June

June brings in the real heat of the summer.  Having longed, through the long winter, for this kiss of the sun, when finally we receive this gift we immediately start complaining about the rising temperatures.  Nature being less fickle continues to thank the season with its graceful drama.

Look at these daisies.  These were planted years ago.  Now they are well established and dominate the June scene.  Jyoti loves these flowers and by extension so do we. 

These are 'Day Lilies' that were planted the first year we moved into this house.  They have been divided and redivided and transplanted many times over.  They start late in June and take the relay baton from the daisies.

The hydrangea is still going strong

Look at the many hues in its blooms.  Some day I want to paint these flowers.  We have to put acidic fertiliser to keep the blooms blue, otherwise they would be pink (some years we opt for pink).  Hydrangeas are the most satisfying perennials to have.  They need minimal care and reward us with these thick clusters the whole summer.

The roses are no more putting out abundant show of color as in spring.  The flowers now are single but well formed and strong. 

This unopened bud is from a tea rose and came inside with me.  It is sitting prettily on Sachi's sink now.

This 'Curry Patta' plant is a new acquisition.  I got it from a friend in Washington when we visited them last summer.  In 2-3 years it will be big enough to let us use its leaves for cooking.

This is Bay Leaf plant.  It was a surprise find at a nursery in Lincoln this year.  I guess Lincoln is growing and becoming a bit like a big city.  We can even get goat meat here now; who cares if it is fibrous and mostly bone.

Surina loves to go out and inspect the garden as if she is the one who has planted all the plants.

We leave interesting things lying around the house to keep her inside but it works only for a short while.

Soon she is at the door, enticing us with her smile again and again.  The little manipulator!

One of her favourite activities outside is playing with water in the bucket.  On this day Jyoti stuck the flag in her pantie and I put the hibiscus flower in her hair.  She was so busy playing she did not even notice all this.

Of course it could not escape our notice how cute she looked.  Jyoti and I took pictures while Ravi spent the time playing with her.

She was hard to keep in one place though.

She kept running from this flower pot to the bucket, carrying some dirt on her hands each time.

 

This partly annoyed, partly polite look is what I got when I interrupted her game with a request for a smile.

She posed happily for her mommy though.  Mommies are hard to refuse.

"Look at this picture of her Baba."

"We remember when you were just like this. Cute! Cute! Cute!"

Hey!! Some one pay attention to me!

"You come play with me Mamu. Please"

"

Mamus are the funnest of all.

This is a pot that sits in the front of the house. It keeps fooling Surina.  She thinks it is a real bike and tries to sit on it.

So we went and got her a real bike.  Ravi spent the better part of an hour putting it together.

When done he took it for a test drive.  I think he liked it a little too much.  He drove it around the kitchen till I started taking pictures.

Next time Surina came she was dressed perfectly to co-ordinate with the bike colors.

She loves it and wants it the first thing in the morning.  She cannot reach the pedals yet but give her a few months and she will be zooming on it all over the house.

Third Sunday of June is father's day.  We went to the Wilderness Ridge restaurant to celebrate.  Ravi gave Baba a vest that baba has wanted for some time.  He got a big hug for it.

Jyoti was not going to be left behind.  She and Jeff gave Baba a pair of nice comfortable shoes from Scheels.  Sachi liked them so much he went and bought another pair, in different color, next day.

Suraj was not in town.  He was visiting Torry in Tennessee (there for a summer job).  When he bought the tickets we all forgot that the dates clashed with Father's day.  Anyway, he left a loving card, with a typical 'Suraj humor', for all of us to enjoy while he was away.

He came back tired from the journey but refreshed from the trip.  We missed him while he was gone.

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Now, continuation of the India trip Saga.

After Sachi left for USA we all took a break from sightseeing and stayed home.  One day we visited Chaman Chachaji in his Karol Bagh home.

This is Chaman Chachaji (on the right) with Gulshan chachiji, his eldest son Babbu and Babbu's wife Anu.  We went there for a few hours and stayed the whole day.  Chachaji was full of energy and humor.  It was a very enjoyable visit. 

