My first memory in life is riding my dad’s shoulders out to see the lights of 26th january in the downtown areas of Bombay. We took a horse drawn cab to the Victoria Terminus station. I must have been all of 2 or 3. The year 1953-54, and the intoxication of becoming a Republic must have been all pervading then, I imagine. I can’t remember how many hours we spent going around that evening. That was the start of a ton of memories after that first.

Pappa always called out to me with a “Baabaa” yell – to his last breath. For reference he would say Hemant, but call was always Baabaa! I don’t know where to start talking about memories of mummy. Any name or call that was not pappa’s name or “darling” was a call for me! Whatever affectionate word rolled off her tongue was for me. Reach our door back from school or office, I would rattle the door knocker and yell out to mummy – even after marriage and sometimes even after she was gone!

I could write volumes about them, but this is about a journey through our memories of mummy pappa. They were Anju and my role models for married life, and whether it was about bringing up our children or when to give them free reign and when to pull them short, mummy papa were the perfect practicing example of what to do. They  believed deeply in the virtue of learning from exposure to various environments. I got drenched in so many wholesome environments - cultural, nature, spiritual, music, trekking, the works! And I absorbed it all! Thus were my “sanskaar” and life ambitions built up.

Both were born to teach. Mummy matriculated high school and started work as a primary teacher in the newly established Modern School, a 4 minute walk from her house. As Mahendra maamaa recalls this was in 1936. Pappa was transferred to Calcutta, and with help from Sarojben – a neighbour in the little Scindia Colony – mummy started teaching in the Bhavanipur Gujarati school’s primary section – never idle! Given her “teacher” mind-set or perhaps her basic instincts, she would always  dress “properly”, whereas pappa was more bohemian in his fashion sense! She would complain that pappa influenced her to become more bohemian as well – although I think she always had a streak of independence in all matter, whereas pappa was a bit of a rebel, always keen on doing his own thing! However, bohemian or not, pappa did insist on quality. When he needed to get a suit stitched, he headed to a rather well known tailor – Barreto, as I recall in the Ballard pier area – and a Egyptian cotton shirt! Step out of the house for a casual evening stroll in Hanging Gardens, and mummy’s first stop was the lei (veni) seller around the corner, before reaching the bus stop! The post shelf-life bachelor set out to meet the “suggested” bride – clad in a brand new native trousers (lengho) and shirt, with the textile mill’s message “for casual use only” still visible on the trousers! In Calcutta, Pappa mummy were invited to the occasional company event. Once, the Managing Director of Scindia’s – Sumatiben Morarji - was visiting, and both had been invited. Mummy was wearing a saree that had been inherited from pappa’s aunt -  Baa Adit – so over a 100 years old heirloom. They walked in to the room, and Sumatiben welcomed pappa with “here is the Himalaya nutcase!” and mummy was welcomed with, “we are both wearing identical saree’s!”. Mummy would knit all our sweaters – and we all wore only her hand knitted  ones. Pappa wanted pure wool fabric, which was difficult to find in Bombay. So, I got a woollen jacket and trousers – I was all of 9 yrs. – stitched in Nainitaal, when he found the pure lambs wool fabric! He always wanted to best equipment for our treks in the Himalayas. Our primus stoves were a foldable model from the Primus company of Sweden, that he got one of Scindia’s ship captains to bring for us from the Baltics. His bosom friend Shashikant kaakaa asked him “I am going to London, do you want anything from there?” Yes! Said pappa, 4 eider down sleeping bags from Blacks of Greenock! This shop provisioned Everest expeditions! Mummy was very good at both painting and embroidery, and many of her sarees were hand embroidered by her, leaving many a women gasping when they see her in them. She would embroider in different styles, with designs that mummy and pappa would choose together. Pappa would then trace those designs on a D 100 bolt of cloth, and mummy’s embroidery would convert it to a D 2000 saree!

The departure of full moon of the Paush month – my birthday – would kick-off a round of activities in the grain and spices domain. Stock up for the year – a common traditional practice. She would gather sisters, sister-in-laws, neices and neighbours and order an economic size of grains fresh from harvest. We had 3 empty oil drums - along with their locking rings – at home, to store the wheat, rice and tur daal. The 50 Kg sacks would arrive, and all of mummy’s sharing team would land up as well. Clean, sort, and split the share to take home, to their own storage containers. Whole year’s quota is done! Chillies arrive, and the pounding team with wooden mortars and pestles – long beams for pounding standing up – follow, and one hears the chilli pounding rhythms from behind the building. Spring arrives, and the green raw mangos arrive in 3 different varieties. Ladva for the pickles, Rajapuri for the chhunda (sweet and sour preserve) and a general one for the murabba, a sweet preserve. I had to sit on the terrace while the pickle mangoes  dried in the sun to shoo away the pigeons and the crows. The spring session closes with a trip to Bhuleshwar, and a sack full of various herbs and a pile of Amla (Indian gooseberry). Add a few litres of various oils, a half day of boiling all together in a huge pot, and the year’s supply of hair oil is ready! The residue in the pot is tied up in muslin cloth, and it drips for the next 2 days, and after that the bundle gets rubbed on to pappa and my head, instead of putting the newly concocted hair oil!