One Life Two Continents Two Cultures E-Book

Jagir Singh Kalu

• Herausgeber: Dolman Scott Publishers
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Seitenzahl: 294

Beschreibung

The author, having been separated from his father who was an economic migrant from India shares his life experiences of settling in the UK at the age of twelve years. He shares his personal experiences, emotions, discrimination and coping with a dual culture in Western society in the 1960s and onward. The difficulties he encountered from his parents and the community when he changed his faith, beliefs and values from that of his parents and his arranged engagement to a young lady that he never met. He married into a western culture against the wishes of his parents.

Leseprobe

Published by BookPublishingWorld 2021

Copyright © Jagir Singh Kalu 2021

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission of the copyright owner. Nor can it be circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar condition including this condition being imposed on a subsequent purchaser

ISBN: 978-1-8384967-7-7

BookPublishingWorld

An imprint of Dolman Scott

www.dolmanscott.com

Dedication

This book is dedicated to all our Grandchildren. It is also dedicated to our grandson Emmanuel Wallis and my sister-in-law Melanie Oldacre who are no longer with us.

Note

Many of the names in this manuscript have been changed to protect identities including the Author’s.

Preface

I am writing this autobiography intending to leave a legacy for my wife, children, grandchildren; and maybe great-grandchildren; of my background, and cultural heritage of my family and my life in India. They must understand their roots. I hope by reading this, they will become more tolerant and empathetic to the needs of people from all races regardless of their religion, colour, disability, or background. I hope the children will learn to put things in perspective and maybe learn from my experience for generations to come. The Indian culture has changed immensely over the past sixty years and it continues to evolve. Therefore, what seemed right at the time may not be so now. Having given further thought and encouragement by others, I decided to make it generally available for wider circulation.

As I write this, I want the readers to understand that my story began when I was a child, I understood as a child, and acted like a child. Over a while, some of the memories fade away but many have a lasting effect on your life and those all around you. As a child, you look at life from a very different perspective.

Since arriving in the UK, I have had the privilege of visiting India on several occasions and my last two visits were in April 2018 and October 2019 with some members of my family and grandchildren. My wife and I, together with some of the other grandchildren and their parents, had planned to go in April 2020. This visit had to be canceled due to the Corona virus.

In India, things are very different now, due to many changes that have taken place since the independence of India. Life was very different then, in comparison to how it is now. India has developed economically, culturally, and socially. The digital age has had a great impact on the world in which we live today, and India has contributed greatly and embraced its challenges. Family values are constantly changing and will continue to change. We also have to acknowledge that people who came to this country in the 1950s and 60s and before that, were only familiar with what was culturally and religiously practiced and acceptable at the time they left for the UK. They adhered to those values not knowing that these practices were evolving and they still are. The second consideration that needs to be borne in mind is that India had only just gained its independence from the British Empire and the displacement of millions of people during the separation between India and Pakistan was less than ten years. Democracy, social mobility, and equality are still developing and so will its impact on society, its culture, and values.

Finally, I decided to write this autobiography in two parts. The first part of this autobiography, consisting of my life as a single, unmarried person, and the second part of the autobiography, following my marriage to my ever-loving wife Brenda Dorothy Talbott in August 1974.

Madan Kallow

Index

Preface

Part 1

1 The Beginning 1953

2 My Paternal Family

3 My Early Years in India

4 My Maternal Family

5 Life in Jandiala - My Village

6 Preparation for Departure to England

7 The Journey to England

8 Settling in England

9 Culture Vulture

10 Sikhism to Seekism

11 Life at Home in the 1960s

12 The Runaways

13 The Runaway Groom

14 Breaking Ties

15 Groom for Baljinder

Part 2

16 New Beginning - New Life - New Family

17 Our Wedding Arrangements

18 Family Life

19 Life at Harlescott Grange Church, Shrewsbury 1976-1984

20 My Chosen Career

21 Our Lives at Oadby, Leicestershire, 1984 onward

22 Reflective Thoughts and Hope for the Future

Part 1

Chapter 1 The Beginning. (1953)

