September 03, 2002
Moving into a New Environment
I was appointed to the Programme Planning Officer's post in Addis Ababa in the beginning of 1981. I went ahead of the family towards the end of January. I flew to Addis from Bombay by Air-India [which then flew on to Nairobi]. As usual I asked for a window seat - it was an entrancing introduction to the country's varied topography, as the aircraft kept low enough most of the trip. As we crossed the Red Sea near the tip of the horn of Africa, past Djibouti, the south eastern deserts, the deep gorges of the rift Valley, and then the towering highlands as we neared Addis, etched the fascinating diversity and beauty of the country in my mind and soul.
The office had first put me up in the Ras hotel on Churchill road [ or was it Field Marshall Smuts road?] [I wondered about those names, and then was told that the allies were held in great esteem in the country due to their having liberated it in the 2nd world war from the six year Italian occupation. This accounted for one of the main roads being named 'field marshall jan smuts rd'! - In Africa!].
But I found it impossible to read by the dim light in the hotel room, and in a week or so, opted for the Ghion, which was slightly costlier, but much better appointed. Also it was in a garden while Ras was right on the main street; and Ghion had a swimming pool too. The cold weather and my lack of time prevented me from enjoying that enough [ Like all the hotel pools in Addis, however, this was heated naturally by the thermal springs that are found so often in the
Ethiopian highlands.
Popular misconceptions about weather in 'Tropical Africa' pictures it as hot, hotter, hottest. But most Of East Africa is highland, and the temperatures are mild to cold. Two-thirds of Ethiopia is high ranging from plateau to mountainous, with Addis being very hilly - 2,000 to 2,500 metres high - the equivalent of kodi or Ooty. As it is about 8* north of the equator, this makes for a near perfect sunny coolness. During the rains and in winter, however, it can be nearly as cold as Delhi.
13 months of sunshine
Now as to the ' Thirteen Months of Sunshine' that Ethiopian Airlines boasts of. The Ethiopian calendar has 12 months of 30 days each, starting with The Maskal festival on Sept. 12. The balance of 5
days becomes a last tiny month [Sept 7-11]! As for every month and every day in it being sunny, it is almost true. Even in the monsoon [the big rains - Jun-Aug] or the little rains [Feb.- Mar.], the sun peeps out for at least a few hours, and the air is gloriously fresh, and the leaves sparkling. Occasionally though, we used to tease the
Ethiopians: 'where is your famous thirteen months of sunshine?'
When it rained during the long or big rains, also, in December and January, my Colleague Samuel Olana would don his overcoat despite
getting teased by us. We did welcome the room heaters at those times But most of the year, Addis was cool enough in the shade to throw a light sweater or shawl over one's shoulders, and take it off when one went out in the sun. I perspired there only one year for a few days when the short rains were late in coming.
Posted by padmini at 09:21 AM
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Across the Ocean to a new life
The MPO with its various subsidiary plans of operations, and the State Plans turned out to be a massive tome. Actually, it was several tomes. The new RD, Dave Haxton, had a good idea – it needed a summary. So he called me in and said so. I agreed and he asked, “So, what about it?” I shot back, “So, what about it?” He blurted out, “You are the one to do it”
“no, way”, I had to retort. “ i am due to leave for my new assignment at the end of the month, and I have yet to help conduct the Goa planning workshop since I have committed myself to it. I have other loose ends to tie up too”.
He had to accept my stand, and we left the job to be done by Manu and my successor, Kamala who would be joining soon.
The Goa workshop was a good one with some more talent and capability surfacing among the support staff. It seemed a fitting end to our series of Planning workshops and to my tenure in Delhi UNICEF, as I had begun it with my recommendation to Grun to have a systematic training for senior support staff.
The last two weeks were spent in last minute shopping for my own needs and packing. And in last minute instructions to the household help, Saraswathi, who had replaced her sister, Sharada when the latter went to try her fortune in Kuwait. There were the children of course with so many questions, and I don't know what.
The flight to Addis was from Bombay, and I had some time before it took off. I went to see J.P.Naik who was sinking fast, lying on a hospital bed. [to recall what I recounted much earlier, it was JP who had given Irawathi Karve the grant for our study on the Social Aspect of Cooperatives in Maharashtra in 1967. Just a few years back, Satish and I had got UNICEF to support his and his wife, Chitra's, non-formal education project with some seed money.
This project was among shepherd children who never had been to school. Classes were held for them in the evenings in some cave or other shelter near the pastures. It had been very successful and a model for others to follow. J.P. remembered this with such gratitude that I was embarrassed. I could see he was sinking and so silently I bade him goodbye.
On the Air India plane to Addis the next morning, I alternately was absorbed in writing up the executive summary to the Situation Analysis that had so far not got done, and watching the unfolding scenery changes through the window. I had got an upgrade to business class, thanks to my brother-in-law, Sundara's position as a Director of Air India at that time.
What a treat the panorama unfolding itself under my eyes was! For some reason, the flight was throughout at an altitude low enough for me to see the entire landscape. Also the flight path was via rather north-eastward over Pakistan and then the Arabian peninsula before turning towards Ethiopia slightly south-westward. So after stretches of sandy dunes and plains that had specks of the oases, and the thin ribbon of more hilly Yemen, we were over the Red Sea, and most fascinating of all, the bleak desert of Dankil, bordered by the sharp ravines of the Rift valley. Suddenly, the land was all green hills and plateaux, and as we touched Addis, it was still the same.
The morning air was fresh and crisp. As I walked to the terminal building, I felt a bit insecure - a new life was beginning and I knew only Manzoor, and him too only slightly. But even as I was about to pass through Immigration, a man in some kind of uniform, like a chauffeur or guard, took charge of me and everything else in a friendly way that put me entirely at ease. Thus I got my introduction to Dagne Helawi, UNICEF Addis's chief driver and protocol man, who, once later, Wendy, then Admin officer, suggested be sent to all formal functions we 'officers' did not want to , or could not easily manage to attend, since so long as this impressively dignified man did not engage in any serious conversation, no one would be the wiser!
“no, way”, I had to retort. “ i am due to leave for my new assignment at the end of the month, and I have yet to help conduct the Goa planning workshop since I have committed myself to it. I have other loose ends to tie up too”.
He had to accept my stand, and we left the job to be done by Manu and my successor, Kamala who would be joining soon.
The Goa workshop was a good one with some more talent and capability surfacing among the support staff. It seemed a fitting end to our series of Planning workshops and to my tenure in Delhi UNICEF, as I had begun it with my recommendation to Grun to have a systematic training for senior support staff.
The last two weeks were spent in last minute shopping for my own needs and packing. And in last minute instructions to the household help, Saraswathi, who had replaced her sister, Sharada when the latter went to try her fortune in Kuwait. There were the children of course with so many questions, and I don't know what.
The flight to Addis was from Bombay, and I had some time before it took off. I went to see J.P.Naik who was sinking fast, lying on a hospital bed. [to recall what I recounted much earlier, it was JP who had given Irawathi Karve the grant for our study on the Social Aspect of Cooperatives in Maharashtra in 1967. Just a few years back, Satish and I had got UNICEF to support his and his wife, Chitra's, non-formal education project with some seed money.
This project was among shepherd children who never had been to school. Classes were held for them in the evenings in some cave or other shelter near the pastures. It had been very successful and a model for others to follow. J.P. remembered this with such gratitude that I was embarrassed. I could see he was sinking and so silently I bade him goodbye.
On the Air India plane to Addis the next morning, I alternately was absorbed in writing up the executive summary to the Situation Analysis that had so far not got done, and watching the unfolding scenery changes through the window. I had got an upgrade to business class, thanks to my brother-in-law, Sundara's position as a Director of Air India at that time.
What a treat the panorama unfolding itself under my eyes was! For some reason, the flight was throughout at an altitude low enough for me to see the entire landscape. Also the flight path was via rather north-eastward over Pakistan and then the Arabian peninsula before turning towards Ethiopia slightly south-westward. So after stretches of sandy dunes and plains that had specks of the oases, and the thin ribbon of more hilly Yemen, we were over the Red Sea, and most fascinating of all, the bleak desert of Dankil, bordered by the sharp ravines of the Rift valley. Suddenly, the land was all green hills and plateaux, and as we touched Addis, it was still the same.
The morning air was fresh and crisp. As I walked to the terminal building, I felt a bit insecure - a new life was beginning and I knew only Manzoor, and him too only slightly. But even as I was about to pass through Immigration, a man in some kind of uniform, like a chauffeur or guard, took charge of me and everything else in a friendly way that put me entirely at ease. Thus I got my introduction to Dagne Helawi, UNICEF Addis's chief driver and protocol man, who, once later, Wendy, then Admin officer, suggested be sent to all formal functions we 'officers' did not want to , or could not easily manage to attend, since so long as this impressively dignified man did not engage in any serious conversation, no one would be the wiser!
Monday, December 7, 2009
The New Decade
The then UNICEF programme preparation timetable was that about two years before the start of a new country programme, preparations would start with an elaborate system of discussions with various ministries and other bodies, internal consultations and an official preview with the Govt. and UNICEF HQ and concerned office participation. At this time the draft Master Plan of Operations[MPO] for the full programme period, with subsidiary plans of operations for each sectoral programme would be discussed for several days or even weeks. Due to the format and other requirements, from this stage on, the work was mainly done in UNICEF though the relevant Ministry or Department had to okay the final versions. The draft document was then followed by some revisions and the final drafting of the various documents with the addition of an outline plan of action [first year more detailed than the others] and the financial scheduling with major supply and cash flows sketched out.
Finally this document, that was actually supposed to be Government's own, was submitted to the UNICEF Executive Board that used to meet in April each year for its approval. Usually, unless there are major flaws in the programme, the approval was more a routine though the Board discussion can be sometimes very lively. By this time, the old programme has come to an end and the new one swings into operation at once.
Let me come back to the actual process we went through in '79-80. While the various sectoral departments in UNICEF worked closely with their government counterparts during the entire process, the onus of putting the chapters together and ensuring all the requirements for a MPO were in place fell upon the Planning Section. Naturally, I was more than busy all along. All the more so, since the Chief of the Planning Section, Satish Prabasi was traveling most of the time – to the other countries in our region, chiefly, Bhutan. The reason for such a lot of travel for him was that the Bhutan programme was new, and he had full responsibility for it.
One of the documents that the Government had to prepare during a new Country Programme was a Situation Analysis of Children in the country. However, few governments seemed able to do this, and some, as in India, were loth to take up the task. So it fell, here again, to UNICEF, meaning me! I put in all I had, and gathered whatever data and analyses I could get, into this document and the result showed. At the country programme preview, Glan Davies, the outgoing Regional Director was glowing with praise for the document. He suggested UNICEF should publish it with me as the author. But David Haxton, the incoming RD, who had been invited to the meeting, strongly disagreed on the grounds that all documents published by UNICEF should only be in its name.
Years later, when I saw more than one document or book that UNICEF published in the names of other staff members, I reflected wryly on this incident. Once the preview was over, the task of drafting and finalising the detailed master Plan of Operations that described the overall five year programme that the Government and UNICEF had agreed upon fell upon the Planning Section. Basically, this turned to be me with the help of a new addition to the section, Dr. Manu Kulkarni, and a consultant from the National Institute of Health Education, Dr. Kamala Gopala Rao, who worked with the various state offices to produce State Plans of Operations.
It was around this time that I got three offers for international positing as Planning Officer in the Cairo, Colombo and Addis Ababa offices. This bonanza took my breath away. How was I going to choose? I discussed with Ramu at home, but he too could not help us arrive at any decision among the three. Next day, I mentioned this dilemma to Sarojini who then revealed that she had an offer too from Colombo. The offers were couched in language that suggested that the representative there was sending feelers to more than one potential staff member and then he was going to select – like would she [or I in my case] be interested in being considered.
Sarojini came back to me later the same day, saying she had accepted the offer! I was a bit taken aback by her sudden decision but then i realised that she had had only that one offer and she could not afford to take chances, having waited for more than a year to get away from a difficult personal situation. Well, that still left me two choices.
I placed my quandry before Satish Prabasi. Quick came his retort: “Are you serious about there being a choice? There is no comparison – Egypt is a much smaller and less challenging country programme than Ethiopia; Addis is a nicer place than Cairo, being at a height; but most important is that the Rep in Addis is Manzoor Ahmed and to work with him would definitely be rewarding!”
This was enough to make up my mind, but before I could tell my RD my choice, Manzoor himself came to Delhi for a meeting on Education [Manzoor was well-known for his co-authoring a landmark book on Non-formal Education with Phillip Coombs].We took to each other instantly and I felt even more at ease with the idea of going to Addis.
Ramu and I had decided long back that if one of us got a good posting anywhere, the other spouse and children would accompany him/her and take a chance either in the development field or the academic world or do some writing. When I asked Manzoor about the chances of Ramu getting some suitable job inAddis and the children a good education, he assured me that with Ramu's experience, there would be some UN job. In fact, there were two openings in UNDP and another UN organisation and Ramu promptly applied for them.
Manzoor suggested that we put the children in the International Community School run on the American system as it had the International Baccalaureate programme, which meant that they could easily transfer to another such school in another duty station while the British School, according to him, was not so good nor equivalents found in many places either.
It was agreed that my transfer would be in the beginning of the next year, with the new country programme submission to HQ behind the office.
One day soon after, Ramu announced that he wanted to resign from his post of Finance Director of the State Trading Corporation, the biggest public sector company in India. I was stunned. We still had quite a few months to go before we left India, and I was to go ahead in January while the children's school year was to end only in March. But he would not explain why he was in such a hurry.
My unease at this sudden decision was more than matched by Manzoor's who protested that it would be easier for Ramu to command good positions if he was in this prestigious post rather than jobless. But it was done and only years later, I learnt that he had had enough of the pressures from the Ministers to cut corners, do their bidding against the rules and allow them to dole out patronage, not to mention quite a bit of corruption. Since he consistently refused to oblige, things had come to boiling point. Apparently what he said after advising the right course of action in vain, was 'O.K. Please put your order in writing and I will do it'. Naturally they could not [would not] do this.
Once again at the end of the year, there was a global UNICEF meet, this time at Mohawk, where our still new Executive Director, Grant, launched his GOBI initiative. The acronym stands for Growth Charts, Oral Rehydration Therapy, Breast-feeding and Immunisation. Of course, the Delhi crowd would make fun of this since 'Gobi' was Hindi for cabbage. This time, Manzoor was also there and we occasionally talked about the Ethiopian country programme.
Well, soon enough, I would be there and we would be working together. It was good we had already got to know each other and that on many issues, we saw eye to eye.
