I grew up in a one bedroom-flat in Kamla Nagar near Delhi University. It was a predominantly baniya locality inhabited by the business families shifted from the wall city called Chandani Chowk soon after partition. It was a localized and a non-violent flight as compared to the holocaust caused by the creation of Pakistan. Nut I never felt it until I read the history of Indian freedom struggle.
My home was on the first floor of 49 A. That building had eight families belonging to different Hindu communities including a Sikh family. They were joined by a common terrace called chhat, where residents slept during summer in open. Also a large open compound called chowk and a chajja used as a passage to go the two common toilets and the staircase to go up and down. Hence the title of this autobiography Chowk, Chajja aur Chhat.
Every day a sweepers used to come to clean the Indian-style and collect the garbage. she was not allowed to come near the living area because of her low caste. I never realized the discrimination. Just accepted it as a given fact. That was my first exposure of Indian caste discrimi8nation.toiletsThe pollution had not brought mosquitoes. We used to turn in gazing at the star-filled sky. Till then Sikhs were considered to a part of the larger Hindu demography. The eight families included two banias including mine, one Bhargavas, one Gujarati, two Brahmins and one Jain. The Jain lady lived just opposite to my portion. She used to ask me to get her romantic novels to pass her time. Once, I played a prank and got her a hot novel. She told her husband about it. Next morning, he shouted my name and when I approached him, he threatened me to complain to my father. I apologized and the matter was over.
My landlord was a retired bank clerk but he guided his son to become a class one officer in railway accounts service. It was a quotable feat by our standards. The family flaunted it. Unfortunately, he was married to a government doctor who turned out to be a hard nut to crack. Every body was wary of her mannerism. My brother once picked up a fight and started throwing things in the chowk from the chajja. He even tried to break the wooden partition in our storage space. I had become a journalist. Using my clout, I called the police and the matter was resolved.
The eight families lived in close proximity with an apparent bonhomie. The four kitchens on the ground floor faced each other. The housewives used to compare notes on what was being cooked in the evening. It was an interesting small talk heard even upstairs. I was pretty fond of hanging at the balcony to have a dekho at the view around the chowk. It gave me a complete picture of their life without asking any questions. Nobody objected. I even used to park my cycle in the chowk which was later shifted outside the building because of some tension built up with the neighbours.
The Sikh family had three boys, more or less, of my age Tinni, Pappu and Cuckoo. I had an indepdent relationship with each one of them. We used to play cricket in the street, strolled around and went for a film in later days. It never occurred to me that they belonged to a break-away group of Hindus and went to a gurudwara to pray their holy book and the gurus. Believing in another faith and living in close proximity was not a disturbing factor.
But I never came across a Muslim either in locality, college or even university. The first Muslim that came in my contact was Rafique Shastri when I joined the Hindi news agency Samachar Bharati. He was its news editor and he had taken a degree in Hindi literature. He was a serene, matured and an encouraging senior colleague who taught me the basics of news writing. I still have fond memories of his association. He still lives near Jamia Millia University in Okhala. It is a Muslim pocket and the majority of the population follows Islam. There are many such pockets in Delhi in Darya Ganj, around Jama Masjid nd Ballimaran where the great Urdu poet Mirza Ghalib lived and died during the times of the last Moughal emperor Bahadur Shah Zafar.
More than 130 nationalities live in Delhi because of the diplomatic missions situated here and the corporate companies that hire expatriates as well. Moreover India has welcomed Parsis, Jews, Buddhists including Tibetans after China annexed Tibet In the later stages I interacted professionally and personally many Muslim families and individuals. Former minister of state for foreign affairs Salman Khursheed tops this list. He was my friend, philosopher and guide for more than a decade in my pursuit of Indo-Latin American relations through my monthly magazine Indo-Latin American File. Even these days, I live in close proximity of a a historical village Hauz Rani opposite Saket. I had hired a DTP operator who worked for me for a decade and was almost a family member. Academcians like Mushirul Hasan, journalist and publiher Latif Kirmanisocial scientis like late Ali Baquer, Hindi literateur Asghar Wajahat, MPs like Tariq Anwar have been a part of my wider social and cultural circle.
Coming back to life in 49 A. my family had nine members of three generations living under the same roof. My grandparents, parents and four siblings. I never felt any space crunch. I had occupied a small cormer in the only bed room of that flat. The lowest shelf in that corner was my exclusive space. there were about a dozen books and a landline phone numbering 25849. Later a 2 was added in the beginning. This phone was my hotline to conduct my affair. I had hours of unending conversations exchanging long drawn distant kisses and love talks even bordering on unspeakables.
Each of the four seniors of my family followed their own denomination of faith, of course of Hindu rituals. I was a curious onlooker to begin with and an agnostic as I grew older. I don't know how and when I became an iconoclast. I identified the idol worshipping and practiced all rituals but never understood or believed in them. I found them as symbols. I did resort to their blessings when in dire straits but returned to my faithless mindset. My father was a keen observer. He soon realized that I was not following into his footsteps of faith. He was an ardent follower to mitigate his financial crises. It helped me to calm down and soot his agony. I accepted and appreciate state of his mind.
My youngest brother, who unfortunately is no more was a religious practioner. He once took me to te Yamuna flyover near ITO to throw some offering to the holy river. I neither belived in that ritual but accepted it as a matter of solace for him. I have always accepted those who think and act differently. It is their right and who am I to object even if I don't agree.
I never felt that the space available in my one bed-room home was falling short. In winter, we used to sleep downstairs. One night, I heard some noises and found my parents in act. That was my first live exposure to sex. I could never erase that sight from my memory. At that moment, a thought crossed my mind, how come my grandparents had their private moments. The grandfather was well built b and they had a cordial relationship but perhaps, they thought, they had their fill.
I had many friends in my neighbourhood. Ashok Vij, an engineering student, Atam, Suraj, Anil Girdhar, Parmar brothers, hardcore professionals, of course Ashok, the existentialist, Vinod Mehra, the studious guy, Shiv, my mentor. I was also friendly with my next door doctor Dr Raghuraj Bhatnagar, an Indian medicine specialist. He took care of my medical complaints. But my family visited one friendly homoeopath Dr Mishra and one in the next lane Goela. This Goela fellow never touched the money offered. he had a coin box and gestured to put the so called fee there. It was a sort of charity clinic. We used to put base coins, if we had any. It was a little fun, we had at his cost.
Our monthly rent was Rs 65. It was fixed in 1952 when we shifted there and ever raised for next 35 years. We paid it in time. Electricity bill, spate of course. I was supposed to deposit all the bills and even attend income tax dates of my father. He also trained me to write business letters in English every morning. Thatordeal continues for many years and I hated it.
I had more than cordial relationship with my siblings. I got them admission and oversaw heir growth. It was my desire to study at the prestigious St Stephen's Colleg but I couldn't even thnk og getting admission there because of my marks. I got my middle brother bIjay there. My two sisters were very close to me and I still have best of relations with them. It is a well-nit family. But we are able to meet on Raakhi, Bhaidooj and Dussehra only because of time constraint and distances.
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