Palace of Clouds

by Rajyashree Kumari Bikaner

  We were fortunate to have many wonderful teachers such as Mrs. Ravindran who taught us English in the eighth grade, Mrs. Ranganathan, our Mathematics teacher who did her hair up in a huge bun which was so large that we wondered how she kept her head straight, and the lovely Mrs. Andrews who taught us History. Mrs. Andrews had a son Raja who was a successful pop star and he together with his twin sisters Sunita and Sunila who were a year or so senior to us, were part of a pop band and were considered very cool, they even held a concert at a local auditorium which most of us attended.

  Then there were the two Mrs. Georges, the big Mrs. George taught us Mathematics in the tenth grade and little Mrs. George, who taught us Biology. It was little Mrs. George’s misfortune that at some point in a biology class she had to teach us about the facts of life. I recall her struggling to keep her equilibrium as she explained the details of the female and male reproductive systems, all the while trying to keep a straight face and even drawing diagrams on the blackboard. As expected the entire class dissolved into a hysterical fit of giggles, though Mrs. George, managed to keep her composure. I suppose we were fairly naïve in those days and were a bit taken aback by the facts of life as described by her. It was enough to put one off sex for life. Both the Mrs. Georges had wonderful, strong South Indian accents. Big Mrs. George, when she was teaching us Algebra and mathematics, used to intone, ‘Yum (M) to the power of yen (N)’, and we would all snigger. ‘Sorry Miss, what was that you said?’ we would ask, and poor Mrs. George would repeat yet again, ‘I said Yum to the power of yen!’ it was hilarious.

  The great day finally arrived when in 1970. I, along with my classmates, graduated from the eleventh standard and left school for ever, after passing senior Cambridge examinations. In those days, the examination papers were actually sent to Cambridge for correction and evaluation and then returned to India. I was thrilled to have passed with a first division which I think was mainly to do with the fact that I no longer had to take mathematics as a subject for my finals or else, the result would have been very different.

  The farewell party held at the school was a very sad day for us all, as soon we would all scatter to different parts of the country. Wearing a sari and tottering on high heels, we arrived at the party, both in joy and in sorrow. Mother Katherine delivered a fine farewell discourse upon the struggle against difficulties that lay ahead and wished all the girls a happy future. We then all lit candles in the dim light of the evening, and stood on the oval lawn of the senior school. The final ceremony moved us all to tears. It was not just saying goodbye to school, but, it was a farewell to my childhood and our carefree teenage years.

  I recently found my School leaving certificate signed by Mother Dorothy De Sales dated 29th April, 1971 in which she goes on to say:

  ‘Miss Rajyashree Singh was a pupil of this School from July 1965 to December 1970, when she appeared for the Overseas Indian School Certificate Examination, in which she secured a first Division Certificate. She was an excellent pupil, steady and diligent and popular with her classmates and teachers. She took an active part in all the extra-curricular activities of the school; dramatics, sports and social events. I have much pleasure in wishing her every success in her future career.’

  Fortunately due to Facebook I have made contact with many old school friends who are scattered across the globe and it is interesting to see what twists and turns their lives have taken since the time we were all school girls. Recently the Class of 1970 organised a reunion at the Delhi Golf Club; it was a fun afternoon catching up with long lost friends and classmates after almost 45 years. Some of them were instantly recognisable and others less so. When it was time for the group photograph I think the impish side of us broke out as everyone made a quick group, some sat on the floor and many others simply climbed on to chairs at the back to be included. It was a memorable afternoon and brought back many memories of happier and more light- hearted times in our past.

  During the sixties, the women’s liberation movement was in full force, with Gloria Steinem launching the movement that caught on like wild fire and swept the world. Women from all countries and backgrounds suddenly discovered that they were no longer second-class citizens but had an independent voice as loud and vigorous as their male counterparts. The fact that they were not merely pretty accessories or a neat bit of window dressing was extremely exhilarating. Around 1970 as I was graduating from school, Germaine Greer wrote her iconic book, ‘The Female Eunuch’, which further brought women in touch with their own strength and ability; the times they were a changing

  My mother by then had simply given up censoring what I read so I bought a copy of this book from Khan Market the minute it was available. Certainly reading it changed my perspective on life in many ways. I had in fact, broken the gender mould in my own life by taking up a sport like shooting that was associated more with men, and my father was, for his part, a very broad minded man and he never made me feel that I was in any way handicapped because I was a woman, as far as he was concerned there was no glass ceiling that his daughters could not break. This may well have been the reason why the women’s liberation movement resonated with me so deeply. We may not have burnt our bras literally but figuratively unshackling oneself from restraint was certainly very liberating.

  Like most teenagers in days before Facebook and other social networking sites, there were only pen friends, and yes, we maintained correspondence in the old- fashioned way, by actually writing a letter by hand, addressing an envelope, sticking a stamp on it and mailing it.

