CHAPTER ELEVEN
The Hindi word for soldier is sainika.
Rested and refreshed, the following morning Kishore picked up the phone and dialed the number from the piece of paper Mr McAllister had given him. He spoke to Mr Cromwell and arranged that we would meet him at his house at one o'clock that afternoon.
Before that, with our wedding albums clutched tightly to my chest, Kishore and I headed downstairs. We were going to captivate the neighbours with our wonderful photos. The Singh family who were Sikh lived in one of the downstairs flats on one side of the building, while Mr and Mrs Roberts and their family lived in the other. The last time we visited these neighbours I was intrigued to notice that although all three flats, including Kishore's family home, were architecturally built the same, each home was totally different to the other. The Singh family had at some stage knocked down a wall in the living area. With comfortable furniture but minimal clutter, the whole area seemed very spacious.
While we sat watching Mr and Mrs Singh flick through the pages of my albums, I was amazed to see they were more interested in absorbing every detail from the snaps of our English wedding over our Indian wedding. Half an hour later, we left the Singhs and trotted over to the flat of Mr and Mrs Roberts. The difference in the layout in their home was immediately apparent. They had added an extra bedroom but because they had more furniture, the house felt a little congested in comparison to the Singhs. This couple was more intrigued by the Indian wedding photos. Mrs Roberts clapped her hands with glee when she saw the silver necklace she had given me displayed on my neck in the photos.
As she began flipping through the English wedding album, I waited in anticipation for her to comment about the necklace again - that I had worn it at both weddings. I deliberately twirled it (along with the gold necklace) with my fingers to emphasize the point that I was still wearing it even now, but she did not say anything more about it.
Sikhs, Christians, and Hindus had all welcomed a red haired, freckled faced, pale skinned girl into their homes - who would have thought?
At midday, with Kishore clutching his briefcase, we headed out by foot onto the main road. As we were uncertain as to where we were going, and because our destination was quite far, Kishore decided to choose the option of a taxi over an auto-rickshaw. As we approached a parking bay, we saw a group of taxi drivers waiting for customers. Before we had a chance to get close to them, they spotted us and quickly approached, each one wanting to be the first to collect our fare. We had an appointment and did not want to waste time so Kishore raised his hand in a halting motion. I did a quick head count as all five of them stopped in their tracks. Holding up a piece of paper, Kishore asked, "Who knows where this address is?" Two of the drivers stepped back as they could not read English. The first man to say 'I do' was our driver.
Forty minutes later, after a couple of wrong turns, we arrived at a more affluent area of Delhi called South Extension. The driver stopped the car outside a two-story apartment building with a large iron gate stretching across the entrance. Kishore paid him and we headed towards it. A security guard dressed in a light blue uniform emerged from a box-room on one side of the driveway. “Can I help you, who are you here to see?” he asked.
Before we could answer, we turned to the sound of someone saying, "It's okay Sonny, they are here to see me."
An elderly English gentleman was on the other side of the gate waiting for the guard to open it. As he did, the man smiled broadly at us, promptly extended his hand, vigorously shook each of ours in turn, and announced, "Pleased to meet you both, I am Arthur Cromwell, you must be Kishore and Julie, come, come inside."
Unable to say more than a hello, he ushered us inside the compound, the excited bark of a dog nearby caught my attention.
We followed Mr Cromwell up a small concrete path and inside the front door of his ground floor apartment. "This way," he pointed, his hand directing us into the front room. As we entered, a little white and black spotted terrier dog ran up to us, dramatically wagging its tail. "Benny, Benny, it’s okay," murmured Mr Cromwell. "Right now, you two, have a seat so we can talk."
Sitting in the overstuffed floral armchairs, I took-in Mr Cromwell as he sat down. He was wearing a shirt, tie, and a cable-knit dark brown cardigan. Perched on his nose were steel-rimmed glasses but I could still see laughter lines around his eyes, assuring me he was a happy man. His head was completely bald, round, and overly smooth, the top of it shone like a polished bowling ball.
