactics. I did not want to even touch it.
"Go on and take it son"! He smiled and hugged me. "Be more careful, son"! Next time you may not get it back"!
I hugged him and said "Thanks, Pa"!
He later explained over Dinner, that the person who took it from the bus knew someone in the factory who knew him and handed over the gifts to him that night. His colleague handed it over to my Pa in the morning at work.
I still see my Pa running after that bus, waving his hands and trying to stop the bus. He never gave up that evening. And thought this son a valuable lesson in love. This son now lives and writes in the USA and does a li'l bit for other children to maybe get their Christmas toys....among other more valuable things that one can obtain in life.
Chris Francis
19th May 2008
It was Christmas 1980.
As usual we were going for the long awaited Christmas Tree Function which was held to celebrate Christmas - marked by the attendance of all of the Anglo Indian community of Hyderabad and Secunderabad, members of the All India Anglo Indian Association.
What made it special was the sports and games that were held for children and the Christmas Toy that you got from Santa at the end of the Function. Of course you had High Tea and a few games for the adults too. But it was the Christmas Toy from Santa that was the highlight of the evening. At least to a nine year old with starry eyes about how much more wonderful the world seemed to be at Christmas Time.
Back then Santa was wonderful too. Of course contrary to the growing trend today - I still loved the message of Christmas. It was to celebrate the birth of Christ. It was the birth of hope to me.
It was an event that we looked forward to as children. After the half year exams had finished you looked forward to Christmas. You had great food to eat. It was the time we definitely had chicken to eat and bagar rice. Oh! Mom was a great cook and her culinary skills definitely shone through the season. I liked the carol singing too.
And so we found ourselves going by autorickshaw (a luxury) to St. George's Grammar School, the venue for this year's party.
As usual we reached there a little apprehensive. I was not the one that was too keen on participating in sports. Brian liked to do that. I liked to watch. I was just interested in the toy. I liked a gun. And it had to look like the original. At that time the choice was limited. We got wooden ones that had a spring loaded action and shot out plastic caps. Whatever. As long as it was a gun. None of those other toys for me. If it was not a gun. It was not a good Christmas. After all, all our time was spent fighting imaginary wars with each other. That or playing Cowboys and Indians. How we got hooked on this American way of life in the West, I don't know. After all we lived in Mettugudda, home to numerous Anglo Indian Families. A small town next door to the more popular Lallagudda or Li'l England (this town had plenty of Anglo Indians) we literally imitated the West or atleast imagined we were foreigners living in a land that somehow tolerated us.
It was not like we did not like anything Indian. It was just that we loved anything English or for that matter American, culture et al.
The games started. Brian as usual ran in front to participate. I watched from a safe distance next to a tree. I could see he was making rapid progress. It was a blind man's race. You got a handkerchief tied over your eyes and you made a run for the finish line about 25 yards ahead.
Brian went for about 20 yards. And then made an abrupt right turn towards the toilets. What the heck was he thinking? Turn men, turn. Not that way!! But no, he began to run like a mad man towards the toilets. Perhaps he wanted to pee, I thought. He had his hands in front of him and was confidently running away from the finish line. The boy that was following him had already finished the race. So did the others. I finally had to go after him after following him for around 50 yards parallel to the finish line. We had a good laugh about it later that evening.
It was an hour later that Santa finally walked in. He looked good. Tall, fat and a great big bag!
Hmm wonder how he carried all of that stuff in his sack? Anyway as long as he had a gun for me!
I liked meccano sets too! I loved the one I got from my Grandfather when I was 3 years old. Loved to see how the tools worked. I actually got a hammer with a red handle! A real hammer!
But this was now and I wanted a nice authentic replica of the BSA .177 air gun that we had in the house. And was still too heavy for me to handle.
And then I heard my name being called out. Santa looked pretty familiar to someone I once seen. Was it Uncle Newton? Well he had a nice smile! And he gave me a long oblong cardboard box wrapped in some colored gift wrapping. Ah! This must be it! Unlike in America where it is customary to rip the packaging apart and check out what someone gifted you. We had ours wrapped till - well at least till the end of the function.
I seen Brian and Dean get similar looking boxes. Oh! This Christmas was going to be good!
We took the number 12 bus back home. It dropped us off one stage before the no. 17 bus did opposite St. Anthony's Church. But we did not bother. Until of course, Pa asked me for the gifts. And then I realised that I left it on the bus! I never did see my Pa act so fast. He ran after the bus. Brian and Dean looked like I just commited a capital crime. I could have been Hitler at that moment in time. I could see my Pa running after the Bus for as long as a mile. He would catch up with sooner or later. After all the bus made a final stop at the Railway Boxing Stadium near the Lallagudda Post office.
The walk back home had me see myself in various positions of compromise. I felt I let down the whole family. "You had to leave it on the bus"?! said Brian.
And that too Christmas was two days away!! We walked home in silence. Numbed by what had just happened. Surely Pa would get us back our gifts.
I prayed. I hoped. I prayed again. Ma was silent when she heard of what happened - narrated by both Brian and Dean. She kept quiet. It was around 9 o'clock in the night when I heard my Pa walk in. I ran into the kitchen to hide. From the safety of my shelter (I had hid behind the kitchen shelf) I heard him say. "I could not find them", the driver said he had seen someone say he would give it back to the family as he knew the owner". Whatever that meant. Goodbye gun. Goodbye Christmas! And not just me but I had spoilt it for my brothers too. I felt like crap.
I said a silent prayer. Please give us back our gifts, Lord. Not for my sake but for my brothers and most importantly for my Pa who gave it his best to get it back for me. Don't let his love for us go in vain.
The next evening Pa came back from work, clutching a big package under his arm. He looked happy. I could not face him.
"Chris, come here son"! I thought, this was it! He slowly opened the package and lo and behold there were the three of the most amazing replicas of guns I had seen. WOW!! My prayers were answered. I never seen my Pa look so happy.
He seemed happier than the three of us. Brian and Dean had grabbed theirs and already were planning battle tactics. I did not want to even touch it.
"Go on and take it son"! He smiled and hugged me. "Be more careful, son"! Next time you may not get it back"!
I hugged him and said "Thanks, Pa"!
He later explained over Dinner, that the person who took it from the bus knew someone in the factory who knew him and handed over the gifts to him that night. His colleague handed it over to my Pa in the morning at work.
I still see my Pa running after that bus, waving his hands and trying to stop the bus. He never gave up that evening. And thought this son a valuable lesson in love. This son now lives and writes in the USA and does a li'l bit for other children to maybe get their Christmas toys....among other more valuable things that one can obtain in life.
Chris Francis
19th May 2008
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