He had left us earlier on. I could vaguely remember, comprehend, or accept why. There he was and then he was no longer there. How long would it be this time? There was no explanation at all. I was about 5 years of age at the time. I do remember there being a lot of comings and goings and then one early morning, whilst it was still dark, I can recall the devas and the smell of paraffin lamps being lit, the clinking of the pots and pans, the whispering, and then the aroma of food being prepared. I was half asleep, rubbing my eyes and then covering myself under the Rajai (quilt) as my face felt the chill of the new morn. It was quite a frosty morning as it does get quite cool during the night. I tried to keep warm without being too intrusive or inquisitive. They tried not to make too much noise so they would not wake up the neighbours. We, the children, were in the way, as we always were. We were not important at all and ignored most of the time. They had so many things to do and to think about. I had no idea what was going on, but I was becoming very inquisitive and my mind was racing from one thing to the other. Just what is going on? I bet the neighbours knew and probably the rest of the world knew but I, not at all. I could not sleep but pretended to be. However, I do remember my maternal grandmother, Dhano Kaur standing by the door, holding a deva lamp. There was a solemn expression on her face. She was looking rather gloomy and expressionless as if her world had fallen apart. It probably had but how was I to know. Even if I knew, I could not do anything about it anyway. Her face was covered with wrinkles and her cheeks were covered in crevices and folds, which were partly reflected by the glow of the flickering flame of the divas. This could only be from the stress and worry about her family’s circumstances, especially about her one and only daughter, my mother, Swaran Kaur. She had every right to worry about it. There were lots of uncertainties about what was going on. Would it work out alright or not? Would we ever see him again? Would he make it? As the activities of the early morning died down, it all went very quiet and we all went to bed again as if nothing had happened. How the rest of his journey went, I have no idea. This was the last time I saw my father until we as a family came from India to join him on 4th April 1960 on a dark and bitterly cold night. This was indeed a new beginning for us as a family into the unknown.

Chapter 2 My Paternal family

My father, Kishan Singh Kalu was the second eldest of three brothers and one sister. He married Swaran Kaur Raju in 1936 when my mother was just 14 years of age. He was born and bred in a very small village in Soos, which we pronounced as Susa, a short distance away from Hoshiarpur city in Punjab. My memory goes back to one of our very rare family visits to this village. I must have been around seven years of age at the time. Travelling between Hoshiarpur and Susa was not just difficult, but it was virtually impossible using any mode of transport. The only public transport, a bus, travelled to the outskirts of the main outlying villages and from there we had to hire a tractor or a Tonga (horse and carriage) to the outskirts of Susa. We then rolled up the bottoms of our pyjama suits to avoid them being either wrapped or torn by various obstacles on the muddy footpath or the edges of the fields or grass reeds and barks as we walked the rest. It was even more difficult if it happened to be the rainy season. The path had been well-trodden and the barley and maize fields had been parted to make a path. This was the only way of getting to Susa. There was no tarmac road to the village or even a good mud track for the last few miles. If you wanted to get to the village, the only way to get there was to walk across the edges of numerous fields, that is if you knew the way. I remember the fields being lush and green, growing sugar cane, corn on the cob, barley and wheat, and other such crops. There was field after field yielding the harvest which had to be crisscrossed, as well as the odd stream to jump over depending upon the season. On the way to Susa, we had to go past wooded areas some containing large oak trees, walnut trees, plum trees, and others. We were quite young at the time and we were told of a naked man who lived in these woods. He was like a giant and had a long bushy grey beard and long grey matted hair. The stench heaving from his body would mark the spot. He never washed and he lived amongst the animals. At times, he would yell making deep crying distressed noises, especially during the night. He was considered demon-possessed and had no contact with the outside world. We were warned never to approach these woods because something awful would happen to us. He could kill us if we came into contact with him. As we walked past these woods, my heart would pound and beat faster and faster as if I had been running a marathon. I would be very vigilant as we walked as a family along the edges of the fields adjacent to these woods and I ensured that I stayed close with the others. I could not wait to go past these woods.