How odd to see such an English gentleman here in India, I thought. I drew my eyes from him to glance around the room, it seemed the floral theme was a feature, and briefly wondered whether it continued throughout the house. To match the floral armchairs, on the walls were framed pictures of different flowers. I also counted three vases of fake flowers, one was on a coffee table, another on the window sill, and the last stood on a wooden dresser which I noticed also held many framed family photos. But before I could properly take a look at the pictures I was distracted by an elderly Indian woman who ambled into the room carrying a tea tray. Mr Cromwell quickly stood up, took the tray from her and set it on the coffee table.
"Hello, you must be Julie and Kishore?” She said, putting out her hand. Kishore and I also stood, and in turn took her delicate hand. Mr Cromwell introduced his wife Geeta. She wore a pale blue sari, her grey hair was tied back in a bun, and her forehead held a deep crimson circular bhindi.
As we resumed our seats, I took a quick intake of breath, he was English and she was Indian! I was so pleased. Finally, I was meeting an inter-racial marriage similar to ours. This was the first time I had met an Indian person married to an English person besides Kishore and myself… and they lived here in India! Questions, like wasps, began to swarm around in my head. How did they meet? Did their families approve? Was Geeta the reason Mr Cromwell stayed in India after the war? Would I get a chance to ask them all of these questions? I was so excited it was like a live electrical wire was coursing through me - my heart was racing.
Mrs Cromwell poured tea, not traditional Indian chai tea, but tea from an English teapot, complete with a cute flowery (obviously!) knitted tea cosy. As we began to chat, little Benny sniffed my leg and I absentmindedly patted him, and Arthur laughed heartily. "Julie, Benny likes you, you must be a dog lover he doesn't go to just anyone. By the way, can you guess where we got the name for our Benny?"
Kishore and I both shook our heads.
Geeta groaned a little but her eyes were mischievously twinkling, "Oh, Arthur really, again?"
Mr Cromwell chuckled, smiled at his wife, and said to us "Kishore, Julie, Benny is my little reminder of London; he is named after ‘Big Ben’ the clock tower of course!" His infectious laugh was hard to resist, we couldn’t help but join in with him, he was such a jolly man.
As I sipped tea, my eyes drifted back to the photos on the dresser. Geeta caught my eye, "Would you like to know our story Julie?"
The words quickly tumbled out of my mouth, "Oh, yes please." Like children waiting for a bedtime story, Kishore and I sat back in eager anticipation.
Arthur Cromwell had been an eighteen-year-old handsome young officer in the British Army. He was intelligent but coming from a poor background he had only worked as a labourer before signing on as a soldier. On his first day of service, Arthur met another young man who was the same age as him called Colin McAllister. They instantly became great friends and that lifelong kinship was cemented by the fact they were both stationed together in New Delhi, India.
Geeta Chitrapur, one year younger than Arthur, was exactly the type of Indian girl that a man at that time would call an exotic beauty.
She was also exactly the type of Indian girl that a British soldier should have absolutely nothing to do with. The Chitrapur’s were a high-society caste (the class or caste system plays a very important role in Indian society) and while India was under British rule, her strict Father was a General in the Indian Army.
Arthur's intelligence, along with his smart and savvy nature, served him well as a soldier. He was soon asked to perform certain tasks above and beyond those of the other men, and was often called upon to hand deliver classified notes or messages. It was for this reason he soon found himself with an important piece of paper in his pocket to personally deliver to General Chitrapur.
In the Chitrapur house, females kept to their own quarters. The women were not to be seen by males, or any visitors for that matter. On this day, the women of the house were gathered in the female only courtyard. Leafy trees and flowering, purple bougainvillea surrounded this area which provided privacy for the ladies to chatter, giggle, and sometimes even sing and dance.
Arthur, while patiently waiting to be seen by the General was standing in the front foyer of the house. He patted his chest to ensure himself the note was still safe and secure in the shirt pocket of his uniform. He had strict instructions to hand deliver it personally to no one else but the General. As he waited, standing tall, with his eyes forward, Arthur’s ears were alerted to the sweet sound of ladies laughing nearby. He couldn’t help but take a few steps forward, like a bee to honey he was drawn to the delightful noise. Stealthily he crept, closer and closer towards a closed glass door where the sound was coming from. Unbeknown to him, this door led to the courtyard where the ladies were enjoying some fresh air. As he reached it, Arthur tentatively glanced behind him to make sure he was still alone. He then pressed his face to the glass which was covered on the outside by a curtain.