  My father, at my insistence, had taken out subscriptions to several current teen and pop magazines and they carried columns with girls and I presume boys too, wanting to become pen friends with young people living in other countries. It was a great way to learn about another person’s country and culture as well as about the person one was corresponding with. I had many pen friends and we wrote to each other regularly. The Japanese pen pals were the most interesting as they wrote in remarkably good English; long letters, in beautiful handwriting on several sheets of airmail paper and also at times, included attractive looking stickers. The only pen friend that I actually made contact with was an American girl called Gretchen Meyerjack and then only because she happened to be working in London at the time when I was visiting.

  Besides pen friends, these magazines kept us fully updated about the pop scene, the romances and break-ups of our music heroes. George Harrison was dating Patti Boyd who according to the jargon of the day was a ‘dishy dolly bird.’ She was an attractive girl with long blonde hair and wore pale pink shimmery lipstick; I believe it was called ‘ice pink’ which was the signature of the sixties, teamed with blue eye shadow. Besides the pop stars I was, like many other young girls, a huge fan of George Best the famous Manchester United footballer. In his time he was right up there with the pop stars as far as I was concerned in fact, he was the David Beckham of his day. He began to write a column in one of the teen magazines I subscribed to and every month he wrote about current issues. Since his fan base was predominately female the questions that he was mostly asked were about his girlfriends and the kind of girls he liked to date. It was absolutely fascinating reading about George’s likes and dislikes in the dating field and wondering if somehow I had any of the attributes he described. George Best posters which were included in the magazine every month proudly adorned the cupboards in my room. He was a man of immense talent and had a great personality but unfortunately his addiction to drink was to end not just his career but eventually his life.

  Vanity played an immensely important role in my life, and when my teeth were becoming a very obvious problem, something radical had to be done about my overcrowded jaw, as I did not have the smile that models flashed in the teenage glossy magazines that I subscribed to. The most popular society orthodontist at the time was Dr. Soni, who decided that I needed to get several extractions and a protracted time thereafter, wearing both fixed braces and retainers. However, he assured me that if I persevered
I would have a great smile at the end of the treatment. A couple of years later, Dr. Soni presented my father with a sizable bill, ‘That much to get her teeth fixed?’ gasped my father. Dr Soni replied languidly and asked father, ‘When your daughter gets married, I am sure that you will give her lavish gifts, jewellery and many ornaments and wonderful clothes?’ My father nodded his agreement. ‘Well then,’ continued Dr. Soni matter of factly, ‘What better gift can you give your daughter than a wonderful smile?’ Beaten at this particular argument, my father promptly paid the bill.

  Sometime later we were out to dinner one evening and who should be dining at the table adjacent to us but Dr. Soni with some friends. We greeted each other, then Dr. Soni loudly announced to his friends, ‘I have just fixed Rajyashree’s teeth, come on now, give us a nice smile and show them how good they look!’ It was one of the most embarrassing moments of my life; the very last thing any self-respecting teenager needed was to be displaying one’s newly fixed teeth to complete strangers in a restaurant of all places.

  At eighteen, a whole new life of relative independence opened up for me. By the time I was of age, I had a fairly healthy bank balance with no overheads to pay for thus far. The very first thing I wanted when I came of age was to buy a car of my own and it could not be any run- of- the- mill pedestrian car either: it had to be only a top of the line sports car. The Ford Mustang caught my eye, after all, it was an extremely popular car and featured in all the glossy magazines and was the coolest car that a teenager could possibly have.

  My father did his best to dissuade me, though he was in no position to do so since he had a reputation for owning the very best of sports cars in his younger days. His own passion for sports cars had started with a little red Sunbeam and graduated to a couple of beautiful Thunderbirds. The last Thunderbird that he had was an absolutely stunning car; it was state-of-the-art as far as gadgets at the time were concerned. The hood opened up at the touch of a button, the boot automatically swung open slowly as the hood folded up on its own and tucked itself away neatly into the boot, whereupon the boot closed back into place. If my father, on his way to the range happened to stop and close or open the hood, dozens of pedestrians and motorists came to an absolute standstill in total awe at this amazing performance-indeed, it was a unique car for its time.

  I did not consider my father to be a serious challenge to my owning my very first car. That however, did not restrain him from trying his very best to dissuade me. My parents were on holiday in Bombay at the time and I had mounted a rebellion and refused that summer to go there with them and elected instead to remain in Delhi on my own, and there was not much that they could do about it but accede to my demands. My father phoned and implored me with his usual argument: ‘Fast cars and teenagers don’t mix. Do not buy the car you are too young,’ but none of these arguments had any effect on me whatsoever, thus he in total despair handed the phone to my maternal uncle Raj Singh Dungarpur who tried to persuade me to my father’s words of wisdom, but his entreaty too fell on deaf ears.

  Although they had a valid point, it did not stop me for a moment from going through with it anyway. I had to assert my new found independence after the claustrophobic atmosphere that I had lived in thus far, where we were not even allowed to go to the cinema without first asking permission from my Suket aunt. Now, I suddenly had control of my own funds, and I was going to spend them as I wished. I planned the entire operation with military precision and with great perspicacity I got Ganpat Singh to go to the bank and get a bank draft and then I went to the State Trading Corporation or the STC where in those days diplomats were allowed to sell their foreign cars and other effects before they left Delhi for their next posting, and it was here that I bought my very first car: a silver blue Mustang. It was an exhilarating experience.