Finally this document, that was actually supposed to be Government's own, was submitted to the UNICEF Executive Board that used to meet in April each year for its approval. Usually, unless there are major flaws in the programme, the approval was more a routine though the Board discussion can be sometimes very lively. By this time, the old programme has come to an end and the new one swings into operation at once.
Let me come back to the actual process we went through in '79-80. While the various sectoral departments in UNICEF worked closely with their government counterparts during the entire process, the onus of putting the chapters together and ensuring all the requirements for a MPO were in place fell upon the Planning Section. Naturally, I was more than busy all along. All the more so, since the Chief of the Planning Section, Satish Prabasi was traveling most of the time – to the other countries in our region, chiefly, Bhutan. The reason for such a lot of travel for him was that the Bhutan programme was new, and he had full responsibility for it.
One of the documents that the Government had to prepare during a new Country Programme was a Situation Analysis of Children in the country. However, few governments seemed able to do this, and some, as in India, were loth to take up the task. So it fell, here again, to UNICEF, meaning me! I put in all I had, and gathered whatever data and analyses I could get, into this document and the result showed. At the country programme preview, Glan Davies, the outgoing Regional Director was glowing with praise for the document. He suggested UNICEF should publish it with me as the author. But David Haxton, the incoming RD, who had been invited to the meeting, strongly disagreed on the grounds that all documents published by UNICEF should only be in its name.
Years later, when I saw more than one document or book that UNICEF published in the names of other staff members, I reflected wryly on this incident. Once the preview was over, the task of drafting and finalising the detailed master Plan of Operations that described the overall five year programme that the Government and UNICEF had agreed upon fell upon the Planning Section. Basically, this turned to be me with the help of a new addition to the section, Dr. Manu Kulkarni, and a consultant from the National Institute of Health Education, Dr. Kamala Gopala Rao, who worked with the various state offices to produce State Plans of Operations.
It was around this time that I got three offers for international positing as Planning Officer in the Cairo, Colombo and Addis Ababa offices. This bonanza took my breath away. How was I going to choose? I discussed with Ramu at home, but he too could not help us arrive at any decision among the three. Next day, I mentioned this dilemma to Sarojini who then revealed that she had an offer too from Colombo. The offers were couched in language that suggested that the representative there was sending feelers to more than one potential staff member and then he was going to select – like would she [or I in my case] be interested in being considered.
Sarojini came back to me later the same day, saying she had accepted the offer! I was a bit taken aback by her sudden decision but then i realised that she had had only that one offer and she could not afford to take chances, having waited for more than a year to get away from a difficult personal situation. Well, that still left me two choices.
I placed my quandry before Satish Prabasi. Quick came his retort: “Are you serious about there being a choice? There is no comparison – Egypt is a much smaller and less challenging country programme than Ethiopia; Addis is a nicer place than Cairo, being at a height; but most important is that the Rep in Addis is Manzoor Ahmed and to work with him would definitely be rewarding!”
This was enough to make up my mind, but before I could tell my RD my choice, Manzoor himself came to Delhi for a meeting on Education [Manzoor was well-known for his co-authoring a landmark book on Non-formal Education with Phillip Coombs].We took to each other instantly and I felt even more at ease with the idea of going to Addis.
Ramu and I had decided long back that if one of us got a good posting anywhere, the other spouse and children would accompany him/her and take a chance either in the development field or the academic world or do some writing. When I asked Manzoor about the chances of Ramu getting some suitable job inAddis and the children a good education, he assured me that with Ramu's experience, there would be some UN job. In fact, there were two openings in UNDP and another UN organisation and Ramu promptly applied for them.
Manzoor suggested that we put the children in the International Community School run on the American system as it had the International Baccalaureate programme, which meant that they could easily transfer to another such school in another duty station while the British School, according to him, was not so good nor equivalents found in many places either.
It was agreed that my transfer would be in the beginning of the next year, with the new country programme submission to HQ behind the office.
One day soon after, Ramu announced that he wanted to resign from his post of Finance Director of the State Trading Corporation, the biggest public sector company in India. I was stunned. We still had quite a few months to go before we left India, and I was to go ahead in January while the children's school year was to end only in March. But he would not explain why he was in such a hurry.
My unease at this sudden decision was more than matched by Manzoor's who protested that it would be easier for Ramu to command good positions if he was in this prestigious post rather than jobless. But it was done and only years later, I learnt that he had had enough of the pressures from the Ministers to cut corners, do their bidding against the rules and allow them to dole out patronage, not to mention quite a bit of corruption. Since he consistently refused to oblige, things had come to boiling point. Apparently what he said after advising the right course of action in vain, was 'O.K. Please put your order in writing and I will do it'. Naturally they could not [would not] do this.
Once again at the end of the year, there was a global UNICEF meet, this time at Mohawk, where our still new Executive Director, Grant, launched his GOBI initiative. The acronym stands for Growth Charts, Oral Rehydration Therapy, Breast-feeding and Immunisation. Of course, the Delhi crowd would make fun of this since 'Gobi' was Hindi for cabbage. This time, Manzoor was also there and we occasionally talked about the Ethiopian country programme.
Well, soon enough, I would be there and we would be working together. It was good we had already got to know each other and that on many issues, we saw eye to eye.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
The Turn of the Decade
With the New Year come not only resolutions but reflections too on the year that was. The new year's day in '79 was not a pleasant one for me to indulge in such reflections, and indeed, to even look forward to the year just born, with any confidence.
However, daily life went on – the kids, office, home, and friends. The major preoccupation was the International Year of the Child that the UN had decided to observe that year. Being one of the two focal points in the ROSA office for the Year, I had, along with Razia Ismail, the Communication & Information Officer and the other focal point, a lot of meetings and discussions on policies and programmes to commemorate the Year. I also got into discussions on advocacy, a new area for me. Three incidents related to this work stand out in my memory .
The two of us had gone to the Jt. Secretary, Women and child Welfare Dept. to discuss some issues. As we stood before him, he looked theatrically above and beyond us and exclaimed pointedly, ' Oh, there is no Sr. Officer who has come from UNICEF for this meeting?'
Razia, always the quicker-witted one, riposted, “Mr. R., if you quickly look back and forth from Padmini to me and back again, you will see one Senior Officer between us two!”
We had quite a different experience with Dr.Vidyasagar, then Tribal Commissioner, Madhya Pradesh [a state with probably the largest tribal population in the country] when we met at his request. He first just said he wanted UNICEF assistance for the tribals, who were the most vulnerable sections of Indian society. As we began apologetically to explain that we were long on interest but short on funds, he abruptly intervened, “ I am not interested in your funds; I have plenty. I want UNICEF involved only for two reasons. You can help us sharpen our programming and bring in rigour into our planning and monitoring. And, if it is known that an international agency like UNICEF is involved, my own officers will be more on their toes”.
We did work on ideas with him, but finally nothing saw the light of day due to some bureaucratic holdups at the Centre.
During this meeting, he also referred to the controversy that raged and still does about the role of Christian missionaries in tribal areas. “I am not worried. So they most surely are proselytising in many cases. But then what have we Hindus done for the tribals all these centuries? What right do we have to take umbrage at either the missionaries who at least give them education, health and a better chance in life, or the tribals for being lured with these or even material gains into converting?”
Not politically correct then, or even now. But looking at events since then too, the exploitation of tribals goes on by both unscrupulous traders and moneylenders and by political parties, unless in some areas it is benign neglect in the name of protection by the State. On the other hand, neither the tribals nor the others who convert from the lowest rungs among the Hindus seem to have shed the stigma of their old caste or untouchability for the irony is that even the Christians and Muslims in India observe these distinctions and barriers in marriage, eating and social intercourse. As for the Neo-Buddhists, they are not recognised as just Buddhists as for example, the Tibetan Buddhists are, but as a separate group [and lowly in the eyes of the traditional Hindu].
IYC brought up among many civil society groups and in UNICEF the saying “India is a poor country with many rich people”. Razia and I had launched some initiatives based on this idea. In Rajasthan, we had some success in convincing the government to encourage donations by the rich Marwaris, a community of traders who are usually very well- off, to build rural schools, health centres and anganwadi centres, the payoff for them being that the facilities would be in their names.
Another move was to have run-down urban parks and playgrounds developed by better-off communities and rich people, into child-friendly ones by clearing and installing some simple play equipment. Further, we tried to get NGOs to provide simple health checkups, aid and counseling to the street children and other poor kids who might need them. As far as I know, this did not take off.
If I recall correctly, this was the year when the region had a regional mid-decade review of the UN decade of Women and Development in Kathmandu. It was a very interesting meet, my first regional event. Apart from the animated meetings themselves, the visit was memorable for the delicately lovely temple and palace towns of Bhatkapur and Patan. but the most thrilling experience was the Mountain Flight along the Himalayan range. This was courtesy our hosts. I went from left window to right window, clicking away as the pilot or steward announced one peak's name after the other – the famous ones, Kanchenganga, K2, Annapoorna, the great Everest too. But, sadly, when i printed out the photos, I could not make out one from the other! still the memory was great and photos not bad.
There were other national and regional events and in one of them I got a lovely hanging with the IYC logo, in a shepherd's coarse woolen weave. For years it used to hang in any office I had.
Meanwhile, in Afghanistan.....
Meanwhile, major political events in Afghanistan were impacting upon my life. The king was overthrown and the new regime was ushered. Things were in turmoil and the Great powers on either side of the Iron Curtain were baring their teeth! Egger sent the RD a message that I was not yet to be sent to Afghanistan, but to wait and watch developments.
So the months passed and then suddenly Egger gave the green signal for my assignment. By now, it was near the summer vacation and we had already made plans to go to Kodaikanal for a ten day holiday after a few days at Bangalore with my family.
Well, a brief discussion with the RD and it was agreed he should let the Kabul office know I would join within a month after my return to Delhi.
We had a very enjoyable holiday in Kodi with some false starts. We first went to a place that was for rent during the summer, the season, as it was termed. But it turned out to be badly maintained, with the household help either away or lazy, and too far from the lake, the shops etc. So we moved to the STC's holiday home for its staff, and were then able to really experience the hill station. Meera quickly mastered roller skating, but Adit was not too interested. I managed to renew my boating for a day or two, but mostly we walked and played with the children.
What startled me towards the end of it however was a telegram from Harry Lucker, the Deputy RD at Delhi informing me that the Kabul move was off- OFF! The Soviets had moved in from the north, with their tanks and whatnot trundling across and the country was in uproar. Of course, soon enough, the mujahadeen rose up and there was fighting all over the unfortunate country.
The UN has a system of phased emergency declarations when a country is in turmoil. The first couple of phases are of alert and then evacuation of families of international staff and the last few are of all non-essential [sic] such staff, and finally the office might close with only one national staff member holding fort for all the agencies together.
What happens to the national staff and their families, you might ask. Unfortunately, not much can be done for them though if they are political asylum seekers, or manage to escape from their country on their own, they are often posted temporarily in other country offices.
So it was that the Kabul office went through these various phases and there was no question of my transfer for some time to come! Then came another internal decision that paid put to the transfer even if the situation calmed down enough. The RD, Glan Davies, told HQ that since the Delhi office was starting the new country programme preparation for the period 1981-86, he would place an embargo on transfers till end of 1980.
Meanwhile, our section decided to continue the series of planning training workshops for more support staff. We had two during the year – In Ooty and Udaipur. Both were well attended and appreciated - we had been good learners. This was excellent preparation for the country programme work too, so the training was standing the ultimate test. [another note – many of the India support staff sooner or later went on to get promotions and/or international postings].
The country programme preparations were now on in full swing. Our section was in the thick of it – gathering data, analysing it ourselves as well as hiring consultants, meeting key officers in the government to get their views and plans and bounce off some of UNICEF's ideas...The preview was due in mid-1980, and we had to work at a frantic pace.
However, daily life went on – the kids, office, home, and friends. The major preoccupation was the International Year of the Child that the UN had decided to observe that year. Being one of the two focal points in the ROSA office for the Year, I had, along with Razia Ismail, the Communication & Information Officer and the other focal point, a lot of meetings and discussions on policies and programmes to commemorate the Year. I also got into discussions on advocacy, a new area for me. Three incidents related to this work stand out in my memory .
The two of us had gone to the Jt. Secretary, Women and child Welfare Dept. to discuss some issues. As we stood before him, he looked theatrically above and beyond us and exclaimed pointedly, ' Oh, there is no Sr. Officer who has come from UNICEF for this meeting?'
Razia, always the quicker-witted one, riposted, “Mr. R., if you quickly look back and forth from Padmini to me and back again, you will see one Senior Officer between us two!”
We had quite a different experience with Dr.Vidyasagar, then Tribal Commissioner, Madhya Pradesh [a state with probably the largest tribal population in the country] when we met at his request. He first just said he wanted UNICEF assistance for the tribals, who were the most vulnerable sections of Indian society. As we began apologetically to explain that we were long on interest but short on funds, he abruptly intervened, “ I am not interested in your funds; I have plenty. I want UNICEF involved only for two reasons. You can help us sharpen our programming and bring in rigour into our planning and monitoring. And, if it is known that an international agency like UNICEF is involved, my own officers will be more on their toes”.
We did work on ideas with him, but finally nothing saw the light of day due to some bureaucratic holdups at the Centre.
During this meeting, he also referred to the controversy that raged and still does about the role of Christian missionaries in tribal areas. “I am not worried. So they most surely are proselytising in many cases. But then what have we Hindus done for the tribals all these centuries? What right do we have to take umbrage at either the missionaries who at least give them education, health and a better chance in life, or the tribals for being lured with these or even material gains into converting?”
Not politically correct then, or even now. But looking at events since then too, the exploitation of tribals goes on by both unscrupulous traders and moneylenders and by political parties, unless in some areas it is benign neglect in the name of protection by the State. On the other hand, neither the tribals nor the others who convert from the lowest rungs among the Hindus seem to have shed the stigma of their old caste or untouchability for the irony is that even the Christians and Muslims in India observe these distinctions and barriers in marriage, eating and social intercourse. As for the Neo-Buddhists, they are not recognised as just Buddhists as for example, the Tibetan Buddhists are, but as a separate group [and lowly in the eyes of the traditional Hindu].
IYC brought up among many civil society groups and in UNICEF the saying “India is a poor country with many rich people”. Razia and I had launched some initiatives based on this idea. In Rajasthan, we had some success in convincing the government to encourage donations by the rich Marwaris, a community of traders who are usually very well- off, to build rural schools, health centres and anganwadi centres, the payoff for them being that the facilities would be in their names.
Another move was to have run-down urban parks and playgrounds developed by better-off communities and rich people, into child-friendly ones by clearing and installing some simple play equipment. Further, we tried to get NGOs to provide simple health checkups, aid and counseling to the street children and other poor kids who might need them. As far as I know, this did not take off.