At that moment two momentous instances occurred. The first being a gust of wind blew at just the right place to move the curtain, which allowed him to briefly see into the courtyard. The second thing was, at that instant, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life happened to turn her head his way, her eyes looking directly into his. It only took a few seconds but Arthur was captivated, lost, and entranced.
That girl! Those eyes! They were like looking into the blackest night sky and her pupils - they were like stars twinkling back at him. He fell into those eyes and his life was never the same, until this day he has not emerged from their spell.
Geeta was certainly very aware of the strict rules governing the house concerning females. But as fate would have it, on that particular day, she was enjoying spending time in the courtyard after being stifled by the confinement of the house. The wind blew as she happened to turn her head towards the glass door. Staring back at her were the sparkling blue eyes of a young English soldier. She saw him and he saw her and there was no denying it, their eyes locked and fireworks flew. In that moment, that glance told them both they were meant to be together. Neither of them could ignore the uncontrollable invisible force that was holding their mutual gaze. It was a charisma that only couples that are destined to be together can imagine. They had not met, spoken, been in the same room together, or even properly seen each other. Despite this, they both knew they must see one another again. They also both knew this act would be absolutely forbidden, for them to even talk to each other would be extremely dangerous.
There was a pause in the telling of the story, and Kishore looked over at me and as our eyes met, we both had a smile on our faces we could not suppress. Up until now, Mr and Mrs Cromwell’s story, although it did have some similarities, could not be more different to our own as theirs was so much more controversial.
After that first glimpse of Geeta, Arthur ran back to his position in the foyer, with lightning speed. He was breathing heavily and he felt beads of sweat collecting on his forehead but he thanked his lucky stars he had not been caught. Standing tall, he straightened his shoulders, and quickly managed to gain his composure. He was soon summonsed to deliver the note to the General and after attending to this matter he left the house.
Arthur found over the next few days, he could not think of anything else but that girl - those eyes had possessed him. Confiding in his best mate Colin, Arthur told him that his heart ached to meet this girl. Colin warned him that he was treading on very dangerous territory, that he should forget her and walk, no, run, very swiftly in the opposite direction. But a force Arthur could not control drew him to her.
Knowing the risks, Arthur was able to find reasons to go back to the house - this was no easy feat. Geeta, who had also not been able to think of anything else but the alluring eyes of the young English soldier, was also desperate to see him again and she began to look out for him. She found a window in her area of the house that overlooked the driveway which had the best vantage point and a clear view of the front door. She often found herself staring dreamy eyed out of that window. When she did see him, she rushed to the courtyard, stood by the glass door and tried to look as inconspicuous as possible because she didn’t want any of the other ladies asking questions. Arthur, upon entering the house, began to look straight at the door, he knew she was interested in him because he saw the outline of a female figure. He knew it was her waiting for him. He saw the curtain move just an inch, she made sure he caught her eye.
As the weeks went by, hidden notes were eventually passed from Geeta to Arthur through her most trusted ladies-in-waiting and a few secret and even more dangerous rendezvous were arranged.
Their first meeting only declared and confirmed what they both knew to be true, their desperate love for each other was something neither of them had control over. Although Geeta had never ventured far from her home, she had been educated by tutors and knew how to speak a little English. As she and Arthur talked, it soon became apparent that they were hopelessly in love. They knew they could not live without one another and planned as secret lovers do, to elope. Their love was unconditional, they knew nobody would support them if they did elope and Geeta would most likely be disowned by her family. She and Arthur would have to spend their lives in hiding.
Unfortunately, their plans as secret lovers didn’t work out as they wished. Geeta’s Father discovered that they had been seeing each other, his faithful servants had confided in him. He forbade them to see one another again because in his eyes, and because of the strictness of society in those days, an inter-racial marriage was absolutely forbidden. Arthur was banned from the house. There was no way an Indian General's daughter would marry a common British soldier. It was unthinkable.
Geeta wept, cried, and pleaded with her Father to allow them to wed but he said it was unacceptable; they did not marry outside their caste, society, social status, or culture.
