With her passage booked for either the 21st or 22nd of April, Helen could relax somewhat and start to look forward to her new life. On Saturday 18 March 1950, she wrote:
Darling, have you any idea what we are to do when I first come to India? Am I to go to your brother’s house at Delhi and will I enter the Hindu religion on the same day as I am married, or will that have to be done beforehand? No doubt you have these various arrangements in hand. I will follow whatever you decide to do. Can you see that I have some form of written word that I am married because that has to be shown to the English passport authorities, my parents, my insurance company and goodness knows who else in years to come. In England one can usually swear a thing before a commissioner for oaths and the document to which you swear is acceptable in a court of law. It costs about 10 shillings. Doubtless your lawyer brother will be kind enough to advise you on this. Also very quietly and unobtrusively the English government will just check that all is well with me – they try and do this to avoid white slavery, so it might help if I had something to show the consular authorities. I am just living for the day when I see you again – I keep looking at your picture and thinking ‘not very long now!’ I am sure, my heart, that we shall have some marvellous good times just doing small things together.
Living on his own, miles from the family home and without Helen there, Avadh said his life was:
as dull and monotonous as the scenery in the middle of the desert of Sahara. My only oasis is my writing letters to you. I think a person ought to be a thousand years old before he can settle in Ahmedabad – at a stage when his only ambition is to just be left alone and die. Even Mahatma Gandhi, who has made his abode in this blessed town, could not stand it for beyond a few years and changed it for a more pleasant place. But we are not so lucky and I think I must have committed an untold number of sins in my previous life, so that I have to live in this town. Don’t get from all this that I am in a very cross mood today, for with Ahmedabad I am always cross, but otherwise I am in quite good spirits.
During the dry months of the year Ahmedabad resembled a desert. It was hot and uncomfortable in March 1950. Avadh wrote: ‘Because of the heat I get sometimes irritated – but I shall try to be serene, when you get irritated.’
Not knowing whether his servant was ever going to return, Avadh tried to hire another but ‘dispensed with his services after exactly 20 minutes’ because the servant refused to clean Avadh’s utensils after they had touched egg. ‘Servants are a bit hard to find these days at a reasonable pay. Because of the servant’s absence, the flat is getting demoralized, and so is its occupant at times.’
‘I cook my egg breakfast daily, and also my afternoon tea and the rest of the two meals I take with Venket [a friend he had made while at Allahabad University]. He and some other students of the Laboratory have jointly offered the mess and I have to go there. I would have much preferred to have cooked my meals – cooking is easy – but the cleaning of utensils is a dread to me. Even in making tea – first in one vessel, then in second, then in third – till finally none are left clean. I just have to clean them, like I have done this evening.’
On 17 March, Avadh told Helen that he had written to Professor Fröhlich asking if he would have a reasonable chance of getting an Imperial Chemical Industries (ICI) fellowship in England. He explained that he had heard that applications were due in London by 30 March so he felt he had to enquire right away without consulting Helen first. He also asked whether she would be able to get a good job in England once she was married.
She replied on 22 March, sounding not unreasonably frustrated:
Frankly I was a bit shaken by the news that you had applied for an ICI fellowship – not that I do not think it would be a good idea, I do. I think it is excellent and I have no doubt that if your application gets in in time, you will get a fellowship. The thing that floored me was that only about three days ago I had a letter from you in which you said you felt you would really prefer to settle in India, and not long before that you said you wanted to come to England. I know you will have, and are having, a rough time, my dearest, and all sorts of reasons must have made you change your mind, but perhaps you don’t realize the desperate mental torture through which I go every time you do change your mind.
First of all, I had to get used to the idea of going to India and since then it must have varied about 20 times. Each time I have to make a great mental somersault and I thought last night my brain had snapped and I would go insane. However, even after a completely sleepless night, I feel a bit better this morning and determined I would write and tell you about it.
Dearest one, I love you so much. Surely it is possible for you to confide in me and tell me what you really want to do. I am not asking you to do the impossible and predict what we shall do. I only want to know what, in the bottom of your heart, you wish to aim for. Do you want to eventually settle in England or in India? All I want to do is to help you and love you, but I cannot bear this constant changing of mind – it is driving me in a straight line to a lunatic asylum. Let us have an agreement between us that we will aim eventually to settle in one country or the other, and then we can work together to achieve that, even if it means a temporary stay in the country in which we do not intend to settle.
You ask me if I could get another good job in this country – I might – it would depend where we lived. Liverpool is a very bad place, but I think I could guarantee to earn £4.10.0 (less taxes) a week anyway. I could not do a job as heavy as my present one and keep house as well, unless I was the only wage earner and had no option, but I might in London or any of the Midland or southern towns earn the same for less work. A married woman is always at a great disadvantage in seeking a job, but I would, I am sure, earn as indicated above.
In a letter the following day, she had calmed down somewhat and wrote:
Darling, I am sorry that yesterday I wrote such a distracted letter, but it was unfortunate that your letter about the ICI came on a day when I had already been tried beyond endurance at work, and I just thought my mind would crack under the added strain. I feel better now, but I shall be glad to know what in the bottom of your heart you really want to do. The only thing I would beg of you not to change is my coming to India to at least be married, because it is our only chance of marriage and we must take it. I think I should just die if I had to cancel this second passage.