If I recall correctly, this was the year when the region had a regional mid-decade review of the UN decade of Women and Development in Kathmandu. It was a very interesting meet, my first regional event. Apart from the animated meetings themselves, the visit was memorable for the delicately lovely temple and palace towns of Bhatkapur and Patan. but the most thrilling experience was the Mountain Flight along the Himalayan range. This was courtesy our hosts. I went from left window to right window, clicking away as the pilot or steward announced one peak's name after the other – the famous ones, Kanchenganga, K2, Annapoorna, the great Everest too. But, sadly, when i printed out the photos, I could not make out one from the other! still the memory was great and photos not bad.
There were other national and regional events and in one of them I got a lovely hanging with the IYC logo, in a shepherd's coarse woolen weave. For years it used to hang in any office I had.
Meanwhile, in Afghanistan.....
Meanwhile, major political events in Afghanistan were impacting upon my life. The king was overthrown and the new regime was ushered. Things were in turmoil and the Great powers on either side of the Iron Curtain were baring their teeth! Egger sent the RD a message that I was not yet to be sent to Afghanistan, but to wait and watch developments.
So the months passed and then suddenly Egger gave the green signal for my assignment. By now, it was near the summer vacation and we had already made plans to go to Kodaikanal for a ten day holiday after a few days at Bangalore with my family.
Well, a brief discussion with the RD and it was agreed he should let the Kabul office know I would join within a month after my return to Delhi.
We had a very enjoyable holiday in Kodi with some false starts. We first went to a place that was for rent during the summer, the season, as it was termed. But it turned out to be badly maintained, with the household help either away or lazy, and too far from the lake, the shops etc. So we moved to the STC's holiday home for its staff, and were then able to really experience the hill station. Meera quickly mastered roller skating, but Adit was not too interested. I managed to renew my boating for a day or two, but mostly we walked and played with the children.
What startled me towards the end of it however was a telegram from Harry Lucker, the Deputy RD at Delhi informing me that the Kabul move was off- OFF! The Soviets had moved in from the north, with their tanks and whatnot trundling across and the country was in uproar. Of course, soon enough, the mujahadeen rose up and there was fighting all over the unfortunate country.
The UN has a system of phased emergency declarations when a country is in turmoil. The first couple of phases are of alert and then evacuation of families of international staff and the last few are of all non-essential [sic] such staff, and finally the office might close with only one national staff member holding fort for all the agencies together.
What happens to the national staff and their families, you might ask. Unfortunately, not much can be done for them though if they are political asylum seekers, or manage to escape from their country on their own, they are often posted temporarily in other country offices.
So it was that the Kabul office went through these various phases and there was no question of my transfer for some time to come! Then came another internal decision that paid put to the transfer even if the situation calmed down enough. The RD, Glan Davies, told HQ that since the Delhi office was starting the new country programme preparation for the period 1981-86, he would place an embargo on transfers till end of 1980.
Meanwhile, our section decided to continue the series of planning training workshops for more support staff. We had two during the year – In Ooty and Udaipur. Both were well attended and appreciated - we had been good learners. This was excellent preparation for the country programme work too, so the training was standing the ultimate test. [another note – many of the India support staff sooner or later went on to get promotions and/or international postings].
The country programme preparations were now on in full swing. Our section was in the thick of it – gathering data, analysing it ourselves as well as hiring consultants, meeting key officers in the government to get their views and plans and bounce off some of UNICEF's ideas...The preview was due in mid-1980, and we had to work at a frantic pace.
Monday, October 5, 2009
A Year of Ups and Downs
1978
Now the search for a suitable school had to be made. Ramu and I were torn between a strong desire to be egalitarian and send Adit to a Central School [meant for all government servants' children], which would have the added advantage that even if Ramu got transferred, he would have been admitted to the local Central School, and an equally strong motivation to give him a 'good' education that the local Central School did not have any reputation for. In the end, we both agreed that we could not deprive our child of a good education when the alternative system was just not acceptable.
But we ruled out some 'good' schools as too elite and others as too far and so on, and finally chose Bal Bharati, set up as a school for children of the Air Force, but which admitted others too. I made sure, though, it did not drill children into military discipline or militarism.
The school bus picked up and dropped him, always eager to go to school, and cheerful when he got back. As usual in India, uniforms were mandated and theirs were light and dark blue, the Indian Airforce colours. No stupid tie, thankfully, as so many schools in India seem to have adopted, despite the tropical climate.
Adit had a couple of |friends nearby from his preschool days, and most evenings they would either play in the local playground or park. But his best friend was his cousin Darshan, his elder by a few years, whom we met most weekends. Some of my professional friends' sons were also close to him, and when he learnt from them that they had joined the Delhi riding club, he too was eager and became an ardent rider at the age of four or so, and soon a good one too . Whenever the head groom saw me drop or pick up Adit, he would try and prevail upon me to also learn to ride. ' Oh, no, I am too old', but the repetition of this mantra did not work and his persuasive skills made me join the class, but only after a year or two. I enjoyed riding and learnt to even canter, though Adit was scornful, 'You do not post properly'! At least I did not fall or get ill from fear as I did in Kashmir.
Some years stand out in one's life as the most memorable or momentous. The year 1978 was definitely one such for me, for some good and happy reasons and for some bad, sorrowful ones.
Married Women cannot move!
One day, Charles Egger, the other Deputy Executive Director, sauntered into my room and after passing the time of the day, he sighed,”it is a pity about women not being able to move to other locations”.
What did he mean, I asked. “Well, you are three here who could be posted to international postings, but Sarojini and you cannot move, and Razia refuses to move – she wants to be with her parents”.
“Who said Sarojini and I cannot move?”
“Could you, both of you?” in a surprised tone. “ You are married..”
Indignantly, I retorted,” Well, I happen to know that Sarojini might very well be happy to move [as a friend, I knew that at that time, she might be eager to move out of Delhi, for personal reasons], “ and as for myself, the job, the place and the timing would be important, but in principle, I too might consider moving”. [Ramu and I had discussed this when during the time he was posted to Calcutta, he was considered for some assignments outside India, as well as when I came back from the staff seminar and told him how I had not tried to meet Heyward as I had no interest then of moving out of India. We agreed that if one of us got an interesting post outside India or another location within it, the other could go along and try for a suitable job, or do some research or writing].
Egger was delighted. “O.K., I will see what the possibilities are”.
Several months were to pass before anything came of this conversation, but towards the end of the year, an offer did come my way
My visits outside India continued this year with a meeting at Alexandria of what was grandiosely termed the UNICEF Knowledge Network on Women. As with most such meetings it was a mixture of hard work on planning and policy discussions and fun and bonding with colleagues. The part of Alexandria we stayed in was very modern and adjoining the sea and one day when we had some free time, some of us went for a swim – it was quite cold, maybe as it was still spring. Another foray was into the old city, where we saw a beautiful mosque. That was the first time I heard an explanation for the rule that some muslims follow that women should cover themselves – the guide there explained that otherwise men would be tempted. It crossed my mind at once, that it was not fair to ask to make another pay for one's shortcomings, but wisely I kept my thoughts to myself. This kind of argument is advanced even today to explain away sexual harassment – the victim is always blamed. I later learnt about the virginity belt or the lock around the woman's pelvis that was apparently practised in mediaeval Europe when the knights were away for the Crusades - this practice had its roots in a similar urge to make women pay for men's weakness.
The First Blow
My flight back to India was via Bombay and it landed some time after midnight. The local UNICEF office driver told me as he drove me from the airport that my husband had asked that I be informed that my sister-in-law had died while I was away. Which sister-in-law, I wanted to know. But he did not know more. My mind was churning out all the possibilities and rejecting each of them, and on and on the worrying went on! I had so many sisters-in-law! Finally, I gave up and called Ramu, unsuccessfully first as connections in those days were not so easy – no STDs at that time, let alone mobiles. Finally I got through and learnt it was my youngest sister-in-law, Diana. Raghu, she and their daughter, Abigail [Abby] stayed in Bombay and normally I would have gone to their place when in the city. Ramu had wanted to warn me, not knowing I had chosen to stay in a hotel due to my unearthly time of arrival. The rest of the night was also most disturbing -Diana was one of the sweetest persons I had ever known, and she seemed to have come through a major heart operation some years back, and now this!
More to Follow
Soon after there was another demise in our extended family. Jayaram, a cousin's son who lived in Delhi and with whose family we had become quite friendly, suddenly died. He just had had twin daughters.
I think it was soon after that when Ramu's office driver, Nair's wife died back in his home in Kerala. We were all very fond of Nair, and this loss also affected us deeply. When he went off to Kerala, Adit felt his absence most, as the two used to hang out in the evenings near the parked office car and Nair used to regale Adit with tales of lush, green Kerala – God's Own Country, as it is nowadays promoted by the tourism industry.
The Brief Respite
During the summer vacation, we had planned a short vacation to Manali, a hill station in Himachal Pradesh, with the family of a UNICEF colleague, Jagdish Kumar. His two sons, Rajesh and Sharad, were Adit's schoolmates and close friends. We were joined by Abigail, Raghu and Diana's nine year old daughter. Manali, unlike some of the other Himalayan hill stations – Simla or Mussorie – was a quiet, restful place and we all enjoyed ourselves thoroughly.
Two memorable incidents during this trip stand out in my memory. We went on a picnic one day, and Ramu and Kumar decided to have their beer bottle cooled in the almost-icy Beas river, only to find, when they had waited a while, that the fast-flowing stream had gurgled away with it!
At the beginning of our stay in a rented cottage, we were told we could include a down payment for the fruits of an apple tree in the garden and enjoy all its fruits. So when as we got ready to leave, we reached out for the fruits and munched at them straight off the branches. What we could not reach, we got by shaking the tree and picking up the fallen fruit. For us, typical urbanites, it was such a lovely experience.
The Simla Workshop
Almost upon the heels of this holiday, I had to return to the same hills on work, to nearby, Simla, the erstwhile summer capital of India [during the British Raj]. This time, the journey was a shock to me, as all the hillsides on this more densely populated route were totally denuded. I recalled the Chipko movement a few years before in the Garhwal hills in UP state – no wonder the locals led by Bahuguna hugged the trees in their vicinity when the loggers came. But no such movement seemed to have sprouted here.
The occasion was the first in the series of planning training workshop mainly for the India office senior support staff but also including some programme officers. Several senior HQ planning and training section personnel were there to conduct the workshop - for us in India, this was new territory and we had to learn as much as the trainees so termed. The HQ staff too regarded the workshop as much training for them as for all of us. So indeed it was – we were all participants.
It was a very lively and useful workshop and we did unearth some hidden talents among the support staff.
A side show was a dance that some of the participants attended and one couple came away with the first prize.
The Unkindest Cut of All
UNICEF Delhi had the system of keeping the office open uptill lunch-time on Saturdays, which were otherwise holidays for it, with skeleton staff – a programme officer, a secretary and a driver, since the Government [in those days] did not observe a holiday on such days except the second Saturday of each month.
I was duty officer one Saturday in July, I believe it was the 8th, and all the time I was there, I was feeling seedy. I wondered if I was going in for a fever or cold. Soon after I came home, my younger brother, Gokul called me from Bangalore and said that our elder brother, Kumar, had had a bad heart attack that morning. I asked him if I should fly down immediately, but he reassured me that he probably would be okay soon, and he would keep me posted.
Well, he didn't. The next afternoon, Chandru Athimbere, my second brother-in-law, called from Madras to give me the news that Kumar has had two more massive attacks that morning and had succumbed to the last one. I flew down that evening with Adit. What possessed me to take the five-year old with me on such an occasion, I do not know, but the sight of all of us bawling over the body was too much for the kid and he rushed outside the house and threw up!
As we had done for Appa, we cremated Kumar in the electric crematorium. Then we had got performed some ceremony on that first day, but this time, Revathi decided that Kumar being a non-believer in rituals, no rite would be performed at all. Revathi however marks the death anniversary with some poor feeding each year.
Kumar and I had always been very close, and his untimely death at the age of 47 affected me deeply. I often feel it must been telepathy that induced my seediness the day [perhaps the very time] of his first attack. After we surfaced from the bitter sorrow as we next to his body, when Lallukka cried out to me the moment she saw me come in, “ We used to call you both with one breath for a meal or to get ready to go out or..., how can we do that any longer? 'Kumar, Paddu; Kumar, Paddu..'?” Those words rang in my head all the time for the next several days.
As the days passed, the raw searing pain of his loss was slowly being dulled and then, as probably inevitable, I felt a sharp pain of both sad and sweet memories after a gap of many days, weeks or even months. In between, I felt anger at his not caring for himself and leaving his young family to mourn him. They have carried on bravely, none more so than Revathi. But it was there simmering underneath, the empty place he left.
A new hope.
Perhaps, I would have lived out the rest of the year fearing the worst. One more death in the family? The thought nagged me. But we were in the midst of important changes in our household even before Kumar's death. The expectation that was uppermost in our minds was the addition to our family through the arrival of a daughter. After more than a year of mulling over it, we had taken the decision to adopt a girl.
As do most single children, Adit was always asking why he could not have a sibling, and again typically, of the same sex. Some of the family also were drawing our attention to the possibility of an only child becoming spoilt. Another major influence at that time was my work as one of the two focal points for the International Year of the Child, due in 1979, but as normal, preparations at country, state and regional level had to be done by UNICEF well ahead of the year. As part of the ideas that were floating in this atmosphere, was a drive to pass a liberal child-friendly adoption law in India.
Adoption in India had been a rare occurrence traditionally, and was resorted to mainly when a couple had no son, a must for all believing Hindus, as according to the scriptures it was only when a son could light the funeral pyre did the soul get released from its earthly body. If they did not adopt a boy, the nearest approximation [the nephew, or younger brother, for example, but only on the paternal side] would be called upon to do this task, but I guess this was not a satisfactory solution to most. The result of this lopsided 'son preference' as it is generally termed in sociological circles, was that there were girls aplenty languishing for want of anyone interested in adopting them, while the scramble for boys made them scarce. The disabled invariably got left behind. There was a demand from foreigners for both girls and the specially challenged, but after some scandals about ill-treatment and abuse, both physical and sexual, the screening and waiting and thus the offtake became slow and tortuous.
