Confronting the ups, downs and challenges while settling
in a new country
Now that you are unwitting passengers to my trip down memory lane, I embrace you with open arms. Most of you have at one stage or another, migrated to the UK; our home now. The process of settling down comes with its own individual priorities, problems and sometimes pain as well. With the right attitude, you can minimise pain and maximise pleasure.
My first experience when I disembarked at Heathrow Airport, mind you, which was a whole lot smaller than it is now, and yet it was huge as compared to the Dar-es-Salaam airport. Earlier, I had flown to Zanzibar airport in a small 10-seater plane. Heathrow even at the time was awe-inspiring. The immigration queue was long and tedious and I could see most of the non-white passengers expressing anxieties. I, for one, had been forewarned. Adding to the 'new country' fever was the race of every immigration officer within the airport- white male.
Battling the prejudice
against colour
Every non-white person migrating or visiting a predominantly white country for the first time, has this baseless fear or complex from the Caucasian community. While I never understood it, I saw it in the eyes of every brown, black and yellow person standing in line, waiting to be confronted by the 'White Man'. I remember thinking, why this fear?
Before long, it was my turn to address the counter. I was immediately asked – How long do you intend to stay in UK? Instantly vexed, I said I am a citizen of the country. How long am I ALLOWED to stay here? Why this question? Is this the reception received by a returning citizen?
The officer probably understood I am not just any Brown immigrant. As for me, I now realised the cause of anxiety I saw in the other passengers. Racism was prevalent at the time in jobs, housing and several other matters. Which was very substantially tackled in the Race-Relations Act 1968. Navneet Dholakia (now Lord) was one of the senior most Asians in the Race-Relations Board. He, Surendra Kumar and other friends contributed substantially. Let me illustrate with a small example. In those days, to look for jobs, accommodations and other facilities normally, we used to check the notice boards in small stores. Certain flyers, I still remember, would state in bold, “INDIAN, PAKISTANIS, AND IRISH NEED NOT REPLY”. Those were the days, my friends.
Three musketeers and their
dignity of labour
Moving forward, now five single men living in a “huge” apartment comes with its expected challenges. There were priorities of cleaning, cooking, shopping, laundry, and all the paraphernalia to be attended. Within the first few days, our triputi (three musketeers) had an unspoken, voluntary, unanimous arrangement. I was in-charge of cooking every dinner, cleaning room and kitchen and making sure everything was neat and tidy. Three Hanumanjis living on their own with their spouses back home is not an easy transition.
Cleaning the small room and adjoining facilities was a major issue. I was 30 years old, Tak 34, RL 36. Tak ran a steady cold. The house was too small. Tak and RL thought it best to never open the window for fear of winter chills seeping in. Whereas I had my own philosophy. I just needed some goddamn fresh air to brighten the air in the room. The apartment was towards the main street so the Sun would shine in. All three of us reached a status quo. Draw the curtains so at least the sunlight could help us. The important thing about fighting the cold was that we had lots of citrus fruits, fresh vegetables, cheese etc.
Tak and RL were in-charge of laundry and shopping, and Tak was also our External Relations Manager. He had his own style, voice, he could sing Hindi and some English songs beautifully, he was good at telling jokes and his main mission was to find out willing hosts for our weekend visits. Those three grown up men were reasonably satisfied telling the digs but on a Sunday, something was missing. Children, owner of the house and a smile with tantalising smells of fresh Indian foods. Tak was very good. We'll elaborate later on.
One pot, and shared responsibilities
Let me talk about cooking. Our breakfast was pretty standard. We have 2-3 slices of large bread with tons of butter and cheese- Who cares about cholesterol?! With mugs of tea. Dinner, we ate at least four times together every week. Zia and Rajender normally had their own arrangements.
Our three course dinner included many varieties. The first course was soup, followed by the second course which would be a special type of sandwich, and the third course was coffee or tea, or occasionally ice cream or a small sweet when we felt like splurging. Now remember, we only had a small gas cooker in the small kitchen- if I could call it that. We had no toaster or any other appliance. So in a saucepan, I would boil water and place a can of soup inside to heat. We of course had the occasional baked beans or ‘bake-d beans' as some of us called it in the beginning.
Our 'special' sandwich? It was two slices of plain bread with plenty of butter and at least 2-3 roasted papad. Our families used to send us parcels of pickles, papad, spices, and whatnot. What a royal feast we had every night! All three of us gained weight steadily and looked prosperous.