  Even now when I meet old college friends, they all remember me for being the girl who drove up to college in her very own Mustang. The car was my pride and joy. I drove it to college every day. My father being a tad cautious could not possibly let me go on my own and thought that I needed chaperoning. Both the driver and Hari Singh, who was responsible for me when I was out and about, were instructed to accompany me, which was deeply embarrassing. There I was, a hip and trendy teenager wearing the latest gear from Carnaby Street and suitably made up with green eye shadow; shackled by these two men who accompanied me to college, and hung around outside while I was attending my classes; however there was no choice and this was one compromise I had to make.

  We used to travel abroad at least once a year and more often than not, it was for a shooting competition. However, my father included a holiday break for us too, and most times when we flew east we stopped at Hong Kong. My parents had their good friends Mr. and Mrs. Kaphai residing there. They were a charming and devoted couple. Mrs. Kaphai was Israeli, but I did not realise this till her daughter Meera told me one day. She was always dressed in a beautiful sari and looked more Indian than most women I met. She had met uncle Kaphai as a student and they had fallen in love and married and she even changed her name to Kamla. They had two beautiful daughters Meera and Nirmala: the latter was married and living in India and Meera was engaged to a handsome young man and I thought it all extremely romantic. Meera and I used to spend a lot of time together when we were in Hong Kong; she was very patient and took me shopping. The Kaphais were warm and hospitable and had us over for meals several times at their beautiful apartment at Magazine Gap Road, where I spent time with their son Cookie who played all the latest pop hits for me.

  When we were in Japan for the Asian Shooting Competition, we were hosted by the Nanda family who were posted at the embassy in Tokyo. They had a daughter called Radhika who must have been a couple of years older than me. I found her incredibly sophisticated and elegant-she had beautiful long straight hair, the kind that I had always coveted and which my wavy hair could never quite achieve. She spoke Japanese and we used to listen to Japanese pop music together. She told me that in Japan every petrol station carried a large and prominent sign on the forecourt as to how many road accidents had taken place in the recent past: this she said was to deter rash and irresponsible driving. Her statement made a huge impression on me as I still remember it till today. I met Radhika many years later in London and recalled the time we had spent together as teenagers. At some point Radhika had been a model which did not surprise me in the least as she had great poise and elegance even then.

  No matter where we went in the world we used to meet people from Rajasthan, specially in Hong Kong where there was a large Diaspora of businessmen and their families that had a generation or so ago moved there from Rajasthan. They always were most hospitable to us and my was father was deeply touched by their affection and loyalty. Business men from Rajasthan have historically been very enterprising, in the olden days the Seths and Sahukars as they were known lived in palatial Havelis in the old part of Bikaner city. They travelled to various parts of India setting up their successful businesses while their wives and families remained in Bikaner. Over time they gradually re-located within the country and many others left to live abroad. Business communities from Rajasthan are to be found in almost every part of the world it is a great tribute to their business acumen to have done so well for themselves globally.

  The unfortunate part was that many left their family havelis almost on a permanent basis and they fell into neglect in their absence. The havelis are a keen point of interest for visiting tourists to Bikaner, since they are located in narrow lanes some of which cannot be navigated by cars, the only alternative way to explore the by lanes of Bikaner city is by the swift little Tul Tuks, in fact, this is big business with tour guides. Some families have retained their links with their old family homes and many such as the beautiful and ornate Rampuria Haveli is now a successful hotel, maintained and managed as a much sought after hotel by the Rampuria family.

  Due to the absence of the owners and a rising demand for havelies many opportunist parties emerged and in some cases entire
haveleis were dismantled and shipped around the country and some even abroad, it was a travesty of the local culture and heritage. I believe now the Government of Rajasthan ensures that these beautiful old buildings are no longer vandalised. My great grandfather Maharaja Ganga Singh owed a great debt of gratitude to the business community of Bikaner when he was constructing the Gang Canal. The daring enterprise needed a vast amount of funding, and he was reluctant to go to the British and source his much needed funds from them, he knew that had he done so the loans would have come with riders and conditions that he was not prepared to consider. He then turned to the Seths and Sakukars of Bikaner state that provided him with the funding he needed. He was always very grateful for their help and the prominent families all had a mention in his Golden Jubilee book acknowledging the great debt of gratitude that he and the family owed to this industrious community. Despite the many generations that have separated us the Rajasthan origin Diaspora still strongly identify with their roots and maintain ties with our family, which is very touching.

  As a school girl in my early teens, I had a keen interest in hunting. That was the way we were brought up- in a hunting, shooting environment. We often went on shooting expeditions to Gajner, where we shot grouse and duck during the winter season and wild boar at other times. It was all controlled and our father only allowed us to shoot a certain number of birds and not beyond that. He also refused to let us shoot the deer in the reserve, his point being that unless it was a black buck with record sized horns it was not fair to shoot one. I am pleased now in hind sight that he put some rules and regulations in place for us from a young age. I must emphasise at this point that hunting was not banned in India at the time, nor was there a heightened awareness of endangered animals as there is today.