Meantime, the government was keen on population control through family planning and after years of stressing 'You two, yours two' was moving to a new slogan 'Have one, adopt one'. [Years later, it was to become 'Girl or boy, one is enough!'] The laws governing adoption were, and still are, very restrictive, allowing only Hindus to adopt, while couples of other faiths could only be foster-parents, due to certain faiths not allowing adoption at all. The process also was very cumbersome. Even a Hindu who was childless could only adopt one child of each sex but if the couple had one child already, they could only adopt a child of the opposite sex. And so on and on. [A most recent ruling by one of the courts has however been that couples could adopt more than one of the same sex]
While working with some sympathetic government officials on the liberalisation of the adoption law, increasingly, I found these ideas and my personal longing for a daughter becoming entwined. Ramu was first not so sure as he felt that the family might not accept the idea and he kept thinking we were not so young, and if we did not live into their adulthood, our children would be in the care of others in the family, who might not care for them as one of their own blood. After many tense months of argument, we decided to pose the question to our close relatives. While Annaiya, as could be expected from an older generation, was quite concerned, mainly as he wanted to be sure Adit would not suffer neglect, the rest of the family welcomed the idea. We explained to Adit that this was how he was going to get a sibling and also that the rule was such that it had to be a girl, and it would be nice if we had a daughter and he a sister, and he too was quite open to the idea. So, now more confident, we finally decided to go ahead. It must have taken us a year or more to decide.
At that time, there was no central adoption agency like CARA now, and only a handful of agencies in the major cities did process any adoption at all. The Sisters of Charity [Mother Teresa's order] was among the most prominent and worked in many cities. We contacted the Delhi convent for a girl between her second and third year as our preference. 'Any other specifications?' 'Well, we do not think we could manage a child who is handicapped' These two criteria were based on my wanting to continue working and also not to have a very long age gap with Adit who was going on five. The sister in charge was surprised that we did not try for a boy; almost no Indian came forward to adopt a girl in those days. Another surprise for her was that we did not seek out a fair girl!
When the Sister realised that I traveled quite a bit to other towns, she suggested that I try in other places too to speed up the process. So when in Calcutta, I went to their centre there and was quite disturbed to see so many kids looking forlorn and bored. Later, through my work, I got to know that kids in institutions generally are that way. One girl was pointed out to me as fitting my needs, but I was so confused, I just muttered that I could not decide and anyway, my husband had also to see the child before we picked one.
Then word came one day in the beginning of July that there was a girl the Mission in Delhi would like us to see. The kid had been transferred from Cuttack to Calcutta and from there to Delhi – I guess in view of the higher possibilities of potential adoptive parents in the metros. We went, the three of us, including Adit. But the poor child was scared at being picked out from the group she was at last perhaps adjusted to and being placed for inspection, and her unease was shared by us and there was just an awkward silence. The Sister in charge exclaimed that perhaps it was better we thought it over and came back if we felt up to it. So the week after Kumar's passing away, we went back and this time, the Sister suggested we take Meera for a spin and maybe the outing might make us all relaxed. But, once again, Meera was terrified at being separated from her mates, so we gathered a few of them and took them to a nearby park. The kids found the car trip enjoyable, and once in the open, and with a small treat of roasted peas, all were playing together noisily. By the time we came back, all of us were comfortable. As we entered the building, we asked Adit what he thought and he enthusiastically replied, “Let us take Meera home now”. She was happy enough to come with us now.
Neither Adit nor Ramu agree with this version. They both firmly hold that they were not with me on this second occasion, and that the outing was on the first visit itself, and that I brought back Meera on a second visit, all by myself. Not only is my memory to the contrary, but it was not plausible that I would have sneaked off on my own on such a major venture, or that I would have dared to bring Meera without anyone else in the car, when I could not tell how the kid would take the long drive of 18 km. without becoming worked up on being separated from the other kids or the caregivers she knew.
I do not recall any settling down problems that Meera had, except at nights, when she would wake up a couple of times, crying and I had to pat her in her babycot that had been Adit's or whisper softly 'go to sleep, go to sleep, Meeramma'; and so on. Sometimes I just slumped down next to her cot and dozed off myself.
Almost immediately, I took Meera to our pediatrician for a full examination. When he heard me soothing her in Tamil as she cried a bit in this new strange setting, he said,'Poor thing, everything is new and strange to her, and your talking in a 'foreign' tongue will only increase her disquiet. She must be used either to Oriya or Bengali, and the next best to use would be Hindi'. I dutifully switched over to Hindi. However, within a few days, Meera was picking up Tamil words only and not Hindi ones! She must just have decided to do as Adit did.
The first few days, Meera seemed to have an insatiable appetite, especially for bananas. She would wolf down so many at one go that we would be worried, she might get diarrhoea. She soon settled down to a more normal appetite. And accepted us as her family and the house as her home. Another thing was that she picked up the languages we variously used in the house and was soon fluent in Tamil, though she was less so in Kannada and Hindi. I think she understood English, but she started speaking it only later.
We soon had to get the adoption formalised. When we took Meera to the studio to have the necessary photograph, and she had to sit by herself in the already semi-darkened room, she was not happy. The photo we got showed her bawling. We felt it best to accept that as nothing would make her stop except when I took her in my arms and moved away from the studio. We were so worried that the judge might turn away our application on the grounds that we obviously had been ill-treating the child. But the procedure was short and sweet to our great relief.
As with most siblings, Adit and Meera were very different. She was more apt to get into small scrapes or be stubborn, and sometimes I just did not know how to manage her. I guess I was going by my experience with Adit, with whom one could reason even from his early toddler days. Perhaps my menopause did not help either – whatever the reason, I sometimes lost my temper with her but later felt very sorry I had. However that was a passing phase and soon Meera was the one who woke me up in the mornings and as I sipped my coffee over a newspaper on the front verandah, in the cool of the monsoon mornings, she had her glass of milk and played with her toys. Adit usually joined us a little later and sometimes the two played together for a while. However, he had soon to get ready for his school – he was now in the first grade in Bal Bharati.
Once she was a little settled in our home, Meera began to be bored, with all of us except Annaiya and the household help away for most of the day. So just a month or so later, and though she was just 2 years and 4 months old then, she went to the Playhouse School, where Adit used to go. There she took longer to settle down in the sense that Raji, our help from Madras, had to stay on the whole time for several weeks more than the school normally allowed. I think it was the carpool that we managed to find that turned her into a sociable and cheerful child even without a familiar adult around.
After Sterling Forest, Urbana and my Defense!
I had continued labouring on my thesis revision once again while in UNICEF, fervently hoping that it would be third time lucky, or as the saying in Kannada goes, muttidake mursala [if you touch something, it has to be done thrice] and that would be it! After sending the revised dissertation earlier in the year, I was delighted when my adviser told me that it was ready enough for a viva voce to be scheduled. To my query whether I could do the viva in India with Prodipto and a couple of other academics, he was very firm with his 'no'! Luckily yet another retreat, again at Sterling Forest, came along that winter and I went off to Urbana after that retreat.
The Defense
I stayed with my SRL ex-colleague and friend Matti Frankel. The viva voce itself was quite gentle, with just a bit of grilling as to why I had picked such an inane topic, and how I felt my entire thesis was going to be useful. Then after all those years, I had my Ph.D. Degree vested in me. It was such a relief to have it over with!
While I was in Urbana, Rama, my niece, visited me from Illinois State University where she was studying for her masters in Speech. We had a good time together. After a few days, I got back home via New York. The sequel to my passing my viva was that one day, one of the UNICEF Delhi administration folks told me the inter-office pouch had a parcel for me from U of I. Oh, I told him, that must be my dissertation. Weeks later, he called me again, amazed that I had not still collected it. I explained that I had gone through the whole rigmarole only out of stubbornness and it was a useless bundle of papers. He just could not understand my indifference. I finally collected and it is still somewhere among my papers.
Ramu had also sent in his first draft after he got back to India, but when he received comments that necessitated his doing more work, he just did not go ahead. Of course, he had a lot of work on his head. Still, it was a pity, so near yet never attained!
The Look-see visit
Towards the end of the year, I was asked if I would consider a posting in Kabul as the Planning Officer there. After discussion with Ramu, I thought I would agree. But first there was an opportunity for both sides to have what was termed a 'look-see'. This took the form, in my case, of a short-term assignment to help the office prepare some special proposals for funding.
It was the beginning of December and snow fell sporadically and for a day or so covered the streets of Kabul. Yet most days, I used to walk to the office from the UN Guest House, where I was lodged for the two weeks of my stay.
At first I tried to avoid the numerous intricately woven carpets that seem to have been thrown carelessly in front of many a carpet shop. But a colleague in the office told me that it was considered good to have the carpet trod on and exposed to the sun and dust. So I walked on red carpets almost halfway everyday!
Another common thing I noticed and thought was a local peculiarity was that the walls around the houses were extremely high [almost twice the height of persons]. Later I found this was common in the Middle East.
I went only on one field trip, to a village nearby to attend a women's group meeting and what a difference between the women in Kabul and them – at that time, the urban lot were unveiled and these were in traditional attire but not the all-enveloping chadors that came into force later.
The UN guest-house had a room heater in each room and no central heating. One night, I went to sleep with the heater on and the window slightly open. When I woke up, it was to a raging toothache – a wisdom tooth. I had to see the UN nurse who gave me a general analgesic and advised me to see a dentist when I got back to India. By the time I got back, the pain had subsided but I still went to the dentist only to be told not to worry unless it pained or got swollen again, and till today all my wisdom teeth are still lurking within the gums!
It was a surprise to find an Afghan Hindu – one of the office staff, in fact and one whose family had lived in Kabul for generations. Sharma invited me home for the Afghan version of an Indian meal, quite tasty. Another link with India was the multiplicity of Buddhist sculptures in the National Museum. Some of them were truly beautiful, and when the Taliban tried to destroy them years later, I was most saddened. Later however, one learnt that most had been saved by the determined and committed curators.
The office assignment went on quite smoothly and I decided I would take up the offer of a posting once Ramu and I had a chance to discuss in detail and his own opinion was obtained again. Within a few days of my return, I told my regional director, Glan Davies and through him Crunden, the Representative in Kabul, who had also on his part approved of my being appointed to the post. I was to move there sometime in the middle of the next year.
Relaxation with the Kids
On weekend mornings, before the sun rose a little high in the heavens, we three, the children and I, would go for a jog in Lodi gardens. The first thing they did on entering it was to peer at the small pools at the entrance we took and delight in the tadpoles and shriek at the frogs jumping high in the air.
Most summer evenings, Leela would bring the children over to the office and we would set off for the swim. At first Meera was terrified of venturing more than an arm's length from the steps at the shallow end, but after a while, she herself decided it was not fun enough and began to swim, learning more by imitation than any teaching.
Now the search for a suitable school had to be made. Ramu and I were torn between a strong desire to be egalitarian and send Adit to a Central School [meant for all government servants' children], which would have the added advantage that even if Ramu got transferred, he would have been admitted to the local Central School, and an equally strong motivation to give him a 'good' education that the local Central School did not have any reputation for. In the end, we both agreed that we could not deprive our child of a good education when the alternative system was just not acceptable.
But we ruled out some 'good' schools as too elite and others as too far and so on, and finally chose Bal Bharati, set up as a school for children of the Air Force, but which admitted others too. I made sure, though, it did not drill children into military discipline or militarism.
The school bus picked up and dropped him, always eager to go to school, and cheerful when he got back. As usual in India, uniforms were mandated and theirs were light and dark blue, the Indian Airforce colours. No stupid tie, thankfully, as so many schools in India seem to have adopted, despite the tropical climate.
Adit had a couple of |friends nearby from his preschool days, and most evenings they would either play in the local playground or park. But his best friend was his cousin Darshan, his elder by a few years, whom we met most weekends. Some of my professional friends' sons were also close to him, and when he learnt from them that they had joined the Delhi riding club, he too was eager and became an ardent rider at the age of four or so, and soon a good one too . Whenever the head groom saw me drop or pick up Adit, he would try and prevail upon me to also learn to ride. ' Oh, no, I am too old', but the repetition of this mantra did not work and his persuasive skills made me join the class, but only after a year or two. I enjoyed riding and learnt to even canter, though Adit was scornful, 'You do not post properly'! At least I did not fall or get ill from fear as I did in Kashmir.
Some years stand out in one's life as the most memorable or momentous. The year 1978 was definitely one such for me, for some good and happy reasons and for some bad, sorrowful ones.
Married Women cannot move!
One day, Charles Egger, the other Deputy Executive Director, sauntered into my room and after passing the time of the day, he sighed,”it is a pity about women not being able to move to other locations”.
What did he mean, I asked. “Well, you are three here who could be posted to international postings, but Sarojini and you cannot move, and Razia refuses to move – she wants to be with her parents”.
“Who said Sarojini and I cannot move?”
“Could you, both of you?” in a surprised tone. “ You are married..”
Indignantly, I retorted,” Well, I happen to know that Sarojini might very well be happy to move [as a friend, I knew that at that time, she might be eager to move out of Delhi, for personal reasons], “ and as for myself, the job, the place and the timing would be important, but in principle, I too might consider moving”. [Ramu and I had discussed this when during the time he was posted to Calcutta, he was considered for some assignments outside India, as well as when I came back from the staff seminar and told him how I had not tried to meet Heyward as I had no interest then of moving out of India. We agreed that if one of us got an interesting post outside India or another location within it, the other could go along and try for a suitable job, or do some research or writing].
Egger was delighted. “O.K., I will see what the possibilities are”.
Several months were to pass before anything came of this conversation, but towards the end of the year, an offer did come my way
My visits outside India continued this year with a meeting at Alexandria of what was grandiosely termed the UNICEF Knowledge Network on Women. As with most such meetings it was a mixture of hard work on planning and policy discussions and fun and bonding with colleagues. The part of Alexandria we stayed in was very modern and adjoining the sea and one day when we had some free time, some of us went for a swim – it was quite cold, maybe as it was still spring. Another foray was into the old city, where we saw a beautiful mosque. That was the first time I heard an explanation for the rule that some muslims follow that women should cover themselves – the guide there explained that otherwise men would be tempted. It crossed my mind at once, that it was not fair to ask to make another pay for one's shortcomings, but wisely I kept my thoughts to myself. This kind of argument is advanced even today to explain away sexual harassment – the victim is always blamed. I later learnt about the virginity belt or the lock around the woman's pelvis that was apparently practised in mediaeval Europe when the knights were away for the Crusades - this practice had its roots in a similar urge to make women pay for men's weakness.
The First Blow
My flight back to India was via Bombay and it landed some time after midnight. The local UNICEF office driver told me as he drove me from the airport that my husband had asked that I be informed that my sister-in-law had died while I was away. Which sister-in-law, I wanted to know. But he did not know more. My mind was churning out all the possibilities and rejecting each of them, and on and on the worrying went on! I had so many sisters-in-law! Finally, I gave up and called Ramu, unsuccessfully first as connections in those days were not so easy – no STDs at that time, let alone mobiles. Finally I got through and learnt it was my youngest sister-in-law, Diana. Raghu, she and their daughter, Abigail [Abby] stayed in Bombay and normally I would have gone to their place when in the city. Ramu had wanted to warn me, not knowing I had chosen to stay in a hotel due to my unearthly time of arrival. The rest of the night was also most disturbing -Diana was one of the sweetest persons I had ever known, and she seemed to have come through a major heart operation some years back, and now this!