Time passed and eventually the war ended but Arthur and Geeta's feelings for each other did not diminish as her Father had hoped. In fact, their love only grew stronger. While Colin McAllister left India and returned to England (eventually immigrating to New Zealand) Arthur stayed. Despite the odds, Geeta and Arthur managed to stay in contact. They had utmost faith in one another and trusted just one servant, Geeta paid her very well for her silence. She was their saviour and their line of communication as she faithfully delivered notes backwards and forwards between the two lovers. Geeta’s Father did not know she and Arthur were still keeping in contact, even so, she persisted pleading with her Father, constantly proclaiming her love for Arthur. It took three long years, but eventually she wore the General down, he finally conceded, agreeing at first that he must meet Arthur and if they were to marry, he had three conditions.
Caught in the trance of their story Kishore and I were surprised when Arthur suddenly stopped talking. For us the anticipation was too much, it was like we were watching a horse race and the leader had abruptly come to a halt, we were barely able to contain our excitement. My husband and I sat wide eyed, we were entranced… what happened when they met? What were the conditions?
Arthur took a few breaths, smiled, and thankfully began again. After a tense meeting with Arthur, Geeta's Father realised he could not do anything else but allow them to marry and informed them both:
1. Once they were husband and wife they must live in the Chitrapur house.
2. Arthur will study in India a profession of his (the General's) choice.
3. After Arthur had established a career, he and Geeta must continue living in India.
Arthur without hesitation accepted the conditions and Geeta’s family promptly arranged their wedding. It was a grand affair marred by the underlying tension of those who did not approve.
Soon after, Arthur moved into the Chitrapur house and, with the General's contacts, his new son-in-law was able to sit a preliminary test. He was subsequently accepted into a law school in Delhi which had an English speaking focus. Arthur, very aware of what was at stake, which was keeping his Father-in-law on his side, knew what was required of him. He studied very hard and eventually became a lawyer. The couple lived in the General's house for seven years until they were able to move into another house.
Kishore and I were dumbfounded. Another jumble of questions bounced around in my head. I floundered, not knowing where to begin or which question to ask first, making no sense I said "How… when…?"
Seeing everyone’s confused faces, I took a deep breath, I tried again and this time managed to ask, "How is your relationship with your in-laws now Mr Cromwell?"
"Well Julie, my Mother and Father-in-law both passed away a long time ago. But when they were alive, they did eventually accept me, but the relationship was always strained."
"Have you ever been back to England?"
Mrs Cromwell answered this, "Yes Julie, two of our three children live in England, we visit them whenever we can, usually every third year. We also have five grandchildren."
I fired another question, "Mr Cromwell, do you speak Hindi?"
"Of course, Julie, I have lived here now for more than forty years. Hindi is as natural to me as English."
Arthur and Geeta Cromwell's story truly amazed and inspired me, I was so glad I had come to India again this time. Meeting this fascinating and inspiring couple was well worth sacrificing my white wedding for a registry office ceremony.
Soon, Mr Cromwell and Kishore with briefcase in hand, headed off into another room to talk business. I helped Mrs Cromwell tidy the tea tray and followed her into the kitchen. I had expected the floral theme to continue in there and I was not disappointed, yet more vases of fake flowers were dotted around the room. I peered at the wallpaper and noticed it too was a design of tiny pink roses.
As Geeta rinsed the cups she asked me if I knew where Kishore's family came from.
"From New Delhi," I said a little absentmindedly, seeing as I was entranced and a little bit mesmerized by the show of flowers.
"No dear," she chuckled. "Originally, before New Delhi, do you know where his relatives originally came from?"
"Oh, sorry Mrs Cromwell, Punjab I think."
Geeta thought for a moment, "The young lady who lives in the next apartment block came from Punjab. Maybe her family knows Kishore's family."
I replied "Ummm, well…," as I thought of the millions of people who lived all over India and how unlikely it would be that my husband and Mrs Cromwell’s neighbour would know one another.
She hurriedly wiped her hands on a towel, "Julie, I'll just pop over and see if Priyanka is home."
Before I could reply she had gone through the door at the back of the kitchen that led outside. I stood for a few moments quite perplexed, wondering what I should do. I wandered back into the lounge room and little Benny ran towards me. Not wanting to disturb the men, I sat and petted him for a while, then stood and turned to study the family photos. The first pictures to catch my eye were black and white snaps of an unmistakable but very beautiful, young Geeta Chitrapur and a serious but dapper Arthur Cromwell. I recalled other photos I had seen taken around the same era and understood that the person sitting for the picture was not encouraged to smile. People of that generation always seemed to have very solemn expressions as they stared into the camera; the Cromwell’s were no exception.