Susa, my Dad’s village was quite a small and poverty-stricken village with most of the people trying to make a meager living out of farming. All they had was a bucket and a kahi, (a small spade used for digging the field). As we approached the village we could see and hear numerous dogs barking at us because we were strangers. As we approached the neighbourhood, we were greeted by a large herd of goats. As they came towards us, we tried to avoid them like the plague because we did not want to get our clothes any dirtier than they already were from walking across the fields to get to the village. Our shoes were plastered in mud and we would not be able to tell the original colour of what we were wearing. Although we were not wearing socks, we would avoid sliding from side to side in the mud to avoid further embarrassment of our already dirty clothes.

My memories of that visit are quite vivid. As I approached the house I saw few men sitting outside and I remember one of them walking past us with no top on, just a dhoti, (a loin cloth) having a long dirty, bushy, white beard, and using a lathi, which is, a long walking stick used as a support. I can still picture us approaching the house. As we got nearer, we realised my paternal grandmother and few members of her family were expecting us. They knew we had arrived because the word had spread that we were approaching the house. This is the house where my father was born and their family mud house stood on the edge of the village. I remember visiting the village about twice before coming to England. As we approached the house, we saw a very small boundary wall about three feet high which was made of mud and straw around the house. It was barely able to support itself because it was crumbling away bit by bit. They say that mud sticks, but I can assure you, this mud didn’t. I was not familiar with the surroundings of the house or with any of the area. There was no one else that I knew. Being there was very strange. We were not allowed to go out by ourselves even if we wanted to. I don’t even recall there being a grocery or a sweet shop but there must have been one or two. This mud house also had a small open courtyard and in it, I do remember there being a small cooking area where the chulla, (clay fire pit) stood. The floor had a covering of clay and the walls of the house were made of clay and straw. This house had two very small, dingy, dark rooms. It was like entering into a cave. It was dark inside with no outside light beaming in. It seemed very strange as you entered the rooms because you had to wait for your eyes to adjust to the darkness. Both of the rooms had a bed with linen on it.

This house was occupied by my paternal grandmother and one of my young cousins. He was about ten or eleven years of age at that time and he was the carer who looked after her. Apart from the manja (bed) and the torn dirty bed linen, the rooms were bare. I could see no other clothes or items of furniture or any personal belongings. There was nothing for us, the children, to do except to sit there and entertain ourselves. I don’t remember much about the village, the people, the neighbours or any landmarks. It was boring beyond imagination and it seemed to me that time had stood still. Being there, we had no one else to interact with except our own family who was not a great deal of fun. The time in the village seemed never-ending, waiting an eternity for anything to happen. Sadly, most of the time nothing happened. There was no excitement in our lives. I can picture my paternal grandmother sitting there on a fatta, which is a small foot stool. As soon as we entered the house, all of us had to perform the usual customary cultural greetings. All of the children had to get on their hands and knees and bow down to the older members of the family. We had to touch their feet with our hands and then touch our forehead with the same hand. This was a way of showing respect to our elders. However, as children, we had to bow down to them on all four in front of them. This was quite an embarrassing and tedious chore. There was no choice or you get a reputation for stubbornness and for causing further embarrassment to the family.

I cannot recall my paternal grandmother’s name or her age except that she looked as if she was getting on a bit by now. I suppose she must have been about the same age as my maternal grandmother but she looked much older and frailer. Her head was shaking all the time and she had this tremor in her hands. Of course, as children, we didn’t know at the time what it was or its effects. We had no diagnosis and it is very unlikely that she would have seen a doctor about it. There were no doctors in the village and if there were, they would not have been qualified enough to diagnose this type of condition, and most of all, she would not be able to afford even the consultation never mind any medication.

