CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The Hindi word for king is raja.
We were on our way to the boarding house where Kishore now lived. After six months of staying with Aunt Bhamini and Uncle Harilal he decided he wanted to be more independent. With his Aunts blessing he found a place with three Fijian–Indian men.
We entered the house through the back door, which led straight into the simple kitchen, I squealed as cockroaches scurried across the floor. Kishore reassuringly clasped my hand, leading the way, he took me on a tour of the house. I peered into the bathroom, the smell of dampness hit my nose and as I looked up I saw the ceiling was black with mould. The men kept themselves clean and tidy but as for the house they could only do what they could. It was extremely basic, the boys had not managed to accumulate much in the time they’d been there. The landlord had supplied almost all of the furniture, it was in a pretty bad state. The tatty old couch and two arm chairs in the lounge room were a horrible mustard colour, while a chipped Formica table and four chairs sat in the dining room.
I asked Kishore why, since all the men worked, they couldn’t afford a better place to live in. He explained the boys each felt proud to be earning in a foreign country but were expected to contribute to their families by sending money back home.
I was taken aback when shown his bedroom which he shared with one of the other men. His landlord had also supplied his bed and a small chest of drawers. Kishore’s belongings were minimal. All he had to his name were a few clothes, an alarm clock, with a built in tape player and about ten music cassettes. Flicking through them, I saw there were many by his favourite singer Mohammed Rafi. Looking closer I noticed another singer called Kishore Kumar.
“Who is this singer,” I asked pointing at one of the cassettes.
“He is a very famous Indian singer, a classical superstar, I am named after him,” he proudly announced.
“What? You’re named after a famous singer! Ha, I am named after a famous actress and singer called Julie Andrews, what a coincidence.”
When an Indian baby is born the parents consult an astrologer who is given the baby’s birth date, time and place of birth. With this information he confers with his charts. He comes to a conclusion and writes a note to the parents suggesting a letter or sound the baby’s name should begin with. On that premise, the Mum and Dad choose a name embodying the future of that child. A name that will hopefully ensure the child will enjoy a long, happy and prosperous life.
Looking around the depressing room, I had hoped to see a photograph of his family but there were none on view.
“Kishore, do you have any photos of your Mum and Dad?"
Kishore gazed at me, a blank expression on his face, “No Julie,” he finally confessed, feeling a little embarrassed. Being so far from home he realised perhaps he should have but it had never occurred to him.
Kishore spun on his heel and faced his chest of drawers, turning to look at me, he announced, “Julie, I would like to show you something that is very special to me. I have never shown this to anybody before.” Kneeling down, he carefully pulled open the bottom drawer. Instantly, a strong smell of incense invaded my senses. Inside the drawer, neatly presented on a red cloth was a little statue of an Indian god. Next to the statue lay a little lamp ready to be lit.
“This is my temple,” he proudly told me. “After showering every morning I pray here and light incense which we call doop. On Saturdays and Tuesdays I light the diva (lamp).”
I instinctively knew Kishore treasured the temple and felt proud and honoured he had shown it to me. As I peered closer I noticed a tiny golden pendant sitting next to the little god statue, it looked like a Nazi swastika. My first thought was one of disgust.
“Why do you have a swastika in your temple?” I almost accused.
“No, Julie,” he quickly replied. “It is not a swastika, we call it a Rangoli.” He explained further. “I was always told the Nazis took this symbol and changed it slightly to suit them, unfortunately now, more people associate the symbol with Hitler and World War Two, instead of peace." He continued, "It is a very important symbol to Hindu’s, I guess it is as important as the cross is to Christians. Julie, the Rangoli is a sign of peace and love.”
On the way back home in Kishore’s car, I thought more about his life in India. I had for the first time seen where he lives in New Zealand. I felt privileged that he had shown me the house and his temple but after such serious talk regarding his faith, I felt the mood needed to be lightened.
“Kishore, when you were growing up in India did you have a toilet in your house?”
Glancing over at me, he saw the innocence in my eyes and decided then and there to play a trick on me.
“No Julie,” he replied sadly. “We didn’t have a toilet.”
“Oh, so where did you - you know - go?”
By now Kishore was forming a story in his mind, his face took on a sad expression, easy enough to do as he was driving and didn’t have to look at me.
“Julie, there was one toilet on our block and only men were allowed to use it.”
“What!” I replied. “That’s awful. The men only had one toilet between them? How did they all use it?”
“I’ll tell you,” Kishore eagerly responded, getting a grip on a good story. “Every morning the men in our area stood in line outside the toilet with a newspaper under their arm. They would wait while each man had their turn.”
I could never imagine Kishore lying to me so I completely went along with his story.
“What about the women?” I asked. “What did they do?”
“The women weren’t allowed to use the toilet, they had to get up very early around three o’clock every morning and go out into the bush."
I was outraged, I found this appalling but then common sense took over. Looking over at him I caught a twinkle in his eye. I now had an inkling he was tricking me but I decided to ‘play his game’ and go along with him to see where his story would take me.
“They went out in the bush!" I exclaimed, "So if we ever go to India, is it still like that, will I have to go in the bush as well?”
Kishore was trying his best to be serious but it was becoming too hard for him, he could feel giggles bubbling in his chest, he couldn’t hold it in much longer.
“Yes, you will but you’ll have to be very careful because there are insects and small animals around at that time of the morning.”
That was it, he couldn’t contain himself any longer, the bubbling giggles erupted and he burst out laughing. His laughter became so intense he had to pull the car over to the side of the road. Of course, this set me off as well, ripples of laughter changed into waves until tears streamed down our faces. Finally, feeling giddy, we managed to take control of ourselves and wipe our tears.
I, at last was able to ask, “Kishore, if we ever visit your family home, just where will I go to the toilet?”
“It is okay,” he replied, shaking his head and again wiping his eyes “We have a normal toilet in our family house.”
Thank god for that, I hated the idea of getting up early and peeing in the bush.