Digesting the other photos, they seemed to span from what must have been their children, growing and changing over decades, to colourful pictures of smiling, bright eyed babies who I guessed were their grandchildren. Examining and comparing the faces, I spent time while waiting for Mrs Cromwell to return trying to decipher just who fitted where in their family tree. Possibly twenty minutes had gone by when I heard voices in the kitchen, and Mrs Cromwell bustled into the lounge room. "Julie, Julie dear, look who I found."
My mouth dropped open as I saw lingering behind Geeta the most beautiful woman I had ever seen in my life, she looked like she had just stepped out of a trendy, Indian glamour magazine. Priyanka had long, shiny ebony hair which tumbled around her shoulders with just the right amount of wave, perfectly formed cheekbones, and eyes that were the colour of sparkling blue sapphires. Remembering to close my mouth I appeared dumbfounded as this woman blinked and I caught sight of her long eyelashes, they were soft and fine like a butterfly’s delicate wings. She wore jeans and an ivory, button-up shirt, the simple colour enhancing her mocha coloured skin. Her casual clothes, tall, slim body, and long legs only added to the kind of effortless beauty some women can achieve without even trying.
"Julie," Mrs Cromwell announced over the top of Benny, who had begun yapping at the unexpected guest "Julie, this is Priyanka. I insisted she come over and meet you and Kish-"
"What's all this noise Geeta. Benny… Benny sit down!" Mr Cromwell bellowed as he emerged from the other room with Kishore directly behind him.
Seeing the visitor Mr Cromwell announced, "Oh, hello Priyanka, what brings you over to visit us today."
I looked directly at Kishore, his eyes were wide, bulging even, at Priyanka. What? I have never seen him like this before. He only ever had eyes for me, well me and his all time favourite Indian actress Padmini Kolhapure that is.
Priyanka looked a bit perplexed but Mrs Cromwell was on her own little mission. While Mr Cromwell tried to calm Benny down, Geeta made the introductions, "Kishore, this is our neighbour, Priyanka, she is also from Punjab, do you know her family?"
Kishore and Priyanka glanced awkwardly at each other, how embarrassing! Mrs Cromwell ushered everyone to sit and make themselves comfortable. We obediently sat, Kishore and I next to one another, while Priyanka took a seat opposite us. The Cromwell's and Benny positioned themselves to one side and proceeded to stare at the three of us like they were waiting for a movie to begin.
"Hello Priyanka," Kishore floundered, he felt it was up to him to take the plunge at being polite since Mrs Cromwell had gone to all this trouble, "What part of Punjab are you from?"
Kishore had told me of the many Indian people he had met over the years since he had been living in New Zealand. The first question always asked is 'Where are you from?' Kishore had never met a person he knew or even someone who came from near where he lived and he certainly didn't expect this question here, now, while he was in New Delhi, to be any different. I suppose people who live outside their country of birth always try to find a connection somehow - some little piece of home.
From the age of three months until six years, Kishore did not live with his parents or siblings. He stayed – against his parent’s wishes - with his paternal Grandmother, Grandfather, Aunty, Uncle, and their children in their house in a little rural village in Punjab. At that time he had formed a special bond with his Grandmother as she became very close to him after her husband passed away. His parents were eventually able to convince his Grandmother to let Kishore come back to the family home in Delhi when he was due to start school.
Priyanka spoke for the first time, "Hello, Namaste," she nodded at myself then Kishore. Her voice had a slight articulate American accent, "Ludhiana, my family come from Ludhiana."
Kishore leaned forward slightly, showing a little bit more interest, "Where in Ludhiana?"
"Toosa, we lived in a little village called Toosa."
"Toosa," Kishore's eyes grew bigger and his eyebrows rose, his voice changed from interest to eagerness. "My family also comes from Toosa."
Unexpectedly Kishore leaned in closer to Priyanka, looking more intently at her with his head tilted slightly to one side. He studied her, thought for a moment then a look of glee suddenly came onto his face. "Oh… no… It can't be," he exclaimed.