My paternal grandmother later went to live in Amritsar, the home of the Golden Temple and my Chacha, my Dad’s younger brother. She was there for a short time and then she went to live in Pathiana with her daughter. This is where she was living the last time I saw her but since then she has died. I had no idea of her age when she died. I last saw her in 1990 during my visit with my brother to India. I am certain that she did not know who we were. There was hardly any conversation exchanged between us either way. She looked so frail and she was shaking uncontrollably. We spent about ten minutes with her. As there was no communication between us, all we could do was to stand there and gaze at her feeling totally helpless. We had some difficulty finding her place but she was living very near the other members of her family, our cousins, whom we did not know. This was the first time that we had met our paternal cousins. We felt disheartened because our flesh and blood had no idea who we were or why had we come. She just sat there in that little dingy and dismal place, with no mental stimulation and not a great deal of interaction with the other members of her family or the community. She had several grand and great-grandchildren and maybe even great, great-grandchildren but she appeared to be a lifeless lonely figure, who was just watching and waiting but didn’t know for what or when. She was in a sad state at least from our perspective. There was no daycare but just care in the community, by the immediate family who took care of her physical necessities. This was normal life for a person with that type of illness. We spent few minutes with our other cousins whom we had never seen before as it was courteous to see and spend a little with them out of duty. They were strangers to us and had no guarantee that they wanted to see us except out of curiosity and family duty. Whilst there, they took us to their house but not inside as it was a beautiful hot day. They took us to the top of the house via a set of external stairs to the flat roof top and showed us different parts of the village. After about half an hour we did our formalities, gave them a few rupees, and left as was customary. There was no customary hospitality from them to decline considering we had travelled several miles in the heat of the day to make this journey to see our paternal grandmother. On the other hand, they were not expecting us as we just dropped in on them. Hospitality was the least of our concerns. That was our last visit to Pathiana or to any other paternal members of our family. It is quite difficult to socialize when you live thousands of miles away and you only have a limited time and not a great deal in common because they are strangers to us.

Following this visit, I was fairly sure that that this would be the last time, I would see my paternal grandmother. There should have been a great deal of sadness in my heart at leaving her but although it was there, it was not immense. This is someone I do not remember a great deal, nor had much to do with. I do not remember being held by her or her being someone who took any interest in my affairs or laughed and joked with me as a young child. There was no interaction between us because we did not have regular contact with her. Even when I visited Soos, there was not a great deal of interest from her toward us. She was just a family figure who happened to be our paternal grandmother.

My Dad had two brothers, one younger and one older, as well as an older sister, and they all lived in Amritsar, the home of the Golden Temple. The younger brother was Kehar Singh Kalu. As I recall, he had an office job. He was a smart, well-dressed, and affluent man. He was of medium height and build and he would go to work on his bike as did the majority of the people in those days. He wore a deep blue turban around his head which was evenly wound and knotted. This identified him as belonging to the Sikh religion. Often he would wear a thathi (cloth) around his chin to cover his beard. He would wrap the thathi very tight and then finish off by twirling the end of his mustache like the end of a shuttle and let that stick out. This was a symbol of his power and authority. It made him look good and gave him the status that he commanded. His first wife died before I was ten years old. I don’t remember her at all but I do remember his second wife. We had to call her chachee as she was the wife of my father’s younger brother. She was also a widow and she had one daughter and an older son from her previous marriage. I cannot recall her name, however, I do remember visiting Amritsar on several occasions and spending few days there and enjoying her cooking.

Both my Chacha and Chachee (my father’s younger brother and his wife) lived in a small compact government terrace block apartment. The accommodation just consisted of a small lounge which also doubled up as a bedroom and the rear of the apartment was open with no roof and was used as a kitchen. There were no toilets in the apartment although this was nothing unusual. The complex had a block of toilets outside which were about 30 yards away from where my uncle lived. There were two latrine blocks, one for males and the other for females with holes in the ground and a small water tap about ten inches up from the floor. The stench coming from these toilets was unbearable and continued to get worse as time went by and the temperature increased during the day. If you were a visitor, you didn’t have to ask where the latrines were, you just had to follow your nose. These toilets were shared by the whole complex. Although these toilets were awful, I have been to worse ones in France whilst holidaying there.