More to Follow
Soon after there was another demise in our extended family. Jayaram, a cousin's son who lived in Delhi and with whose family we had become quite friendly, suddenly died. He just had had twin daughters.
I think it was soon after that when Ramu's office driver, Nair's wife died back in his home in Kerala. We were all very fond of Nair, and this loss also affected us deeply. When he went off to Kerala, Adit felt his absence most, as the two used to hang out in the evenings near the parked office car and Nair used to regale Adit with tales of lush, green Kerala – God's Own Country, as it is nowadays promoted by the tourism industry.
The Brief Respite
During the summer vacation, we had planned a short vacation to Manali, a hill station in Himachal Pradesh, with the family of a UNICEF colleague, Jagdish Kumar. His two sons, Rajesh and Sharad, were Adit's schoolmates and close friends. We were joined by Abigail, Raghu and Diana's nine year old daughter. Manali, unlike some of the other Himalayan hill stations – Simla or Mussorie – was a quiet, restful place and we all enjoyed ourselves thoroughly.
Two memorable incidents during this trip stand out in my memory. We went on a picnic one day, and Ramu and Kumar decided to have their beer bottle cooled in the almost-icy Beas river, only to find, when they had waited a while, that the fast-flowing stream had gurgled away with it!
At the beginning of our stay in a rented cottage, we were told we could include a down payment for the fruits of an apple tree in the garden and enjoy all its fruits. So when as we got ready to leave, we reached out for the fruits and munched at them straight off the branches. What we could not reach, we got by shaking the tree and picking up the fallen fruit. For us, typical urbanites, it was such a lovely experience.
The Simla Workshop
Almost upon the heels of this holiday, I had to return to the same hills on work, to nearby, Simla, the erstwhile summer capital of India [during the British Raj]. This time, the journey was a shock to me, as all the hillsides on this more densely populated route were totally denuded. I recalled the Chipko movement a few years before in the Garhwal hills in UP state – no wonder the locals led by Bahuguna hugged the trees in their vicinity when the loggers came. But no such movement seemed to have sprouted here.
The occasion was the first in the series of planning training workshop mainly for the India office senior support staff but also including some programme officers. Several senior HQ planning and training section personnel were there to conduct the workshop - for us in India, this was new territory and we had to learn as much as the trainees so termed. The HQ staff too regarded the workshop as much training for them as for all of us. So indeed it was – we were all participants.
It was a very lively and useful workshop and we did unearth some hidden talents among the support staff.
A side show was a dance that some of the participants attended and one couple came away with the first prize.
The Unkindest Cut of All
UNICEF Delhi had the system of keeping the office open uptill lunch-time on Saturdays, which were otherwise holidays for it, with skeleton staff – a programme officer, a secretary and a driver, since the Government [in those days] did not observe a holiday on such days except the second Saturday of each month.
I was duty officer one Saturday in July, I believe it was the 8th, and all the time I was there, I was feeling seedy. I wondered if I was going in for a fever or cold. Soon after I came home, my younger brother, Gokul called me from Bangalore and said that our elder brother, Kumar, had had a bad heart attack that morning. I asked him if I should fly down immediately, but he reassured me that he probably would be okay soon, and he would keep me posted.
Well, he didn't. The next afternoon, Chandru Athimbere, my second brother-in-law, called from Madras to give me the news that Kumar has had two more massive attacks that morning and had succumbed to the last one. I flew down that evening with Adit. What possessed me to take the five-year old with me on such an occasion, I do not know, but the sight of all of us bawling over the body was too much for the kid and he rushed outside the house and threw up!
As we had done for Appa, we cremated Kumar in the electric crematorium. Then we had got performed some ceremony on that first day, but this time, Revathi decided that Kumar being a non-believer in rituals, no rite would be performed at all. Revathi however marks the death anniversary with some poor feeding each year.
Kumar and I had always been very close, and his untimely death at the age of 47 affected me deeply. I often feel it must been telepathy that induced my seediness the day [perhaps the very time] of his first attack. After we surfaced from the bitter sorrow as we next to his body, when Lallukka cried out to me the moment she saw me come in, “ We used to call you both with one breath for a meal or to get ready to go out or..., how can we do that any longer? 'Kumar, Paddu; Kumar, Paddu..'?” Those words rang in my head all the time for the next several days.
As the days passed, the raw searing pain of his loss was slowly being dulled and then, as probably inevitable, I felt a sharp pain of both sad and sweet memories after a gap of many days, weeks or even months. In between, I felt anger at his not caring for himself and leaving his young family to mourn him. They have carried on bravely, none more so than Revathi. But it was there simmering underneath, the empty place he left.
A new hope.
Perhaps, I would have lived out the rest of the year fearing the worst. One more death in the family? The thought nagged me. But we were in the midst of important changes in our household even before Kumar's death. The expectation that was uppermost in our minds was the addition to our family through the arrival of a daughter. After more than a year of mulling over it, we had taken the decision to adopt a girl.
As do most single children, Adit was always asking why he could not have a sibling, and again typically, of the same sex. Some of the family also were drawing our attention to the possibility of an only child becoming spoilt. Another major influence at that time was my work as one of the two focal points for the International Year of the Child, due in 1979, but as normal, preparations at country, state and regional level had to be done by UNICEF well ahead of the year. As part of the ideas that were floating in this atmosphere, was a drive to pass a liberal child-friendly adoption law in India.
Adoption in India had been a rare occurrence traditionally, and was resorted to mainly when a couple had no son, a must for all believing Hindus, as according to the scriptures it was only when a son could light the funeral pyre did the soul get released from its earthly body. If they did not adopt a boy, the nearest approximation [the nephew, or younger brother, for example, but only on the paternal side] would be called upon to do this task, but I guess this was not a satisfactory solution to most. The result of this lopsided 'son preference' as it is generally termed in sociological circles, was that there were girls aplenty languishing for want of anyone interested in adopting them, while the scramble for boys made them scarce. The disabled invariably got left behind. There was a demand from foreigners for both girls and the specially challenged, but after some scandals about ill-treatment and abuse, both physical and sexual, the screening and waiting and thus the offtake became slow and tortuous.
Meantime, the government was keen on population control through family planning and after years of stressing 'You two, yours two' was moving to a new slogan 'Have one, adopt one'. [Years later, it was to become 'Girl or boy, one is enough!'] The laws governing adoption were, and still are, very restrictive, allowing only Hindus to adopt, while couples of other faiths could only be foster-parents, due to certain faiths not allowing adoption at all. The process also was very cumbersome. Even a Hindu who was childless could only adopt one child of each sex but if the couple had one child already, they could only adopt a child of the opposite sex. And so on and on. [A most recent ruling by one of the courts has however been that couples could adopt more than one of the same sex]
While working with some sympathetic government officials on the liberalisation of the adoption law, increasingly, I found these ideas and my personal longing for a daughter becoming entwined. Ramu was first not so sure as he felt that the family might not accept the idea and he kept thinking we were not so young, and if we did not live into their adulthood, our children would be in the care of others in the family, who might not care for them as one of their own blood. After many tense months of argument, we decided to pose the question to our close relatives. While Annaiya, as could be expected from an older generation, was quite concerned, mainly as he wanted to be sure Adit would not suffer neglect, the rest of the family welcomed the idea. We explained to Adit that this was how he was going to get a sibling and also that the rule was such that it had to be a girl, and it would be nice if we had a daughter and he a sister, and he too was quite open to the idea. So, now more confident, we finally decided to go ahead. It must have taken us a year or more to decide.
At that time, there was no central adoption agency like CARA now, and only a handful of agencies in the major cities did process any adoption at all. The Sisters of Charity [Mother Teresa's order] was among the most prominent and worked in many cities. We contacted the Delhi convent for a girl between her second and third year as our preference. 'Any other specifications?' 'Well, we do not think we could manage a child who is handicapped' These two criteria were based on my wanting to continue working and also not to have a very long age gap with Adit who was going on five. The sister in charge was surprised that we did not try for a boy; almost no Indian came forward to adopt a girl in those days. Another surprise for her was that we did not seek out a fair girl!
When the Sister realised that I traveled quite a bit to other towns, she suggested that I try in other places too to speed up the process. So when in Calcutta, I went to their centre there and was quite disturbed to see so many kids looking forlorn and bored. Later, through my work, I got to know that kids in institutions generally are that way. One girl was pointed out to me as fitting my needs, but I was so confused, I just muttered that I could not decide and anyway, my husband had also to see the child before we picked one.
Then word came one day in the beginning of July that there was a girl the Mission in Delhi would like us to see. The kid had been transferred from Cuttack to Calcutta and from there to Delhi – I guess in view of the higher possibilities of potential adoptive parents in the metros. We went, the three of us, including Adit. But the poor child was scared at being picked out from the group she was at last perhaps adjusted to and being placed for inspection, and her unease was shared by us and there was just an awkward silence. The Sister in charge exclaimed that perhaps it was better we thought it over and came back if we felt up to it. So the week after Kumar's passing away, we went back and this time, the Sister suggested we take Meera for a spin and maybe the outing might make us all relaxed. But, once again, Meera was terrified at being separated from her mates, so we gathered a few of them and took them to a nearby park. The kids found the car trip enjoyable, and once in the open, and with a small treat of roasted peas, all were playing together noisily. By the time we came back, all of us were comfortable. As we entered the building, we asked Adit what he thought and he enthusiastically replied, “Let us take Meera home now”. She was happy enough to come with us now.
Neither Adit nor Ramu agree with this version. They both firmly hold that they were not with me on this second occasion, and that the outing was on the first visit itself, and that I brought back Meera on a second visit, all by myself. Not only is my memory to the contrary, but it was not plausible that I would have sneaked off on my own on such a major venture, or that I would have dared to bring Meera without anyone else in the car, when I could not tell how the kid would take the long drive of 18 km. without becoming worked up on being separated from the other kids or the caregivers she knew.
I do not recall any settling down problems that Meera had, except at nights, when she would wake up a couple of times, crying and I had to pat her in her babycot that had been Adit's or whisper softly 'go to sleep, go to sleep, Meeramma'; and so on. Sometimes I just slumped down next to her cot and dozed off myself.
Almost immediately, I took Meera to our pediatrician for a full examination. When he heard me soothing her in Tamil as she cried a bit in this new strange setting, he said,'Poor thing, everything is new and strange to her, and your talking in a 'foreign' tongue will only increase her disquiet. She must be used either to Oriya or Bengali, and the next best to use would be Hindi'. I dutifully switched over to Hindi. However, within a few days, Meera was picking up Tamil words only and not Hindi ones! She must just have decided to do as Adit did.
The first few days, Meera seemed to have an insatiable appetite, especially for bananas. She would wolf down so many at one go that we would be worried, she might get diarrhoea. She soon settled down to a more normal appetite. And accepted us as her family and the house as her home. Another thing was that she picked up the languages we variously used in the house and was soon fluent in Tamil, though she was less so in Kannada and Hindi. I think she understood English, but she started speaking it only later.
We soon had to get the adoption formalised. When we took Meera to the studio to have the necessary photograph, and she had to sit by herself in the already semi-darkened room, she was not happy. The photo we got showed her bawling. We felt it best to accept that as nothing would make her stop except when I took her in my arms and moved away from the studio. We were so worried that the judge might turn away our application on the grounds that we obviously had been ill-treating the child. But the procedure was short and sweet to our great relief.
As with most siblings, Adit and Meera were very different. She was more apt to get into small scrapes or be stubborn, and sometimes I just did not know how to manage her. I guess I was going by my experience with Adit, with whom one could reason even from his early toddler days. Perhaps my menopause did not help either – whatever the reason, I sometimes lost my temper with her but later felt very sorry I had. However that was a passing phase and soon Meera was the one who woke me up in the mornings and as I sipped my coffee over a newspaper on the front verandah, in the cool of the monsoon mornings, she had her glass of milk and played with her toys. Adit usually joined us a little later and sometimes the two played together for a while. However, he had soon to get ready for his school – he was now in the first grade in Bal Bharati.
Once she was a little settled in our home, Meera began to be bored, with all of us except Annaiya and the household help away for most of the day. So just a month or so later, and though she was just 2 years and 4 months old then, she went to the Playhouse School, where Adit used to go. There she took longer to settle down in the sense that Raji, our help from Madras, had to stay on the whole time for several weeks more than the school normally allowed. I think it was the carpool that we managed to find that turned her into a sociable and cheerful child even without a familiar adult around.
After Sterling Forest, Urbana and my Defense!
I had continued labouring on my thesis revision once again while in UNICEF, fervently hoping that it would be third time lucky, or as the saying in Kannada goes, muttidake mursala [if you touch something, it has to be done thrice] and that would be it! After sending the revised dissertation earlier in the year, I was delighted when my adviser told me that it was ready enough for a viva voce to be scheduled. To my query whether I could do the viva in India with Prodipto and a couple of other academics, he was very firm with his 'no'! Luckily yet another retreat, again at Sterling Forest, came along that winter and I went off to Urbana after that retreat.
The Defense
I stayed with my SRL ex-colleague and friend Matti Frankel. The viva voce itself was quite gentle, with just a bit of grilling as to why I had picked such an inane topic, and how I felt my entire thesis was going to be useful. Then after all those years, I had my Ph.D. Degree vested in me. It was such a relief to have it over with!
While I was in Urbana, Rama, my niece, visited me from Illinois State University where she was studying for her masters in Speech. We had a good time together. After a few days, I got back home via New York. The sequel to my passing my viva was that one day, one of the UNICEF Delhi administration folks told me the inter-office pouch had a parcel for me from U of I. Oh, I told him, that must be my dissertation. Weeks later, he called me again, amazed that I had not still collected it. I explained that I had gone through the whole rigmarole only out of stubbornness and it was a useless bundle of papers. He just could not understand my indifference. I finally collected and it is still somewhere among my papers.
Ramu had also sent in his first draft after he got back to India, but when he received comments that necessitated his doing more work, he just did not go ahead. Of course, he had a lot of work on his head. Still, it was a pity, so near yet never attained!
The Look-see visit
Towards the end of the year, I was asked if I would consider a posting in Kabul as the Planning Officer there. After discussion with Ramu, I thought I would agree. But first there was an opportunity for both sides to have what was termed a 'look-see'. This took the form, in my case, of a short-term assignment to help the office prepare some special proposals for funding.
It was the beginning of December and snow fell sporadically and for a day or so covered the streets of Kabul. Yet most days, I used to walk to the office from the UN Guest House, where I was lodged for the two weeks of my stay.