Jumping out of his seat he cried, "Pretty, it's you, we used to call you Pretty. It is you isn’t it?"
Priyanka’s eyes also grew wide, she threw back her head and laughed. "No, no, I don't believe it, you’re not little Kishore?" She also stood and they stared closely into one another’s face, I guess they were seeing some sort of recognition in each other from their childhood. She exclaimed, “Wow, this is amazing, it is you! Yes, Kishore it is me. Pretty was my childhood nickname, but what was yours, do you remember Kishore?”
Kishore turned bright red, we all waited with baited breath. He shuffled his feet like a child and shifted his gaze to stare at the carpet, he coughed and mumbled what I thought was the word "Nali."
Mr and Mrs Cromwell burst out laughing, while Kishore and Pretty hugged, and as they withdrew from each other, Pretty snickered and said, “Yes Nali, Nali my childhood friend! It is fantastic to see you!”
I couldn't believe my eyes, what had just happened here? Nali! Nali and Pretty? I had never seen Kishore like this, was this man my husband?
I shook my head a little to try to clear my thoughts as I also wondered…just what on earth did 'Nali' mean anyway?
Mrs Cromwell clapped her hands together exclaiming, "I knew it, I knew it! I had a feeling."
The two long-lost friends sat back down and managed to contain their excitement a little so they could continue talking and try to put the pieces of their childhood together. Mrs Cromwell sat for a while and then disappeared into the kitchen to make tea. Mr Cromwell and I were transfixed, as Kishore and Priyanka, their words tumbling over one another excitedly fitted their past into place.
I was flabbergasted, well, we were all flabbergasted as they realised that yes, not only had they spent their childhood together but they had also been neighbours. What were the odds?
Mrs Cromwell re-entered the room and put the tea tray down on the table and, without saying a word, poured and handed around cups while everyone listened to Kishore and Priyanka talk.
Priyanka said that after Kishore returned to Delhi her family had moved away from Punjab as her Father had secured a very good position in an engineering company. They left not long after Kishore although she did still have family there, just as Kishore did.
Finally my husband suddenly seemed to remember that I was in the room as he turned to glance at me.
"Julie, can you believe it? Priyanka and I were neighbours in the same village. We used to play together when we were children."
Before I could say a word, Kishore turned back to her and with both of them leaning forward in their seats they continued talking, deep in concentration as they discussed memories from their childhood.
But the more they talked, the more frustrated I became. I don't know why but my cheeks began to get hot as I sat slowly stewing, my eyes piercing like lasers into the back of Kishore's head. What was wrong with me? Why did I not feel pleased for him? I turned my head slightly and looked at Priyanka, her slender body leant in to listen intently to my husband, my husband! Just then, she flicked her long hair over her shoulder like she was in a photo shoot. Then it struck me, was I jealous? Had the green eyed monster (with a sapphire-blue eyed accomplice) managed to creep its way under my skin?
Mr and Mrs Cromwell were also intrigued, lost in the story unfolding in front of them, still - this story was not quite as exciting as their own.
"Hey," Priyanka chuckled. "I vaguely remember my Mum making jokes about us being such cute little playmates that maybe we would grow up and get married one day."
"Yes," answered Kishore as he slapped his knee. "I think my Grandma said the same thing."
What! What did they just say? That they were supposed to get married? My head spun, my thoughts swirling like candy floss, what was happening here? Could this day get any worse?
While I watched transfixed, they continued to talk, reminiscing about the games they played, songs they had sung, and recalling the names of the other village children. Until finally, Priyanka unfolded her long legs and stood, stating that this had been unreal but she had really better get going.
"Nice to meet you Julie," she said, holding out her hand to shake mine. Taking it, I forced myself to smile, "Lovely to meet you too, Priyanka."
Mr Cromwell had not finished his business with Kishore but we decided we should also leave. Kishore told Mr Cromwell he would telephone him to arrange a time to come back within the next couple of days.
Kishore was so talkative in the taxi on the way back to his parents’ home, he chattered the whole way about 'Priyanka this' and 'Priyanka that.' He did not notice my foul mood.
I was incensed. I was sure smoke was coming out of my ears. All I could think about wa