I cannot recall the sleeping arrangements where I slept in that house but I must have done. Chachee’s daughter, who I met for the first time was of similar age and did not permanently live with them in Amritsar but I do remember seeing her when she came to stay in Amritsar at the same time as I was staying. She was a lovely girl and very kind. I recall playing with her. The house had electricity which would go on and off for no apparent reason. As I mentioned earlier, our family was poor but the family in Amritsar were making a reasonable living. To keep the cost of their electricity down they would bypass the meter. The whole wiring system was in a tangle. Chacha connected additional wires to the input wires before they entered the meter to draw electricity which they would use to power their house. They had to remember to remove these wires before letting in the electric meter reader, otherwise, their misdeed would be discovered. As Chacha was out at work all day, it was Chachee’s responsibility to disconnect these wires. Whilst there I do remember the meter reader man coming and Chachee didn’t have time to remove these wires. I am not sure what happened about this afterward.

Chacha would visit Mum in Jandiala, our village, from time to time, and on each visit, he would come to ask for money. He thought we were well off as my father was in England and therefore, he would be making a good living which indeed was not the case. My father would send the money from the UK to Mum for the family every month and it would be just under 100 rupees. Although the money was sent to Mum it was always Mama (uncle) who would sign for it and the odd few pasas of change would be given to the postman as a tip for delivering the money. Every time Chacha came, he returned with money even if Mum had to borrow it from others and then later pay it back. Later Chacha started his own business in the textile industry. He wrote to Dad in England who sent him money on numerous occasions but it would never be enough as he always wanted more. Whatever the family circumstances were at that time, I immensely enjoyed my stay with my Chacha and Chachee. They looked after me well and I do not recall them mistreating me in any way. It was quality time. Staying with them was a happy time and I always looked forward to the next visit which was always during the school vacation.

During one of my stays in Amritsar, I must have been about ten years old at the time and it was Diwali day (Festival of Light Celebration day throughout India). This was an annual event. For some reason unknown to me, I had to return immediately home to Jandiala. I had no idea what that was about and I still don’t know to this day. It was the morning and I do recall my Chacha taking me to the railway station on his bike and buying a train ticket, giving me 10 rupees to give to my Mum, and then putting me on the train. I travelled alone to Jandiala from Amritsar about sixty miles. He would have no idea if I had arrived in Jandiala or not. I had never travelled alone on a train previously. I had to change trains in Jalandhar including the platform and then catch the train to Jandiala and then get off at the local railway station. The train station was about a mile or a mile and a half from the village. I recall getting off the train and then walking home across the fields, cutting across the sugar cane fields which were much taller than I. It was quite confusing and disorientating being in the field. I aimed in the direction I wanted to go but where I ended up was completely different. I knew my way around the village, so reaching home was not a problem. On reaching home, I gave the ten rupees to Mum who was surprised at receiving the money and she was so grateful saying, she didn’t have any money for food or Diwali celebrations. As evening approached, the whole village was being lit with divas. The divas were filled with rape seed oil and the wicks were made by rolling cotton wool in your hands and then placing them in the diva. You had to make sure that the wicks were immersed in oil before being lit. All these divas were placed on the window ledges, roof ledges, on the walls, and where ever you could find a space for them. There were thousands of these being lit in the village. To celebrate Diwali, we would dress in our best clothes, have nice food and eat plenty of Indian sweets. These were the highlights. Also during Diwali, I remember a small fair coming to the village consisting of small rides propelled by boys and men. The music was loud and the whole of the village would hear it, there was no escape. It was quite a novelty as we did not hear much music except on the odd occasion, which would be on special occasions such as when a wedding took place in the village, or some entertainer passing through. Hardly anybody had a radio in the village, so we had to rely on these special occasions. It was a great time for us, the children and we always looked forward to it.