On Sunday 19 March, Avadh was longing for some communication from Helen.
I wonder why you are so silent; you could easily have sent me a cable if nothing else – what about, I don’t know, but I assume you are busy making hot lentil soup so when you come to India, you could blow me up in smoke. My dearest, why are you trying so many cooking experiments? All I am afraid is that the more you have experimented before you came here, the less I would have the pleasure of pulling your leg. Anyhow you seem to be determined so I shall try to find something else to pull your leg about.
For some time past, I have been feeling a perfect beast when I think of the odd and depressing letters I have written to you and I hope you will forgive me for it. I hope you did not get too disturbed by them. Darling, I love you very much and with this admission, I think I could get your forgiveness. I stand in need of it.
Helen wrote on 25 March that she had found a new leisure activity.
I have to tell you that today I have been gambling! Not threepence like you did at cards, but a whole three shillings. It is Grand National day and I have a shilling on Ackton Major (a big Irish horse) and a shilling to win or get a place on Wot, No Sun. If by any fluke – and it will be a fluke –Ackton Major wins, I stand to win nearly £5. With the other one I should get about 30 shillings. I shall not know until 3:30 PM whether I have won, but I should like to because it would be an addition to our Exchequer. I chose Ackton Major because Mr Winterburn (for whom I work) is really Major Winterburn and came here from Acton, and Wot, No Sun because here I am still in England in the cold with no sun! If you can think of a crazier way of p
icking horses I cannot.
Wot, No Sun was placed second and Helen won 4/7d. She continued the letter with more about her brother Tony’s engagement.
Tonight Anne is holding a 21st birthday and engagement party and all the family has to attend for at least a little while since Tony is announcing his engagement. Tony has bought a beautiful ring: he has been saving up for over a year for it, and I am afraid the poor lad will be completely broke after it, but as he is marrying a high-class girl, the ring must match the girl! They are both quite young and not likely to be married for a few years, but they will have quite a lot of privileges now they are engaged and will both save hard for their home. I am very glad they are happy, but I still think I am the happiest woman in the world because I am marrying you.
The days are creeping by and it is less than a month now until I sail. Never did days go so slowly. I suppose your people will be making some small arrangements for our wedding. I do not want to put them to much trouble and hope that it will not mean a lot of work or money to them. As far as I am concerned, there will only be you and I at the wedding – I certainly shall not have eyes for anyone else! I wonder if it would be possible to have one or two photographs taken that I can send home to my family, because my father and mother are rather sad that they cannot be present at my wedding. I do not know whether this is customary, but if it is, perhaps some kind friend would take a few snaps with your camera for us.
Always your adoring,
Chutney
On 20 March, Avadh sent a typed letter in which it is obvious the typewriter ribbon was almost completely worn out. It switches between faint red type and faint black type twelve times. It must have seemed to Helen that the typewriter was changing its mind as frequently as Avadh was. In a paragraph that is breathtaking in its swings between the vitally important and the trivial, Avadh says that he would be happy living in either England or India.
When I suggested to you that I come over to you I meant only to avoid all these changes to your life since I find that I am happy either way. But I think I have said enough of this song. As far as the finances are concerned we could manage to travel back to England in October. By the way, can you tell me why it is that sometimes the typing has the ink in it and at other times it has not? Has the ribbon dried up? You never wrote to me how you fared at the Sunday dance when you were carrying garlic in your mouth by the dozen. Leave all this specialized cooking experiments. Otherwise you will have to unlearn all this. When you are here I will show you how to make the lentil soup without any hot stuff or garlic in it and yet I can assure you that you will like it.
In my earlier letter, I asked your measurements. Please send them. You must have something Indian to wear when you come, especially since you will not have any summer dress, suited to Indian conditions. Don’t be scared that you will have to observe Purdah; nobody in our family does, and even if there was, we could do as we liked. You could, for example, go to market, or to see any of our friends, by yourself, leaving apart, of course, certain notorious localities, and at times when there is trouble in the city. Such troubles are not uncommon, for at present there is a good deal of tension between India and Pakistan, and that means an explosive is always there between the Hindus and Muslims to explode. This town is peaceful apart from one or two stray stabbing cases.
Our programme immediately after your arrival I shall fix up when I know your date of arrival. Would you mind staying a day in Ahmedabad before going to Delhi? On the shortest route to Delhi [from Bombay] one has to pass through this town. Most likely my sister-in-law will be with me to receive you.
Helen did not respond to the rather alarming report of ‘one or two stray stabbing cases’ but in her next letter (of 27 March) she wrote about clothes:
I do not know what is the minimum of clothes on which I can be a presentable wife, but I have sent you my measurements and I suggest you buy just one set of clothes – not expensive and something which will wash easily – and that we might go shopping in Bombay or Ahmedabad together. Of course we can go to Ahmedabad before Delhi – anything to help us out financially. I do hope my coming and all the travelling you will have to do will not take every penny you have – you poor child. If saris are cheaper than the other clothes you mentioned, I can probably manage in them, since I have blouses and petticoats already, but if they are the same price I would prefer the something-or-other Kamiz [a shalwar kameez] you mentioned. Once I can get my sewing machine unpacked I can probably buy material cheaply and make my clothes in future – and some of yours as well.