This is Depinder (standing on the right), Babbu and Anu's son.  He is about Ravi's age.  His nickname is Honey.  But our boys were not going to call him Honey (that is what Jyoti calls Jeff!).  So they called him the formal Depinder.  While we adults were enjoying legendary family stories, that have to be repeated at every family get togethers, the cousins hooked up in the front porch for a while and then went shopping in Karol Bagh's famous shops.  They came back with watches, wallets, scarves and belts etc.;  All fancy American brands, all fakes.

After the few days reprieve we took to the road again, this time forging into Punjab.  Bablee came along with us to keep me company.  The boys dissipated extra energy, saved during the long hours in the tempo, at regular pit stops.  Lunches were in Mcdonalds (the boys and Bablee's choice) or simple Rasoi dhabas (my choice).

Swings and seesaws were welcome distractions at bathroom stops, except when Torry fell from the swing into the wet mud pile and we did not want to tell him what was it wet from!!

The first stop was Amritsar.  We stayed in a fancy, westernised, comfortable hotel from which to explore this centuries old holy city of the Sikhs.  Bablee and I have come here many times but this was the boys' first time.  Early in the morning we picked up Popin, our cousin, from her home and went to see the Golden Temple, Harimandir Sahib.  It is a striking structure that subdues you with its spiritual ambience.  The day was crisp clear with sunshine and blue skies providing perfect backdrop to the golden hues.  The birds flew from minaret to minaret and fish swam in the crystal clear water looking for some prasad.  We captured this Kingfischer (to Bablee's delight) surveying the mid afternoon scene.

The surrounding buildings, in their marble splendor and intricate architecture, were made even more pretty by the hundreds of birds sitting on their ledges.

Suraj, Torry and Ravi stepped into the cool waters to ritually wash their feet before going into the Gurudwara.  I explained that many people take a bath here, believing that it washes off their sins.

When we stepped in Ravi commented, tongue in cheek, "You might want to take a bath.  You sure must have many sins to wash; from having lived that much longer."  Then ran away saying, "just kidding! just kidding!"

We walked around the periphery of the sarover (lake) enjoying the sight of the temple from different angles.  When the boys deemed to listen, I gave them historical background of the place and its importance in Sikh history.  Most of the time, though, they spread out, standing in their own lookout places, quitely observing everything for personal perusal.

This is my favorite sight from this trip.  The three of them stood pensively, dwarfed by the temple, in their blue jeans and orange patkas, looking very much the Americans that they are, soaking in the ethereal beauty of the moment.

This turbaned guard was as interested in getting his picture taken as the boys were.

After the parikrama (walk around the temple) we went in the gurudwara to pay our respects.  Inside, photography is not allowed, as prayers are being conducted at all times.  We visited the upper floor and the roof top too.  The huge cannon holes from the 1983 attack by the government are all repaired and the temple is like brand new again.  It is easy to repair physical damage.  I wonder how long it would take to heal the wounds of the victims of that time! 

At the end of the visit we took a final picture of the group and went outside.  Popin is on the right in the back.  She lives in Amritsar and gave us company the whole day.  She is about nine years younger than me.  Growing up we were very close and have many many memories to share.  In our adult lives we do not meet often but when ever we do meet it is like we have never been apart.  It was wonderful to spend the day together.

'Popin, you are the same wonderful, fun and smart kid I have always known. Do not change even a bit.  Love you very much dear sister.'

Outside the temple was a row of shops where they sell holy objects for the religious, and trinkets for people like us who are looking for memorabilia.  The boys found plenty they liked.

Then Popin guided us to these narrow gullees (lanes) with tilting buildings on both sides.  These are the shops for the real connoisseur.  Here we bought some special dry food (warhian) for Biji.  Then we went to another part to buy gorgeous Ramalas (cloth to cover the holy book).  We were not dissappointed.  Popin really knows her city.  The boys were fascinated and a little intimidated by the 3 to 4 storey, narrow, tall, in places crumbling buildings that seemed to be holding each other up.  This did not prevent them from doing some of their own shopping, and (listen to this) some bargaining too.

