Readers' Forum
Warm and openhearted
As a child in the mid 1950s I would observe Parsis from my window in Dhanraj Mahal stepping out in style for some important community function; the ladies wearing gauzy saris in pastel shades with richly embroidered borders and their spouses in traditional Parsi attire.
I loved watching them in conversation, their animated faces expressing a range of emotions from consternation to outright merriment, with not a care if anybody heard their hearty laughter. Nor were they bothered about the whirl of people brushing past them on the pavement edging the Army and Navy Stores. When I walked home from school I would watch them praying, entering the majestic fire temple close to Flora Fountain.
I often noticed that when the rest of the world was intimidated by the taxis and buses plying on the busy streets, never were elderly Parsi couples fazed by the double-decker buses just inches away from them as they gingerly threaded their way through busy intersections. They were totally unruffled by the surge of traffic! The buses stopped for them; a salute to their dignified march!
Some of my best friends in school were Parsis: Shirin Majai, Tina Vakil, Firozee Vakil, Meher Choksi, Meher Heeramaneck, Persis Patel. Each of them had some endearing quality. Initially they were reserved when I joined St Joseph’s Convent, after my father was transferred to Bombay from Delhi. We were based in INS Hamla, a naval base in Malad. For them, Malad was the back of beyond, and they regarded me accordingly! But over time they thawed, grudgingly accepted me, and proved to be the warmest and most lovable friends I have ever had. When they were excited about something, they would lapse into Gujarati, and it was a treat watching them prove a point with their very expressive gestures. Woe upon anyone who butted into their lively debates!
During my college years in Delhi one of the best lecturers in Lady Shri Ram College was a Ms Commissariat. She handled drama, and what a joy it was watch her bring alive all the characters in The Winslow Boy and The Barretts of Wimpole Street. We wished that her classes would never end. RADHA NAIR
Poona
radha_1997@yahoo.com
I loved watching them in conversation, their animated faces expressing a range of emotions from consternation to outright merriment, with not a care if anybody heard their hearty laughter. Nor were they bothered about the whirl of people brushing past them on the pavement edging the Army and Navy Stores. When I walked home from school I would watch them praying, entering the majestic fire temple close to Flora Fountain.
I often noticed that when the rest of the world was intimidated by the taxis and buses plying on the busy streets, never were elderly Parsi couples fazed by the double-decker buses just inches away from them as they gingerly threaded their way through busy intersections. They were totally unruffled by the surge of traffic! The buses stopped for them; a salute to their dignified march!
Some of my best friends in school were Parsis: Shirin Majai, Tina Vakil, Firozee Vakil, Meher Choksi, Meher Heeramaneck, Persis Patel. Each of them had some endearing quality. Initially they were reserved when I joined St Joseph’s Convent, after my father was transferred to Bombay from Delhi. We were based in INS Hamla, a naval base in Malad. For them, Malad was the back of beyond, and they regarded me accordingly! But over time they thawed, grudgingly accepted me, and proved to be the warmest and most lovable friends I have ever had. When they were excited about something, they would lapse into Gujarati, and it was a treat watching them prove a point with their very expressive gestures. Woe upon anyone who butted into their lively debates!
During my college years in Delhi one of the best lecturers in Lady Shri Ram College was a Ms Commissariat. She handled drama, and what a joy it was watch her bring alive all the characters in The Winslow Boy and The Barretts of Wimpole Street. We wished that her classes would never end. RADHA NAIR
Poona
radha_1997@yahoo.com
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