Dearest Darling, it is exciting and so lovely to be coming at last – I can hardly believe it. I shall be able to rest on the voyage and should arrive quite well and bonny. In the meantime you are to take good care of yourself – until I can do it for you.
In another example of cross-cultural misunderstanding exacerbated by physical distance, Avadh reacted negatively to Helen’s request (in her letter of 18 March) for written proof of their marriage. He took it as a sign of mistrust and replied on the 24th:
I have not yet made arrangements about our marriage but I shall do so. I cannot tell you the programme just now unless it is settled. The point is I am worried about so many other things and you write about getting a legal document of our marriage. You know very well that in Hindu marriage there is no written legal document and yet the marriage is legal. If you say, I say and my brother and the priest say we are married and if it is otherwise valid, there is no further proof required. Do you think you can trust me only after you have legal documents of our marriage – in which case we will have to wait until after the Hindu Code Bill passes etc. etc. However, if you trust me well enough and that if you feel that I shall stand by you whatever happens then only you are welcome to come – for you know India at present is a melting pot and the conditions go on changing and I can promise you only that I will not betray your trust, whatever happens.
If I ask my brother about legal documentation, my entire family will withdraw whatever support we have – because they live in India – they regard Law Courts with greatest suspicion. However, if and when the English consular authorities themselves raise this question – I think they will be satisfied by your telling – but if they are not then we shall see about it.
He finished with all the usual endearments, but the tone of the letter as a whole is rather abrupt, and Helen apologized in her reply of the 28th.
My own Love, I am dreadfully sorry if by asking for some proof of my marriage I have made you feel that I do not trust you. I took it so much for granted that you knew that I trusted you implicitly, that such an idea that you might think I did not trust you, honestly never entered my head! The only reason why I wanted something written is that we are likely to travel to countries other than India and it is so uncomfortable if one has no proof of a marriage. In England, for example, even to get a ration book in my married name I must produce something to prove my marriage. However, if the English Consulate will agree to alter my passport, that will probably be enough. I know there is no written proof of the Hindu marriage – that is why I asked specially. Don’t be angry, darling, because if you look at it from an English standpoint, it was not a very unreasonable request, and to me it was a very big thing.
On Sunday 26 March, Avadh wrote a reflective letter in which he describes with considerable insight the struggle that is reflected in his vacillation about where to live.
To decide now into which country we should ultimately settle down, is very difficult. I know that both of us feel the same way about each other, i.e. both of us are prepared to do their best to make each other happy, and yet one cannot overlook the inner conflicts which always go on in one’s mind. I mean that I will always prefer to settle in India (it will not be actually preference in action). What I mean is (it is no doubt difficult to explain) one will always have a sort of craving in the innermost of one’s heart for one’s own country. Maybe this feeling may die out in years to come and one becomes perfectly international minded
– if not, this inner conflict will prevent us from being happy and other circumstances of our lives will either aggravate it or if God is kind, and we are geniuses in sensibility, we may be able to overcome it. Darling, do not think that I do not love you, for that’s not true, but by virtue of the fact that our period of trial has been elongated, these feelings which were at one time in a suppressed state have come on the surface – and since you asked me to write about my mind, I have done so.
I do not know how you feel about this; you are capable of making your quick decisions, but I do feel that you must be getting at times when you feel less enthusiastic about coming all the way to India, the same type of feeling.
Truly one can be happy in the long run only if one is able to harmonize the innermost conflicts.
Helen was so keen to escape her past in England that, if she had any doubts, she did not express them. She just wanted to be with Avadh and felt confident that once they were together they would make it work, one way or another. She wrote on 31 March:
Your loving and gentle letter of last Sunday arrived today and I would say first how very much I appreciate the real effort you have made to tell me what is in your mind and believe me, my heart, I do understand now very much better. I only wish that you had written me about it all before, because it has been in my mind too. The only difference was that I had rather taken it for granted that although we might visit England our real home would be in India, and therefore, I would have to do most adjusting – which I think I can do fairly all right.
My biggest enemy is going to be a damp heat, but I don’t suppose we shall have to live all our lives in Ahmedabad – India is a fairly large country and I think maybe we shall have a chance of living somewhere nice one day. I am very used in my life to having to make drastic decisions and sticking to them, even if the result is not as good as I thought, so I shall do my very best, Dear, to make a happy life even if at first, it is a struggle. You know that many things are worth a lot of bother. In other words, compared to the many sweet and good things which my marriage will undoubtedly bring me, the drawbacks will be worthwhile. The only thing that I really fear is that you might one day regret marrying me because I am English – but I will try very hard to give you all the things that an Indian wife would give you.
Passage Across the Mersey Page 18