 

Finally we came out into the open and found a Halwai's shop on this road (I think!).  We were very hungry by this time and ordered some Amritsari Jalebis. Yum, Yum.  While waiting for the jalebis we discovered  'thithavey'.  If you do not know what that is ask Popin. Wait!  Make sure I am around to enjoy her explanation.

 Our last stop in Amritsar was the 'Wagah Border post', an official site that is between India and Pakistani border.  We had hoped to see the change of guard ceremony but reached too late.  We had to plead the officers to let us take a picture with the border in the background.  To us grown ups it was just a border between two neighboring countries, but to the boys it was the line beyond which lived the 'Big, Bad Wolf'.  They could not believe they were so close to Pakistan.  At the end of the day we dropped Popin at her home (reluctantly) and went back to the hotel.  Next day we started the journey to Rajpura and my village, Bakshiwala.

This is Mohinder chachaji with his family.  He is Papaji's youngest brother.  Papaji is five brothers and two sisters.

In this picture Mohinder chachaji is in the middle, with his wife Charanjit chachiji on the right.  In the back, from left, is Amarjit (daughter-in-law), Sweetie (son) and Preet (grandson).  They live in Rajpura in their beautiful home.

When I was growing up Chachaji and chachiji used to live in the village and I used to visit them very often.  I have many happy memories of lazy summer days, spent in the shade of our tubewell, reading books that chachaji would bring home from the city library.  It was there that I first read East of Eden, Gone With the Wind, Bernard Shaw's 'Man and Superman', Wuthering Heights and many, many more.  The Neem tree outside the front yard of the house was a favorite place to sit in the evenings and discuss these books with chachaji.  I would contentedly watch chachiji cooking dinner in the 'outside kitchen' while chachaji would joke that chachiji was cooking some salt with a little bit of cauliflower (Chachiji liked highly salted food).  Later on when dairy cows and buffalloes took over that spot under the Neem tree we continued our discussions under the Kikkar tree by the kitchen.  The Kikkar tree used to have the Baiya bird's nest (don't know the English name) that looked like a beautiful, intricate, narrow basket, surely woven by a skillfull human hand.  Those were wonderful days.

This is sweety with his family.  Sweety is his nickname; I cannot remember his formal name.  He has always been the little Sweety to us.  Amarjit is a dear sister-in-law who always remembers the dishes I like, and has them ready for me everytime I go there.  Their son Preet was the big surprise.  He has grown into a tall, strapping, handsome guy.  Last time I saw him he was still wiping his nose with his forearm.

The boys took to the family like they meet them every weekend.  Chachiji does not speak English but it did not stop them from communicating; between hand gestures and all of us translating there was plenty to talk about.

We were all so glad to be together, we could not stop smiling.

Outside, the boys discovered Preet's motorbike.  Preet, amused, stood to the side while our boys checked out this forbidden toy.  In India this is a very common mode of transport while in USA it belongs to the daring few.

 

Without my knowledge they must have tried to ride it.  I found this picture in Torry's camera.

After a joyous couple of hours we all piled into our Tempo and chachaji's car and headed four miles to our village, Bakshiwala.  We still have a home there but no one lives in the village anymore.

Mewa Singh (in army jacket) and his wife Swaran (with grandson in green sweater) take care of the house.  They are always very happy to see us.

In the courtyard of the house we have my grandmother and my eldest aunt's Samadhi.  The boys put a garland on the memorials.

It was hard saying hello to these cold, lonely looking cubes instead of the warm, loving and so full of life Wadde Bhabiji (grandmother) and Chotte Bhabiji (aunt).  This home used to be alive with activity and sounds of chotte bhabiji's cooking and wadde Bhabiji's reading of the Granthsahib.  Babaji, eldest uncle (now gone for six years), would interrupt all this with his frequent demands that bhabiji ran around duly fulfilling.  When we came to visit, they would envelope us inside this routine, like we belonged here.  'I miss you all very much.'

We all paid our respect to the elders before entering the home.

This is a young Banyon tree that grows by the side of the Samadhis.  I brought it as a sapling from Bhubaneswar, one year, carrying it in my lap on the airplane.  Babaji loved the gift and made quite a ritual of planting it in the yard.  The tree got a rocky start, being in the way of hungry cows and tractors.  It is, however, growing nicely now and is too big to worry about those dangers anymore.  We call it Babaji's Bordh (Punjabi for Banyan tree).

