Learning from a Life of Travel

I have two children, both born in Montreal. I’m originally from South India and have travelled much in my life having lived in Bahrain for some time. I have been to the USA, Europe, South Africa, Mexico, Jamaica and Thailand. Our family has a close connection with Germany and we have more than forty years of history there since many of my siblings worked for the U.S. Army in a civilian capacity during the cold war. My niece, who lives in Frankfurt, is a German rapper, song-writer, and occasional actress and she has won several awards. My mother passed away in Stuttgart and I got married in Ludwigsburg, where my sister had lived.

I visited East Berlin in 1981 before the wall came down. Once when we were riding in the bus with my little daughter, who was then 5 years old, she dropped a candy wrapper when we got off. The driver was screaming at us with the wrapper in his hand. I was baffled. What had we done for him to act hysterically? Only then did it dawn on my sister that the East German police would apprehend locals for any small transgressions. They were forbidden from having even a trace of any foreign product on them: that was the reason the driver was furious with us lest he might be caught with the foreign candy wrapper. My brother had already alerted us to the fact that in East Berlin locals were forbidden to accept anything from foreigners. He had suggested that we carry lots of candies with us before leaving and to throw them from the train to the farmers working in the fields, where they could consume them undetected. This we did!

I have visited Netherlands too, since my daughter got married there.  It was during the festivities of their Queen Beatrix’s official birthday on April 30^th.  My Dutch son-in-law was born and raised in a city called Alkmaar, which is 40 kms from Amsterdam and it is well-known for its traditional Cheese Market.  It is the only one in Netherlands now, where cheese is weighed in bulk and traded.  On Fridays from April to September every year, the market square becomes very lively with visitors from all around, who come to see this true cultural attraction.  I was fortunate to be there with my family in 2011.

I had several opportunities to visit South Africa recently since my son-in-law works there.  The highlight of my first visit in 2010 was in meeting Mahatma Gandhi’s grand-daughter, Mrs. Ila Gandhi, who is a professor at the Durban College of Technology. It was the year when South Africa was commemorating the arrival of Indians there 150 years ago and their immense contribution to this country. I was fortunate to accompany a friend, who wanted Ila Gandhi to write a preface for a book that she was going to release for the occasion. It was an exhilarating experience for me to meet her.

My next visit was in early 2011 when I went to welcome our family’s little bundle of joy, my first grandchild who came into this world on March 16, 2011. It was my daughter’s first baby boy. My 3rd visit to South Africa was to take part in my grandson’s first birthday celebration. This time I had the chance to visit the Mandela House in Soweto, where the country’s history, heritage, and legacy of his Soweto property is preserved. It is the house where Nelson Mandela had lived in 1946 – 1962 and he had donated it to the Soweto Heritage Trust in September 1997 to run it as a museum. In his congratulatory message to the Trust when it opened the refurbished House for the public in March 2009, he said that his humble dwelling is not only the epitome of struggles and sacrifices, but also a depiction of the ability of the human spirit to overcome adversity. He emphasized that it is the heritage of not only his family but of all the people of Soweto including his fellowmen and women across the country who refused to yield to oppression during the time of apartheid. It was very heartrending to see the exhibits pertaining to this great man, and to read about all the terrible events that took place in South Africa and his eventual imprisonment in Robben Island for 28 years.

During this visit we decided to go on sightseeing tour. We went to Madikwe Safari Lodge, a four-hour drive from Pretoria where we spent 4 nights there. On one of our morning safari trips, a lion was actually in our path. We were driving slowly behind and at one point I felt we were being too invasive as the ranger was almost following it right into the bush at a very close range. But it did not seem to mind at all. Its gesture seemed to suggest that it was leading us right into its den. On that evening’s safari, the ranger permitted us to bring my one year-old grandson with us. Not all of us could go together on these safari trips as we had to take turns to be with the baby. We were elated that we could be together for the first time, as you can see in the photo. Towards nightfall, with our spot light on, we came across ‘the king of beasts’ relaxing in the bush. It was a wonderful treat for us. We could see its eyes glisten in the dark and it looked as though it was actually posing for us. We took some photos focusing our cameras right on its face. While we were engrossed with taking pictures, admiring and clicking away snapshots of the king sprawling royally in the bush, oblivious to our intrusion, all of a sudden my grandson let out a scream. This jolted us. We were too close for comfort and feared the king, which had been keeping a low profile all this while, would come to its senses and spring on us. To our astonishment, it took our intrusiveness in its stride and allowed us to have fun at its expense. What an experience!

Travelling is very important to me, as important as attending school. It broadens one’s horizon and teaches us to appreciate different cultures. Having come from India, where there are 14 official languages and more than 200 dialects and where every province you cross has its own language and culture, I learned to appreciate the diversity of people in my travels.

I enjoy the glimpse we get of the world with the click of a camera. A photo tells so much! It  freezes time and space. I have six sorts of photos in my collection. Some photographs are of places here we once owned and where we worked. There is one taken with our friends in front of Cottman Transmission, which was a franchise owned by one of my brothers in the late 1970s in Greenfield Park on the South Shore. He also co-owned the first South Indian restaurant in Montreal, ‘The Woodlands’, which was located in front of the Cȏte des Neiges Plaza. The photograph of the side door leading to the bar of the restaurant is from the 1980s. He and I worked together as volunteers at the Atwater Library in the Computer Centre in the late 90s.

I brought photos of a Westmount parade because it had something to do with Montreal, this neighborhood and its past. I also wanted to see if I could figure out what the parade was about.

There are pictures of the January 1998 Ice Storm, which shows the damage caused by our neighbor’s tree branch, which fell on our solarium. It was a significant and memorable moment for me.

I have photos of my most recent trip to South Africa, my grandchild and my encounter with the lions.

I have included some of family photos too, many from our lives in India, that came into my possession when my brother passed away. It was his collection. I cherish them and they are of great sentimental value to me. Taking a family photo, or any pertinent photo for that matter, makes for great storytelling years later. Photographs are mementoes of special events with special people during special moments, which we cannot recapture later in life. They evoke memories of the past and present. I become very emotional when looking at my family photos because my parents and some of my siblings and my close relatives are no longer with me. I remember the details that I had forgotten, where and when it was taken and on what occasions. They capture change and people as they were. These photos are invaluable and irreplaceable. It is imperative that we treasure especially our family photos for our future generations to tell them who we are and where we come from- otherwise, they tend to forget their roots (this is the granny in me talking!).