At first I tried to avoid the numerous intricately woven carpets that seem to have been thrown carelessly in front of many a carpet shop. But a colleague in the office told me that it was considered good to have the carpet trod on and exposed to the sun and dust. So I walked on red carpets almost halfway everyday!
Another common thing I noticed and thought was a local peculiarity was that the walls around the houses were extremely high [almost twice the height of persons]. Later I found this was common in the Middle East.
I went only on one field trip, to a village nearby to attend a women's group meeting and what a difference between the women in Kabul and them – at that time, the urban lot were unveiled and these were in traditional attire but not the all-enveloping chadors that came into force later.
The UN guest-house had a room heater in each room and no central heating. One night, I went to sleep with the heater on and the window slightly open. When I woke up, it was to a raging toothache – a wisdom tooth. I had to see the UN nurse who gave me a general analgesic and advised me to see a dentist when I got back to India. By the time I got back, the pain had subsided but I still went to the dentist only to be told not to worry unless it pained or got swollen again, and till today all my wisdom teeth are still lurking within the gums!
It was a surprise to find an Afghan Hindu – one of the office staff, in fact and one whose family had lived in Kabul for generations. Sharma invited me home for the Afghan version of an Indian meal, quite tasty. Another link with India was the multiplicity of Buddhist sculptures in the National Museum. Some of them were truly beautiful, and when the Taliban tried to destroy them years later, I was most saddened. Later however, one learnt that most had been saved by the determined and committed curators.
The office assignment went on quite smoothly and I decided I would take up the offer of a posting once Ramu and I had a chance to discuss in detail and his own opinion was obtained again. Within a few days of my return, I told my regional director, Glan Davies and through him Crunden, the Representative in Kabul, who had also on his part approved of my being appointed to the post. I was to move there sometime in the middle of the next year.
Relaxation with the Kids
On weekend mornings, before the sun rose a little high in the heavens, we three, the children and I, would go for a jog in Lodi gardens. The first thing they did on entering it was to peer at the small pools at the entrance we took and delight in the tadpoles and shriek at the frogs jumping high in the air.
Most summer evenings, Leela would bring the children over to the office and we would set off for the swim. At first Meera was terrified of venturing more than an arm's length from the steps at the shallow end, but after a while, she herself decided it was not fun enough and began to swim, learning more by imitation than any teaching.
A Turning Point
1977
The Emergency Lifted
After such an eventful year, the next was tame on the personal front. But it was an important year for the country, as Indira Gandhi, to everyone's surprise, announced national elections suddenly. I had never voted before [due to my location shifts and not apathy], but this time I was determined to vote against her and her party, even if I had to travel. No one was more caught up with election fever than little Adit, who enthusiastically joined the shouts of opposition rallies, “Inquilab Zindabad; Indira Gandhi Moradabad!' [Long Live Revolution; down with Indira Gandhi]. I used to shut him up hastily – who knows who was listening; after all, the emergency could be reimposed! My vote went to none other than Vajpayee, though I was not too keen on his party, the Janata Dal. It was not as right wing as the BJP that it metamorphosed as later, but it still was not my cup of tea. But anyone against the party that brought in the emergency was ok for me at that time!
The historical defeat of Indira and the Congress was followed by the disappointingly inept two years of the JD rule, to be inevitably cast aside just two years later. But the revelations of the extent of the misuse of power and the torture of so many during the emergency had shocked the nation and it was clear that something like that would not be tolerated again. Once the new regime was in power, we had other types of problems with it, but for our everyday existence, the tension was gone.
Move my office too to the bathroom?
Space in UNICEF Delhi was rapidly becoming a scarce commodity. We were spreading to more houses in the Jor Bagh locality where we had just a few years earlier, when I joined, been in just three houses. Now we were in four adjacent ones, plus another one in a locality a little way off. Even all these acquisitions apparently were not sufficient. One day our Admin officer, KGR, called me and asked me to share my office with a colleague in our section. I bristled. We had had better rooms in the main building and now were in the next one, with the bathtub in the bathroom next to my room housing a file cabinet. I retorted sarcastically, should I move my office too there? Or should I pitch a tent in the lawn in front? He was affronted but I would not budge. No, I could not share my room even with a section-mate as we would disturb each other when visitors came in or when dictating to the secretary. He left me in peace after that – I guess he got some other room for whatever purpose he needed it.
Sometime in the 70s, a new Indian National Plan was being formulated. Dr. Vina Mazumdar, who had established the Centre for Women's Development Studies [CWDS] in Delhi, came to me one day and said that she wanted to get the Plan to have a separate chapter on Women and for this, she wanted to organise a seminar with senior Planning Commission and Government officials as well as academicians and NGOs. Would UNICEF support this in view of its support to the UN women's decade and its own focus on mothers/women. I thought this was an excellent idea and we worked together on the programme, apart from getting UNICEF funding for the event. It did have an impact and for the first time, the National Plan had a whole chapter on Women.
An annual winter visitor to NYHQ
That is what my HQ colleague, Ed Lannert, used to call me, as for some unfathomable reason, from this year on, there was some meeting or the other for which I used to be called to New York in winter. What I hated about this was that I had to wear shoes or even boots in which my broad feet would feel so cooped up! As I stomped into the office, Ed would always make fun of me. Other than that, the visits were always enjoyable. Two years in a row, I was in a retreat at Sterling Forest in upper New York State. Though it was a big sprawling mansion, we still had to share rooms, and the first time, it was with Shahida, my Pakistani counterpart, who I had become chummy with the year before in the Staff Seminar. However, almost at the beginning of the retreat, she got the sad news of her husband's sudden death, and flew back home. Other than that, the seminars were very engrossing and the ambiance of that and of Mohonk that was the scene of a retreat a couple of years later, were most refreshing.
The Emergency Lifted
After such an eventful year, the next was tame on the personal front. But it was an important year for the country, as Indira Gandhi, to everyone's surprise, announced national elections suddenly. I had never voted before [due to my location shifts and not apathy], but this time I was determined to vote against her and her party, even if I had to travel. No one was more caught up with election fever than little Adit, who enthusiastically joined the shouts of opposition rallies, “Inquilab Zindabad; Indira Gandhi Moradabad!' [Long Live Revolution; down with Indira Gandhi]. I used to shut him up hastily – who knows who was listening; after all, the emergency could be reimposed! My vote went to none other than Vajpayee, though I was not too keen on his party, the Janata Dal. It was not as right wing as the BJP that it metamorphosed as later, but it still was not my cup of tea. But anyone against the party that brought in the emergency was ok for me at that time!
The historical defeat of Indira and the Congress was followed by the disappointingly inept two years of the JD rule, to be inevitably cast aside just two years later. But the revelations of the extent of the misuse of power and the torture of so many during the emergency had shocked the nation and it was clear that something like that would not be tolerated again. Once the new regime was in power, we had other types of problems with it, but for our everyday existence, the tension was gone.
Move my office too to the bathroom?
Space in UNICEF Delhi was rapidly becoming a scarce commodity. We were spreading to more houses in the Jor Bagh locality where we had just a few years earlier, when I joined, been in just three houses. Now we were in four adjacent ones, plus another one in a locality a little way off. Even all these acquisitions apparently were not sufficient. One day our Admin officer, KGR, called me and asked me to share my office with a colleague in our section. I bristled. We had had better rooms in the main building and now were in the next one, with the bathtub in the bathroom next to my room housing a file cabinet. I retorted sarcastically, should I move my office too there? Or should I pitch a tent in the lawn in front? He was affronted but I would not budge. No, I could not share my room even with a section-mate as we would disturb each other when visitors came in or when dictating to the secretary. He left me in peace after that – I guess he got some other room for whatever purpose he needed it.
Sometime in the 70s, a new Indian National Plan was being formulated. Dr. Vina Mazumdar, who had established the Centre for Women's Development Studies [CWDS] in Delhi, came to me one day and said that she wanted to get the Plan to have a separate chapter on Women and for this, she wanted to organise a seminar with senior Planning Commission and Government officials as well as academicians and NGOs. Would UNICEF support this in view of its support to the UN women's decade and its own focus on mothers/women. I thought this was an excellent idea and we worked together on the programme, apart from getting UNICEF funding for the event. It did have an impact and for the first time, the National Plan had a whole chapter on Women.
An annual winter visitor to NYHQ
That is what my HQ colleague, Ed Lannert, used to call me, as for some unfathomable reason, from this year on, there was some meeting or the other for which I used to be called to New York in winter. What I hated about this was that I had to wear shoes or even boots in which my broad feet would feel so cooped up! As I stomped into the office, Ed would always make fun of me. Other than that, the visits were always enjoyable. Two years in a row, I was in a retreat at Sterling Forest in upper New York State. Though it was a big sprawling mansion, we still had to share rooms, and the first time, it was with Shahida, my Pakistani counterpart, who I had become chummy with the year before in the Staff Seminar. However, almost at the beginning of the retreat, she got the sad news of her husband's sudden death, and flew back home. Other than that, the seminars were very engrossing and the ambiance of that and of Mohonk that was the scene of a retreat a couple of years later, were most refreshing.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
1976 - Another Eventful Year.
A Month Away is a Long, Long Time! - The UNICEF Staff Seminar
when I was chosen to be one of the 24 or so for the annual Staff Seminar, I was naturally excited, but also worried about leaving Adit for three to four weeks. He was just 2 ½ years old, but when I told him I would be out for a month but that Appa and Annaiya would be with him, and that he should be good etc., etc., he did seem to understand and internalise the admonition. The adults were also quite sanguine about taking full charge and so I set my mind at rest.
The Staff Seminar was UNICEF's major global training event for which promising staff members from various levels and categories were chosen. In our group, most were middle level professionals, both international and national, but a few were senior general service staff. The orientation package told me that this year the Seminar was to be spent partly at the Institute of Public health, Zagreb in what was then the federation of Yugoslavia, and the Institute of Social Studies, the Hague in the Netherlands, about ten days in each place. There was also a brief visit to the Central Warehouse that UNICEF has in Copenhagen, for an orientation on our supply operations.
Off and on, I had heard from Margaret, my friend, about her exciting trip to Israel [she was about 1/8th Jewish – part of the original diaspora, like Diana's forefathers]. I had also been very impressed by the interesting advances that Israel had been making in every field and very sympathetic to the kibbutz concept. Now, while planning the trip, I decided I should include a peek at Israel before I came back home! So the whole trip would take a month.
With Diana's help, I got a good deal again that gave me a night and a couple of days almost in Athens en route to Zurich, where I was to connect to Zagreb. I had my fill of exciting sightseeing in Athens, reliving the Romantic poetry and Greek drama that were so much a part of my literature loves. I fell in love with another exotic Greek masterpiece, their cuisine – the salads with feta cheese and olives, stuffed grapevine, spinach pie and so on. I was lucky to get a hotel that overlooked a square that had some very nice yet cheap restaurants around, the weather was pleasant, and so it was altogether very lovely. There was the flip side to all this too as a to save costs, I shared a taxi with a lunch companion when going up to the Parthenon, who I found was very much on the make! I had to ditch him hastily and thank my good luck that I got away with it.
By the time I got to Zurich, I was tired and bravely was struggling not to nod off for fear I would lose my connection, when I sensed rather than saw and heard some 'UNICEF presence'. Let me try and convince you that such a thing is possible! It has happened to me again, though years later. Nor was it only something that happened only to me. I forget if I sidled up to the man standing a few feet away or he to me, and asked very tentatively, 'Excuse me, but do you happen to be from UNICEF?' 'Yes' was the astonished answer, 'Are you? How did you know', etc. More surprises were to come, one after another, and the group was joined by more from different parts of the world, and soon we were nearly 12! when we got on to the plane, one of us remarked there was a rule that forbade more than a small number , six I think, traveling by the same plane – reasons obvious. Well, there was not much we could do so we made the best or it -just got to know one another.
The Institute of Public health in Zagreb was a premier institution in the then still undivided Yugoslavia. A few years since the passing away of Josef Tito, the federation was still strong and socialist-oriented. We started with an introduction to the country and its economy, politics and society; what struck me most was the ratio of the salaries of the lowest in public service and the highest – 1:20. I think in India it can be even higher than 1:20,000! A double-edged point in their system of socialism was that consensus was sought for key issues but this involved an inordinate number of meetings that each adult seemed to have to attend. Unfortunately, it was not easy to discuss politics as such with anyone and we could only observe and deduce or rather guess at the situation. There were a reasonable amount of goods in the market, or at least so it seemed to those of us coming from India [those from the West might have noted a paucity of goods or extraordinarily high prices].
After the faux pas at the Gruns' dinner, I had decided I would try again to eat non-vegetarian fare so I would not stand out or create a fuss in the international crowd. Of course, the Yugoslav cuisine has been somewhat influenced by the Middle East, due to having been under the Ottoman sway for a while, for example, Kabobs were a regular on every restaurant's menu. So it was a far cry from the insipid fare that I had tried to gulp down at the Gruns'. After a few days however, I realised that I was eating hardly anything at the one restaurant meal that the group generally had together, lunch being by common consent a catch-gobble-run affair, both to save time and also to cut down on heavy food twice daily, thus avoiding drowsiness during the lectures and discussions. Like many others, [who incidentally were not vegetarians] I used to shop in some grocery for something simple, light and quick. My choice usually was a meal of bread, cheese, fruit and yogurt. The others might choose some cold meat sandwich and beer or a soft drink. I realised I was subsisting on this meal plus the breakfast that went with the room when I did take eggs most often. I gave up pretending I could return to non-vegetarianism; childhood socialisation was just too strong!
The last straw was our last dinner before leaving Zagreb. It was at an outdoor restaurant on the banks of a river and was quite festive. Our reserved table was already laden with some dishes and everyone went 'OO, ah!' over the centrepieces – on one table it was a large fish looking glassily at one from every angle and on the other was a placid-looking roast suckling pig with an apple in its mouth! I was nauseated and quickly chose a seat at the far end, and ate what I could, not looking at the centre even once again! I knew then that it was no use struggling to eat non-veg again.
The course at Zagreb was focused on public health and was very rewarding. We went on one field trip to a primary health facility, a kind of dispensary, which was very educative. Another point that makes that trip memorable was that when we sat down for lunch, all of us including our chartered bus driver ate together. This was unthinkable in India [even in the 90s and the new millennium, we have had no success to make the driver of any vehicle we are using sit down to eat with us, though we keep inviting them to do so! Of course, most Indians would not dream of even asking; rather, they would frown if someone else did ask and woe betide the poor driver if he did venture to do so on his own!].
During the weekend, our group went to the fantastic Plivovitz waterfalls – the waters were a brilliant blue - due to the copper-sulphate in it, we were told. An enchanting place- hopefully it was not destroyed in the war of the last decade.