Shopping was within Tak and RL's portfolio. Remember the old lady I wrote about last week? They would drive her to a nearby Greek owned shop and buy canned food, fresh vegetables and fruits. They would buy Okra, Coriander, Brinjal, Marrow – cousin to our beloved Dudhi, and other vegetables. Also, weekly laundry was their problem. They would go to the nearest laundromat and it would take them altogether 2-3 hours to get all our clothes clean.
On Saturdays, all five Hanumanjis would have dinner together – a grander feast than the weekdays. I had been made to believe that I made fantastic bhat (rice) and mungdal. It was all a hype. I would just put in fistfuls of rice into water and the heat did its job. Sometimes it would char at the bottom. However, mungdal was my pièce de résistance. To be honest, I did not even know the difference between chai masala, garam masala, and curry masala. So I would throw in the beginning I would all together in one big pot. Hell, I even mixed once, ganthoda and soonth once. But it was a home-cooked meal, made with lots of love and it never harmed us.
Building relations with
the local community
In an important event, somebody told Tak that they sold tinned patra in a shop near Euston station. Our excitement knew no bounds. All three of us drove there. And my God, that was Mr Lakhubhai Pathak's shop. There was a section of tinned foods, fresh Indian vegetables, and of course Pathak spices and pickles. Pathak empire grew out of samosas, so there were samosas and bateta vadas. There were also some Indian magazines and newspapers from India. While the store was no bigger than 400 sq ft sales area, the greatest impact on me was the behaviour and warmth of the whole Pathak family.
Sometimes Mrs Pathak, our masibaa (aunt) or one of their daughters or sons would greet us with warmth. Of course, the boys are now multi-millionaires. One of them, Kirit Pathak married Meena from Mumbai, who took the legacy to an advanced level of preparations, packaging and marketing. The last time I met her was at the Prann Prathistha of the Sanatan temple in Preston some 20 years ago. She is an amazing person, from a financially-privileged background minus the arrogance that comes with it. I haven't met them for decades now, may God bless them.
Now, at the shop we frequented every week, one day I met a gentleman, whose name I will not reveal lest somebody feels embarrassed or upset. 20 years or so older than me, the man was the most well-known non-white coaching expert for an important profession. He was very successful and downright arrogant. Sadly, causes and consequences always go together some time sooner sometime little late. Within the next few years his temper and aggression created this big rupture within his family. His son, another brilliant professional in the same business, moved out. The gentleman was so upset with such sad events in his personal life, he made some mistakes in his statutory professional documents, was caught and found guilty. Eventually, he had a mental breakdown and was moved to a care home where he died poorly and prematurely.
Such sad examples remain with me to this day. This is when I learned that you reap as you sow. Material success is important, no doubt. But so is maturity and appropriate human behaviour. A bit of humility, humour and warmth go a long way to win friends and even influence people. Over the years I met perhaps hundreds of people all of whom have left an impression and impact on me. But those who had so much to offer and reached so far ahead in life; it was their downfall that deeply saddened me. What a waste!
The joy of celebrating festivals
Let's now move on to Christmas 1966. I had a real struggle attending my bookkeeping job and lectures. I worked till 6.00 pm, so I couldn't reach lectures until quarter to 7. My lectures began at 5.00 pm and ended at 8.00 pm. I realised I had to change my job. So I took some back-breaking jobs. Bharatnatyam was becoming much more challenging by the day.
The life was challenging but not all the time over-bearing. In the 2nd week of Dec 66, from Lincoln's Inn I walked over 3 miles to my residence to save money. Now, the weather was really atrocious. I wore a heavy coat and other paraphernalia. My shoulders ached constantly and my job with the Royal Mail, which was to carry big bags of mails, wasn't making it any better. I was fed up. I remember thinking it's too much. If this is the life here, I better go back to India. What is the future here? I spoke with Tak and RL my go-to people, and they did their best to console me. However, I had made up my mind. There are a couple of anecdotes from when I had nearly given up just weeks after landing in London. Let's talk about it some other time.
Meanwhile, Indian Republic Day was nearing and I was looking around for some celebration. Indian nationalism somehow reared its head and I was keen to attend. Dear readers, no matter where life took me. I have always attended Independence and Republic Day celebrations anywhere in the world, every year, since long. I was informed that there was only one event, at the Commonwealth Institute with support of Indian High Commission. However, arrangements were made by the India League and Indian Journalists’ Association. We will talk about Republic Day 1967, my first ever in London, next week.