My eldest paternal uncle, whom we called Thaia and his wife Thaiee, also lived in Amritsar about ten minutes walk away from my uncle Kehar Singh. His name was Mahiaa Singh Kalu but I can’t remember Thaiee’s name. They also occupied a government apartment which was not that big. Travelling between the two apartments was the main railway line where the trains frequently passed. On numerous occasions, while travelling between these locations with one of my cousins, we played on these railway lines. They had steam-powered trains at the time. We used to put a Pesa (penny) on the railway lines and then wait for the train to go over it. Once the train has gone over the penny, then we would try to find the penny and then see how much it had been flattened and stretched. These were nice days to remember as it brings back many happy memories. I don’t remember a great deal about Thaia and Thaiee, but I think they had four children and three of them were boys. I did not have a great deal of contact with them and I only saw them when I visited Amritsar and whilst there, I always stayed with Chacha and Chachee. As a family, we did not have a great deal of contact due to the distance. Amritsar is about sixty miles away from Jandiala, so we only visited each other if there was a particular reason such as a wedding, death, etc. As far as I know, Thaia and Thaiee or any other members of their family ever coming to our village to visit us. Come to think of it, there was never any reason for my mother to visit Amritsar. Life was dull and dreary for every member of our family. Travelling costs money and none of us had it. On our first return visit to India in 1980, we did not visit Amritsar. I have no idea why this was the case. It was probably that all contact had been broken and the immediate family members had died. Also, it is the responsibility of the other family members to come and visit you, rather than the other way round. For whatever reason, during our first visit to India with Mum, I do not recall visiting the family in Amritsar.

Chapter 3 My Early Years in India

I am the second eldest of seven children. Satvant Singh is the eldest, who is two and a half years older than I am and Gurnam Singh is seven years younger. Parminder Kaur and Baljinder Kaur were my younger sisters in India. Since coming to the UK, Satvinder Kaur and Jaswinder Kaur were born. Although we the children were in compact living conditions in the same house in India, we did not have a great deal to do with each other, and even if we did then my memory is letting me down.

As far as I am aware, Soos, near Hoshiarpur, Punjab, was the home of my paternal family, but I do not recall any memories of living there. I must have been very young living in that unreachable, isolated village. Having been born into the Sikh family, many religious ceremonies had to be performed. These could be either a full ceremony or a part ceremony. As to which one would have been performed at my birth, I have no idea and I suppose it did not matter. The parents of the child decide whether it would be a part ceremony or a full ceremony but most of the time it depends upon the financial position of the family and if the family wants to show off their wealthy position to the community, then it would be a full ceremony. Therefore, in our family, I suppose for most of us, if not all of us, we would have had a part ceremony. As a child, I attended one of these children naming ceremonies in Jandiala and this I can bring back to my memory. In this particular case, they set up the Gurdwara in the home of the parents. The parents would ask a Sant (a Sikh Priest), who would advise them on the ceremony and on the money to be paid for performing the ceremony. If it was to be a full ceremony, the whole of the Guru Granth Sahib, the Sikh Holy Book, would be read and that would take about a week for the complete ceremony to be performed. The Guru Granth Sahib would be read from cover to cover by several Sants who would take it in turns to read. Then, once it has been decided on the type of ceremony and where it is to be held, including the times, it would then take place. The family would decide on which day and time they would like to conclude the ceremony and then the timing would be calculated backward. I am assuming that one of these ceremonies would have taken place for all of us. During the concluding part of the ceremony, the Sant would close the Holy Book and then reopens it again, and then without looking, he would place his finger randomly at a word in the Holy Book. The first letter of that word would be used to name the child. In my case, it would have been J’s equivalent in Punjabi, as my given name was Jagir. This was then shortened to Gogi which became my nickname. The ceremony would then be followed by food and celebration.

Within the Indian culture, boys hold a higher status than girls. Boys are strong and they can do hard manual work on the farms. Families will do all they can to educate the boys because they will become wage earners. They will support the family financially. On the other hand, girls are seen as inferior because they will require a wedding dowry which can be a great burden for the families. They will leave the family home following their wedding.