The Institute of Social Studies, The Hague
A world-renowned academic institution, ISS, as it was universally known, had at that time a definite leaning towards the left. Also, its field studies in developing countries were mostly in Latin America. On the other hand, our group being from all parts of the world, and composed of people with varying political inclination, we were at logger heads with the staff often.
One of them had a panacea for all social and economic ills: Drive out the agricultural landlords and hand over the land to the tiller, etc. there is no use of any social development programme unless this is done. Our quarrel was not with the first part of the strategy, though as UNICEF, we would not advocate violence, but the second. We apprised him, those of us from India especially, of our failed attempts to do precisely this in the first flush of independence – the fudgng of property ownership, the gifting of barren stony land while posing as the benefactors, the return to penury of the tiller or ex-tenant who once again was caught in the coils of the avaricious landlord. Bill Reddaway, from our office in Patna, was the first one to raise objections to the professor's stand - he would start, “But in Bihar,..' and we would knowingly titter.
A visit via the Balcony
I was sharing a room with Suchada, from the Bangkok office. It was a record summer that year in Europe with the temperature in the Hague touching 40* while we were there. Even though we were close to the seashore, we could not get even a whiff of a breeze. the rooms were neither air-conditioned nor had a fan, so we had left the balcony door open. One night, as we were both reading up and jotting down notes for the next day's assignment, we first only sensed a movement from the open balcony of our first floor room. Then one bare leg came into view and I could see Suchada freeze in fright.
With a thump, a fat, fat woman clad only in a bikini stepped over and lurched into our room. She was wildly gesticulating and saying something over and over again in German. All I could make out was 'hund', 'hund'. When it dawned on me what she was repeating, I firmly told her, 'no hund [dog], no hund here'. Instead of going away, she came right upto me and caressed my hair that I had let loose to dry after my shower. What she said I could not make out, but it must have been appreciative of my long tresses.
Suchada was almost hysterical and said, 'Padmini, what shall we do, what is she saying? Why won't she go?'
i tried to pacify her, 'i think she is drunk – let us call the manager if she will not move out' . Once more I tried, 'your hund is not here, and if you do not go away now, we will call the manager'. At that moment, there was a knock at the door, and a man came in apologising, said something stern to the woman, and led her away. We were most relieved, but Suchada shut and bolted the balcony door despite my remonstrations that it was such a hot night!
The awe-inspiring Heyward
during the sessions at the Hague, we had a visit from Dick Heyward, one of the two Deputy Executive Directors of UNICEF, whose reputation was that he was very sharp and demanding. Apparently, he came down for a day or two during each staff seminar, to size up staff members who were potential promotion material and in case they were national officers, prospective international staff. He did not call them for the interview; you had to ask for it. As with such formidable seniors, he was caricatured - never looking one straight in the eye, and silent for as long as it took the other person in a face-to-face situation to break the heavy silence. Also, he had the habit of incessantly rolling up his tie and letting go of it, and then back again. He also mumbled so that one had to strain to catch his Australian accent. .. But everyone wanted time with him – except me. To the amazed queries of the others, I said, well, I am not looking for an international appointment, so why see him? Why indeed, and risk that opaque silence!
Years later, when I got to know him a bit more, he often sauntered into one's room with some idea or the other, and then he did not wait for one to speak, nor did he ever roll up his tie and back again! It was true that generally he looked down at it as he mumbled and one had to staring to catch his words. Even after he retired as Dy. Exdir, he came and worked daily in the office on an annual honorarium, one heard, of one dollar. He was prepared to help any of us in proposal writing, planning a new programme, or doing field visits and advise on policies and programmes after that.
The Israeli Visa
Soon after World War II, as Israel made phenomenal advances in various fields, I had developed a great admiration for it. I knew a little about the history of the creation of Israel and sympathised strongly with the Palestinians who had lost their everything in the wake of the creation of the Jewish state [Remember Golda Meir declaring ' A land without people for a people without land'! ].
Yet, the achievements of the Israelis and the lingering sympathy for holocaust survivors had overshadowed that enough for me to want to see the country for myself. A lot of the glamour did fade away during the Six-day war in 1967 when the Israelis after defeating the combined Arab forces, just annexed the territories it had taken during the war and even a decade later had not relinquished its control, UN resolution or not! Even so, the kibbutz, the greening of deserts, etc., were too appealing.
The trigger that set me off to try and make it there now was a report from one of my close friends, Margaret, who was of Jewish [Indian] extraction through one grandparent. She had visited Israel some years earlier and was enthusiastic about it. I was told that I would get the visa in Europe, so I tried in the Hague. When my Arab colleagues heard of my plan, they were aghast. We had all become friends, and they could not believe one of their own, so to speak, was actually planning to visit Israel! I was equally firm in my resolve so the only advice they gave me was not to get the Israeli visa stamped on my passport if I ever planned to visit any Arab country.
It turned out that the Israelis themselves were sensitive to this problem and I was given the visa on a separate sheet that was to be attached to the passport for the duration of the visit. The visit to the consulate itself was a bit of a worrying experience, though today, one might consider such security arrangements routine. I had to pass through a special cubicle possibly screened like a piece of baggage and asked a thousand questions. This tight screening process was perhaps due to the fact that the Entebbe raid had taken place just recently.
In the meantime, our group was due to spend two days at the organisation's headquarters of its Supply Division and the Central Supply Warehouse. It was mind-boggling to visit the latter – huge but more important, the briefing revealed to us how well managed and coordinated the operations were. Our claim, regularly tested and validated, was that in an emergency, UNICEF supply kits for immediate relief could be delivered anywhere in the world in 24 hours. These kits, if I remember right, consisted of, at a minimum, tents, children's nutritious snacks, first aid and essential medicines and cooking utensils [as often grains are provided by the World Food Programme or other agencies but no utensils]. Our tour of the warehouse showed how this was possible – it was so well organised and labeled that any type of packet or kit could be located and stacked for delivery in no time at all. Nowadays, computerisation must have made this even more efficient.
We enjoyed Copenhagen greatly. I recall especially the famous pedestrian streets choc-a-bloc with the commercial area. We had a lot to gawk at and giggle over – the sex shop, the blue cinemas, though some of us at least were too timid and embarrassed to visit any of these! Then there were the Mermaid statue and other sights.
Our seminar was officially over with this visit. I had decided to visit the U.K. For a few days. In London, I visited Dr. Trudy Harpham of the Institute of Tropical Medicine – she was the editor of a book on child health to which I had contributed a chapter; and the UK Committee for UNICEF. Then on to the University of Sussex, for its Institute of Development Studies, which involved a pleasant train ride to Brighton and back.
But my very first visit was to the famous Veerasami's, a hoary Indian restaurant renowned for its mulligatawny curry. Not that I chose that dish. When the waiter proffered me a menu, I waved it away; instead, almost about to collapse with longing, I demanded 'have you rice and rasam?' [a staple thin soup that one mixes with rice in the usual South Indian menu]! He had, and I plunged into that homely dish, sooooo tasty and soul-filling after nearly a month of coping with all kinds of vegetarian combinations and adaptations in lands that were inherently non-vegetarian!
I did a lot of shopping too here, mainly for Adit and the house, but also for myself, and then found my inexperience had led me to accumulate more than my suitcases would take. I had to leave some stuff in the local Engineers India's office for them to send through anyone coming next and having some free baggage space.
Israel
Now my last stopover – to Israel. At London airport, my suitcase was opened and searched so thoroughly that not even a pin could have escaped notice. Still, I told the apologetic official I did not mind since this was just after the Entebbe raid and it was natural, I felt, that the airlines should be so wary. But in those halcyon days, such searches and the now standard question, 'did anyone have access to your suitcase since you packed it?' etc., were not common.
My itinerary had been arranged by the Israeli Director of Social Welfare, whom Margaret had written on my behalf. It was a mix of project visits and sightseeing. I was keen on a stay at a kibbutz, but the scales fell from my eyes when I did so. Like some other kibbutzim, this had become more of a tourist venue and a very crass one at that. There was almost no agricultural activity, and the hallmark sharing ethos was evident only in common meals and laundry.
Even more disappointing was a visit to a preschool on the edge of Jerusalem. It was in an Arab neighbourhood and the state -run facility was shown off proudly. But I could see that it was not so well-appointed as the one I had seen at the kibbutz. Even so, it was much better than the standard Indian anganwadi. Boasting about how the state provided such good facilities, the social worker asked me why in India we did not have similar ones. I retorted that we could then only serve a fraction of the eligible group [Not that we have even today managed to serve most of them with the minimal standards we use].
The sightseeing held no such disappointments. Apart from Jerusalem, I went to Nazareth and Bethlehem. But the political and economic aspects intruded upon even this enjoyment when I saw everywhere the plaques proclaiming the sleek building or monument to be the gift of someone whose name inevitably was Jewish, always from the USA. The whole country seemed to me to be propped up by American Jews.
My brief interlude in Israel ended, I returned to India, but years later, I was to learn more about the country from the perspective of the various Arab countries I had to deal with when in the Middle East and North Africa section of UNICEF, especially with the Palestinian Occupied Territories. This led me to delve into the complex history of the Israeli- Palestinian conflict only to find myself confused still. This is not the place to go deeper in this question, nor am I an authority on it! But, how often opportunities to resolve the problem seemed to have been lost!
Representing UNICEF
Back in India, I was given the responsibility of being the programme focal point for various international events that were to happen during the decade such as the Alma Ata Conference on Health for All scheduled for 1978, the International Year of the Child [1979], and the mid-decade south asian regional conference on the Women's Decade [1980].
On the information side, Razia Ismail, our Information Officer, was the focal point for IYC. We had to work together on these events, and to represent UNICEF SCARO [i.e. the Delhi office] in meetings with Government, NGOs and other UN organisations. Sometimes very frustrating, or boring, but useful experiences. Working closely together on this and other issues, we became fast friends and remain so still.
Once we both had to go see the Jt. Secretary, Ministry of Social Welfare, then the nodal ministry for child welfare and development, regarding one of these events. As we entered his room, the J.S. looked very markedly beyond us and remarked “ Oh, nobody senior from UNICEF?” In a flash, as always with her, Razia rejoined, “ If you look quickly from Padmini to me and back again several times, you will note there is one senior between the two of us!”
We found A.B. Bose, the officer in charge of data collection and analysis in the Department, and the Deputy Secretary, Saha, easier to get on with. As one involved myself in data issues, I got to know and respect Bose specially. Saha had a special interest in adoption, and we from UNICEF worked with him to try, as an initiative of IYC, and get an uniform bill that allowed adoption by all communities passed by Parliament. India has many acts that apply only to Hindus, as the Govt. is reluctant to interfere with the personal laws of the minority communities, for e.g., the Hindu Code Bill was passed soon after independence – this changed a lot of archaic laws so that women had a better deal in inheritance, marriage and divorce, etc. a number of people clamored for the bill to be extended to other communities but the Govt. was afraid to stir up a hornet's nest as some of the rigid sections of certain communities were vocal in opposing the idea. Unfortunately, the amended adoption bill did not see the light of day, nor has it even now in that form, though some changes have been made.
Razia and I worked on many other initiatives for IYC. One was to get the rich to sponsor infrastructure badly needed - health centres , Anganwadis for child development, schools, parks and so on. Our slogan was “ India is a poor country with many rich people”. The bait we held out was that the sponsors' names would be emblazoned on the buildings they funded. A particular version of this was a children's park where health checkups and health education would be imparted to street and working children, and children of the poor., when they came in to play [a captive audience!]. Unfortunately, none of these initiatives got underway, due to various bureaucratic or political hindrance, I do not recall which.
We also interacted with the Tribal Development Commissioner, Dr. Vidyasagar, a scholar and activist for tribals on some special schemes for them. Again various hurdles got in the way of any real action. on one occasion, Dr. V remarked that he was not perturbed by reports of proselytization by Christian Missionaries, if they were able to uplift the tribals. What have we Hindus done for them all these centuries, he asked. A view not many in India would fully agree with, though his question is still valid.
when I was chosen to be one of the 24 or so for the annual Staff Seminar, I was naturally excited, but also worried about leaving Adit for three to four weeks. He was just 2 ½ years old, but when I told him I would be out for a month but that Appa and Annaiya would be with him, and that he should be good etc., etc., he did seem to understand and internalise the admonition. The adults were also quite sanguine about taking full charge and so I set my mind at rest.
The Staff Seminar was UNICEF's major global training event for which promising staff members from various levels and categories were chosen. In our group, most were middle level professionals, both international and national, but a few were senior general service staff. The orientation package told me that this year the Seminar was to be spent partly at the Institute of Public health, Zagreb in what was then the federation of Yugoslavia, and the Institute of Social Studies, the Hague in the Netherlands, about ten days in each place. There was also a brief visit to the Central Warehouse that UNICEF has in Copenhagen, for an orientation on our supply operations.
Off and on, I had heard from Margaret, my friend, about her exciting trip to Israel [she was about 1/8th Jewish – part of the original diaspora, like Diana's forefathers]. I had also been very impressed by the interesting advances that Israel had been making in every field and very sympathetic to the kibbutz concept. Now, while planning the trip, I decided I should include a peek at Israel before I came back home! So the whole trip would take a month.
With Diana's help, I got a good deal again that gave me a night and a couple of days almost in Athens en route to Zurich, where I was to connect to Zagreb. I had my fill of exciting sightseeing in Athens, reliving the Romantic poetry and Greek drama that were so much a part of my literature loves. I fell in love with another exotic Greek masterpiece, their cuisine – the salads with feta cheese and olives, stuffed grapevine, spinach pie and so on. I was lucky to get a hotel that overlooked a square that had some very nice yet cheap restaurants around, the weather was pleasant, and so it was altogether very lovely. There was the flip side to all this too as a to save costs, I shared a taxi with a lunch companion when going up to the Parthenon, who I found was very much on the make! I had to ditch him hastily and thank my good luck that I got away with it.
By the time I got to Zurich, I was tired and bravely was struggling not to nod off for fear I would lose my connection, when I sensed rather than saw and heard some 'UNICEF presence'. Let me try and convince you that such a thing is possible! It has happened to me again, though years later. Nor was it only something that happened only to me. I forget if I sidled up to the man standing a few feet away or he to me, and asked very tentatively, 'Excuse me, but do you happen to be from UNICEF?' 'Yes' was the astonished answer, 'Are you? How did you know', etc. More surprises were to come, one after another, and the group was joined by more from different parts of the world, and soon we were nearly 12! when we got on to the plane, one of us remarked there was a rule that forbade more than a small number , six I think, traveling by the same plane – reasons obvious. Well, there was not much we could do so we made the best or it -just got to know one another.