While we were busy re-acquainting ourselves with the home the neighbors started noticing us.

More and more came out of their homes with smiles on their faces.

A few walked over ,dragging grandma with them, and positioned themselves on our wall.

Then some more came over and introduced themselves to the boys.

This neighbor is chatting with Torry and Ravi in colloquial punjabi and they are giving her their American smiles.  Communication is not so hard when both parties are willing to understand.

The boys were a big attraction to the villagers;  Me... they have seen many times; citified as I am, I still am one of them.  But the boys, to them, were a breed apart.

Everyone wanted a picture with them.

Ravi, Suraj and Torry took out their trademark football and started showing the kids how to throw and catch the odd shaped ball.  They picked up the skill in no time and soon there were shouts and screams of joy, just like at any game in USA.

The fireworks, however, started when the boys approached the little ones and started giving them toy cars, baby dolls and ponies.

Suddenly there was a big crowd of kids, all wanting these toys.  Next time we have to remember to take way more.  We could have stayed there forever but it was getting late.

So we went inside the home, all empty now, and gave a warm toast with home made tea, to the place we all hail from.  It was a very nostalgic moment to see the room filled with robust young boys.  Babaji would have enjoyed this sight very much.

 

Outside once more, I took pictures of the boys with village life in the background.  These are cow chips, used for burning cooking fires.  The boys thought it gross but good naturedly posed for me.

 

Bablee found this ewee and lost her heart to it.

On the way out we found these mustard fields.  I had been watching these fields from the window of our tempo for days but did not photograph a single one.  I was waiting for this one, from my own village, to take pictures of.  The boys had been hearing me rant about the mustard fields in my village.  So now when they saw it they broke into a profusion of joy.  My heart at this moment was full with this gift.  Who cares if these were not our fields, just our neighbors.

Hearing the commotion the owners came out and joined the boys.  It was a joyous, exultant introduction to mustard fields for the boys. 

At the edge of the village we came to the small canal that marks the beginning of our fields.  These fields have mostly been sold now and are no more ours.  Only a few remain in the family.  I still call them our fields though.  The canal used to bring water from the Bhakra Dam for our fields.  The women used to bring their laundry, twice a week, to this canal and wash the whole load.  As children this was a festive time for us.  Now the fields are watered with irrigation sprinklers,  the laundry is done at home using indoor plumbing and the canal lies abandoned, a relic of the past.  The bridge, that was the meeting place for so many gatherings, sits alone, useless, a mere passageway now.

  

I made the boys sit on the side wall and took a picture.  Long time ago my grandfather had sat here with me and pointed out the limits of our fields to me.  The tree under which we had buried his ashes has been cut, by new owners, and no marker exists.  The time has moved on. 

  

Bablee took a picture of the fields that once were the bread and butter of our family.  Papaji and his brothers fought many vicious battles over their management, division and ultimately sale.  The lands are gone; battles remain.  Who says time has moved on!

Just as we were leaving, a pretty village lassie came that way, carrying feed home for her cows.  She was the perfect antidote to my melancholy mood. 

 

The boys saw the shy, sweet girl and fell for her.  Under the watchful eyes of chachaji I took a picture of her, with the boys comically hovering all around her. 

With our spirits again in high gear we headed for chachaji's home.

The boys decided they wanted to be real sikhs for a day.  They grabbed anything that looked like it would do for a turban and started tying it on their heads, under the tutelage of Preet.

They were very proud of their looks and wanted many pictures taken.

Chachaji enjoyed their enthusiasm with gusto.

Their ebullience was hard to contain.  It was a memorable visit indeed.

"Thank you chachaji and chachiji for opening your home and giving us these memories". 

As the day came to an end we got in our tempo and drove to the next stop, Chandigarh.

Village, forever, is imprinted as HOME in my mind.  I carry it in my heart where ever we go.  New places become home to me when I see something there that reminds me of the village.

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Untill next time then.