The Institute of Public health in Zagreb was a premier institution in the then still undivided Yugoslavia. A few years since the passing away of Josef Tito, the federation was still strong and socialist-oriented. We started with an introduction to the country and its economy, politics and society; what struck me most was the ratio of the salaries of the lowest in public service and the highest – 1:20. I think in India it can be even higher than 1:20,000! A double-edged point in their system of socialism was that consensus was sought for key issues but this involved an inordinate number of meetings that each adult seemed to have to attend. Unfortunately, it was not easy to discuss politics as such with anyone and we could only observe and deduce or rather guess at the situation. There were a reasonable amount of goods in the market, or at least so it seemed to those of us coming from India [those from the West might have noted a paucity of goods or extraordinarily high prices].
After the faux pas at the Gruns' dinner, I had decided I would try again to eat non-vegetarian fare so I would not stand out or create a fuss in the international crowd. Of course, the Yugoslav cuisine has been somewhat influenced by the Middle East, due to having been under the Ottoman sway for a while, for example, Kabobs were a regular on every restaurant's menu. So it was a far cry from the insipid fare that I had tried to gulp down at the Gruns'. After a few days however, I realised that I was eating hardly anything at the one restaurant meal that the group generally had together, lunch being by common consent a catch-gobble-run affair, both to save time and also to cut down on heavy food twice daily, thus avoiding drowsiness during the lectures and discussions. Like many others, [who incidentally were not vegetarians] I used to shop in some grocery for something simple, light and quick. My choice usually was a meal of bread, cheese, fruit and yogurt. The others might choose some cold meat sandwich and beer or a soft drink. I realised I was subsisting on this meal plus the breakfast that went with the room when I did take eggs most often. I gave up pretending I could return to non-vegetarianism; childhood socialisation was just too strong!
The last straw was our last dinner before leaving Zagreb. It was at an outdoor restaurant on the banks of a river and was quite festive. Our reserved table was already laden with some dishes and everyone went 'OO, ah!' over the centrepieces – on one table it was a large fish looking glassily at one from every angle and on the other was a placid-looking roast suckling pig with an apple in its mouth! I was nauseated and quickly chose a seat at the far end, and ate what I could, not looking at the centre even once again! I knew then that it was no use struggling to eat non-veg again.
The course at Zagreb was focused on public health and was very rewarding. We went on one field trip to a primary health facility, a kind of dispensary, which was very educative. Another point that makes that trip memorable was that when we sat down for lunch, all of us including our chartered bus driver ate together. This was unthinkable in India [even in the 90s and the new millennium, we have had no success to make the driver of any vehicle we are using sit down to eat with us, though we keep inviting them to do so! Of course, most Indians would not dream of even asking; rather, they would frown if someone else did ask and woe betide the poor driver if he did venture to do so on his own!].
During the weekend, our group went to the fantastic Plivovitz waterfalls – the waters were a brilliant blue - due to the copper-sulphate in it, we were told. An enchanting place- hopefully it was not destroyed in the war of the last decade.
The Institute of Social Studies, The Hague
A world-renowned academic institution, ISS, as it was universally known, had at that time a definite leaning towards the left. Also, its field studies in developing countries were mostly in Latin America. On the other hand, our group being from all parts of the world, and composed of people with varying political inclination, we were at logger heads with the staff often.
One of them had a panacea for all social and economic ills: Drive out the agricultural landlords and hand over the land to the tiller, etc. there is no use of any social development programme unless this is done. Our quarrel was not with the first part of the strategy, though as UNICEF, we would not advocate violence, but the second. We apprised him, those of us from India especially, of our failed attempts to do precisely this in the first flush of independence – the fudgng of property ownership, the gifting of barren stony land while posing as the benefactors, the return to penury of the tiller or ex-tenant who once again was caught in the coils of the avaricious landlord. Bill Reddaway, from our office in Patna, was the first one to raise objections to the professor's stand - he would start, “But in Bihar,..' and we would knowingly titter.
A visit via the Balcony
I was sharing a room with Suchada, from the Bangkok office. It was a record summer that year in Europe with the temperature in the Hague touching 40* while we were there. Even though we were close to the seashore, we could not get even a whiff of a breeze. the rooms were neither air-conditioned nor had a fan, so we had left the balcony door open. One night, as we were both reading up and jotting down notes for the next day's assignment, we first only sensed a movement from the open balcony of our first floor room. Then one bare leg came into view and I could see Suchada freeze in fright.
With a thump, a fat, fat woman clad only in a bikini stepped over and lurched into our room. She was wildly gesticulating and saying something over and over again in German. All I could make out was 'hund', 'hund'. When it dawned on me what she was repeating, I firmly told her, 'no hund [dog], no hund here'. Instead of going away, she came right upto me and caressed my hair that I had let loose to dry after my shower. What she said I could not make out, but it must have been appreciative of my long tresses.
Suchada was almost hysterical and said, 'Padmini, what shall we do, what is she saying? Why won't she go?'
i tried to pacify her, 'i think she is drunk – let us call the manager if she will not move out' . Once more I tried, 'your hund is not here, and if you do not go away now, we will call the manager'. At that moment, there was a knock at the door, and a man came in apologising, said something stern to the woman, and led her away. We were most relieved, but Suchada shut and bolted the balcony door despite my remonstrations that it was such a hot night!
The awe-inspiring Heyward
during the sessions at the Hague, we had a visit from Dick Heyward, one of the two Deputy Executive Directors of UNICEF, whose reputation was that he was very sharp and demanding. Apparently, he came down for a day or two during each staff seminar, to size up staff members who were potential promotion material and in case they were national officers, prospective international staff. He did not call them for the interview; you had to ask for it. As with such formidable seniors, he was caricatured - never looking one straight in the eye, and silent for as long as it took the other person in a face-to-face situation to break the heavy silence. Also, he had the habit of incessantly rolling up his tie and letting go of it, and then back again. He also mumbled so that one had to strain to catch his Australian accent. .. But everyone wanted time with him – except me. To the amazed queries of the others, I said, well, I am not looking for an international appointment, so why see him? Why indeed, and risk that opaque silence!
Years later, when I got to know him a bit more, he often sauntered into one's room with some idea or the other, and then he did not wait for one to speak, nor did he ever roll up his tie and back again! It was true that generally he looked down at it as he mumbled and one had to staring to catch his words. Even after he retired as Dy. Exdir, he came and worked daily in the office on an annual honorarium, one heard, of one dollar. He was prepared to help any of us in proposal writing, planning a new programme, or doing field visits and advise on policies and programmes after that.
The Israeli Visa
Soon after World War II, as Israel made phenomenal advances in various fields, I had developed a great admiration for it. I knew a little about the history of the creation of Israel and sympathised strongly with the Palestinians who had lost their everything in the wake of the creation of the Jewish state [Remember Golda Meir declaring ' A land without people for a people without land'! ].
Yet, the achievements of the Israelis and the lingering sympathy for holocaust survivors had overshadowed that enough for me to want to see the country for myself. A lot of the glamour did fade away during the Six-day war in 1967 when the Israelis after defeating the combined Arab forces, just annexed the territories it had taken during the war and even a decade later had not relinquished its control, UN resolution or not! Even so, the kibbutz, the greening of deserts, etc., were too appealing.
The trigger that set me off to try and make it there now was a report from one of my close friends, Margaret, who was of Jewish [Indian] extraction through one grandparent. She had visited Israel some years earlier and was enthusiastic about it. I was told that I would get the visa in Europe, so I tried in the Hague. When my Arab colleagues heard of my plan, they were aghast. We had all become friends, and they could not believe one of their own, so to speak, was actually planning to visit Israel! I was equally firm in my resolve so the only advice they gave me was not to get the Israeli visa stamped on my passport if I ever planned to visit any Arab country.
It turned out that the Israelis themselves were sensitive to this problem and I was given the visa on a separate sheet that was to be attached to the passport for the duration of the visit. The visit to the consulate itself was a bit of a worrying experience, though today, one might consider such security arrangements routine. I had to pass through a special cubicle possibly screened like a piece of baggage and asked a thousand questions. This tight screening process was perhaps due to the fact that the Entebbe raid had taken place just recently.
In the meantime, our group was due to spend two days at the organisation's headquarters of its Supply Division and the Central Supply Warehouse. It was mind-boggling to visit the latter – huge but more important, the briefing revealed to us how well managed and coordinated the operations were. Our claim, regularly tested and validated, was that in an emergency, UNICEF supply kits for immediate relief could be delivered anywhere in the world in 24 hours. These kits, if I remember right, consisted of, at a minimum, tents, children's nutritious snacks, first aid and essential medicines and cooking utensils [as often grains are provided by the World Food Programme or other agencies but no utensils]. Our tour of the warehouse showed how this was possible – it was so well organised and labeled that any type of packet or kit could be located and stacked for delivery in no time at all. Nowadays, computerisation must have made this even more efficient.
We enjoyed Copenhagen greatly. I recall especially the famous pedestrian streets choc-a-bloc with the commercial area. We had a lot to gawk at and giggle over – the sex shop, the blue cinemas, though some of us at least were too timid and embarrassed to visit any of these! Then there were the Mermaid statue and other sights.
Our seminar was officially over with this visit. I had decided to visit the U.K. For a few days. In London, I visited Dr. Trudy Harpham of the Institute of Tropical Medicine – she was the editor of a book on child health to which I had contributed a chapter; and the UK Committee for UNICEF. Then on to the University of Sussex, for its Institute of Development Studies, which involved a pleasant train ride to Brighton and back.
But my very first visit was to the famous Veerasami's, a hoary Indian restaurant renowned for its mulligatawny curry. Not that I chose that dish. When the waiter proffered me a menu, I waved it away; instead, almost about to collapse with longing, I demanded 'have you rice and rasam?' [a staple thin soup that one mixes with rice in the usual South Indian menu]! He had, and I plunged into that homely dish, sooooo tasty and soul-filling after nearly a month of coping with all kinds of vegetarian combinations and adaptations in lands that were inherently non-vegetarian!
I did a lot of shopping too here, mainly for Adit and the house, but also for myself, and then found my inexperience had led me to accumulate more than my suitcases would take. I had to leave some stuff in the local Engineers India's office for them to send through anyone coming next and having some free baggage space.
Israel
Now my last stopover – to Israel. At London airport, my suitcase was opened and searched so thoroughly that not even a pin could have escaped notice. Still, I told the apologetic official I did not mind since this was just after the Entebbe raid and it was natural, I felt, that the airlines should be so wary. But in those halcyon days, such searches and the now standard question, 'did anyone have access to your suitcase since you packed it?' etc., were not common.
My itinerary had been arranged by the Israeli Director of Social Welfare, whom Margaret had written on my behalf. It was a mix of project visits and sightseeing. I was keen on a stay at a kibbutz, but the scales fell from my eyes when I did so. Like some other kibbutzim, this had become more of a tourist venue and a very crass one at that. There was almost no agricultural activity, and the hallmark sharing ethos was evident only in common meals and laundry.
Even more disappointing was a visit to a preschool on the edge of Jerusalem. It was in an Arab neighbourhood and the state -run facility was shown off proudly. But I could see that it was not so well-appointed as the one I had seen at the kibbutz. Even so, it was much better than the standard Indian anganwadi. Boasting about how the state provided such good facilities, the social worker asked me why in India we did not have similar ones. I retorted that we could then only serve a fraction of the eligible group [Not that we have even today managed to serve most of them with the minimal standards we use].
The sightseeing held no such disappointments. Apart from Jerusalem, I went to Nazareth and Bethlehem. But the political and economic aspects intruded upon even this enjoyment when I saw everywhere the plaques proclaiming the sleek building or monument to be the gift of someone whose name inevitably was Jewish, always from the USA. The whole country seemed to me to be propped up by American Jews.
My brief interlude in Israel ended, I returned to India, but years later, I was to learn more about the country from the perspective of the various Arab countries I had to deal with when in the Middle East and North Africa section of UNICEF, especially with the Palestinian Occupied Territories. This led me to delve into the complex history of the Israeli- Palestinian conflict only to find myself confused still. This is not the place to go deeper in this question, nor am I an authority on it! But, how often opportunities to resolve the problem seemed to have been lost!
Representing UNICEF
Back in India, I was given the responsibility of being the programme focal point for various international events that were to happen during the decade such as the Alma Ata Conference on Health for All scheduled for 1978, the International Year of the Child [1979], and the mid-decade south asian regional conference on the Women's Decade [1980].
On the information side, Razia Ismail, our Information Officer, was the focal point for IYC. We had to work together on these events, and to represent UNICEF SCARO [i.e. the Delhi office] in meetings with Government, NGOs and other UN organisations. Sometimes very frustrating, or boring, but useful experiences. Working closely together on this and other issues, we became fast friends and remain so still.
Once we both had to go see the Jt. Secretary, Ministry of Social Welfare, then the nodal ministry for child welfare and development, regarding one of these events. As we entered his room, the J.S. looked very markedly beyond us and remarked “ Oh, nobody senior from UNICEF?” In a flash, as always with her, Razia rejoined, “ If you look quickly from Padmini to me and back again several times, you will note there is one senior between the two of us!”
We found A.B. Bose, the officer in charge of data collection and analysis in the Department, and the Deputy Secretary, Saha, easier to get on with. As one involved myself in data issues, I got to know and respect Bose specially. Saha had a special interest in adoption, and we from UNICEF worked with him to try, as an initiative of IYC, and get an uniform bill that allowed adoption by all communities passed by Parliament. India has many acts that apply only to Hindus, as the Govt. is reluctant to interfere with the personal laws of the minority communities, for e.g., the Hindu Code Bill was passed soon after independence – this changed a lot of archaic laws so that women had a better deal in inheritance, marriage and divorce, etc. a number of people clamored for the bill to be extended to other communities but the Govt. was afraid to stir up a hornet's nest as some of the rigid sections of certain communities were vocal in opposing the idea. Unfortunately, the amended adoption bill did not see the light of day, nor has it even now in that form, though some changes have been made.
Razia and I worked on many other initiatives for IYC. One was to get the rich to sponsor infrastructure badly needed - health centres , Anganwadis for child development, schools, parks and so on. Our slogan was “ India is a poor country with many rich people”. The bait we held out was that the sponsors' names would be emblazoned on the buildings they funded. A particular version of this was a children's park where health checkups and health education would be imparted to street and working children, and children of the poor., when they came in to play [a captive audience!]. Unfortunately, none of these initiatives got underway, due to various bureaucratic or political hindrance, I do not recall which.
We also interacted with the Tribal Development Commissioner, Dr. Vidyasagar, a scholar and activist for tribals on some special schemes for them. Again various hurdles got in the way of any real action. on one occasion, Dr. V remarked that he was not perturbed by reports of proselytization by Christian Missionaries, if they were able to uplift the tribals. What have we Hindus done for them all these centuries, he asked. A view not many in India would fully agree with, though his question is still valid.
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