This is a mail sent by my sister's daughter on the occasion of our parents' 60th wedding anniversary today, 15th May 2012.
My Dad can be contacted at tvnrao34@yahoo.com
1952. In the wee hours before daybreak in May that year, a young man, son of a respected school teacher accompanied by a lovely young girl, the only daughter of a well to do farmer walked into a railway station in a small rural town by the banks of the Krishna in Andhra Pradesh. He was nineteen. She, sixteen. They carried between them two small suitcases containing all their belongings. A few cotton saris and a couple of neatly pressed 'bush shirts' and trousers. As they nervously paced the platform waiting for their train to arrive, a stern-looking man clad in a dhoti and black coat approached them. "Where are you going?", the stranger demanded. Before the youth could answer, he turned towards the bewildered girl and said, "Where do your parents live? I'm going to take you back home. Running away with this boy, are you?!"
The young man had had enough. He stepped up and told the stranger curtly, "She is my wife. We've been married for 2 weeks. I'm going to take up a new job with the Indian Railways. The young girl coyly held up her mangalsutra as "proof" of their wedding.
The stranger reddened a bit, chortled and apologised to the young couple. He then bade them well and sent them on along on their journey.
And what a ride it was. They set up homes in old bungalows in little-known places across the country during the young man's four decade career in the Indian Railways: Nainpur, Tatanagar, Chakradharpur, Vizianagram, Balangir, Visakhapatnam, Berhampur, Jagdalpur, Bondamunda, Farakka, Kehalgaon, and in small Malaysian towns. Their life was full of adventure. He once had a country-made revolver put to his chest by a dacoit in Bihar who came back to him a repentant and reformed man carrying a box of mithai; he rescued a newborn from a 20 foot python that sneaked into their bungalow in Orissa; and she was once mistakenly led to believe that he died in a site accident in West Bengal.
He was an engineer by day and a closet writer by night. He enlisted for short-story competitions held by Andhra Patrika, a popular Telugu weekly of those times. His stories often won the top prizes and the couple once put the prize money, a princely sum of Rs. 1000 to good use and bought their first ever set of foam mattresses. The young woman was enterprising too and her culinary skills were legendary.
They raised four children along the way and sent each of them to the best schools they could afford with his salary.
2012. Sixty years later. On a hot summer day in April, the same couple stood at Mumbai's Chatrapati Shivaji International Airport waiting to board their flight to Melbourne, Australia. A pretty, young girl standing in line with them smiled sweetly asked, "Where are you off to?" The old man smiled back and replied with a twinkle in his eyes, "On our honeymoon!". The girl blushed and giggled; the old lady rolled her eyes and gave him a look of mock chagrin.
1952: A Love Story. One that endures till today.
On behalf of your eight grandchildren and great-grandson, I wish our dearest grandparents on their SIXTIETH WEDDING ANNIVERSARY on this day. Thank you Tatagaru for all those wonderful stories you told us on hot summer nights; stories that always began with "Anaganaga oka sari..." that carried us away into a magical world. I can't wait for Agastya to grow up, sit on your knee and fly away on that carpet of stories. Thank you Ammamma for all the love that only grandmothers are capable of. Love you both immensely.
written by Shivani Vellanki.
My Dad can be contacted at tvnrao34@yahoo.com
1952. In the wee hours before daybreak in May that year, a young man, son of a respected school teacher accompanied by a lovely young girl, the only daughter of a well to do farmer walked into a railway station in a small rural town by the banks of the Krishna in Andhra Pradesh. He was nineteen. She, sixteen. They carried between them two small suitcases containing all their belongings. A few cotton saris and a couple of neatly pressed 'bush shirts' and trousers. As they nervously paced the platform waiting for their train to arrive, a stern-looking man clad in a dhoti and black coat approached them. "Where are you going?", the stranger demanded. Before the youth could answer, he turned towards the bewildered girl and said, "Where do your parents live? I'm going to take you back home. Running away with this boy, are you?!"
The young man had had enough. He stepped up and told the stranger curtly, "She is my wife. We've been married for 2 weeks. I'm going to take up a new job with the Indian Railways. The young girl coyly held up her mangalsutra as "proof" of their wedding.
The stranger reddened a bit, chortled and apologised to the young couple. He then bade them well and sent them on along on their journey.
And what a ride it was. They set up homes in old bungalows in little-known places across the country during the young man's four decade career in the Indian Railways: Nainpur, Tatanagar, Chakradharpur, Vizianagram, Balangir, Visakhapatnam, Berhampur, Jagdalpur, Bondamunda, Farakka, Kehalgaon, and in small Malaysian towns. Their life was full of adventure. He once had a country-made revolver put to his chest by a dacoit in Bihar who came back to him a repentant and reformed man carrying a box of mithai; he rescued a newborn from a 20 foot python that sneaked into their bungalow in Orissa; and she was once mistakenly led to believe that he died in a site accident in West Bengal.
He was an engineer by day and a closet writer by night. He enlisted for short-story competitions held by Andhra Patrika, a popular Telugu weekly of those times. His stories often won the top prizes and the couple once put the prize money, a princely sum of Rs. 1000 to good use and bought their first ever set of foam mattresses. The young woman was enterprising too and her culinary skills were legendary.
They raised four children along the way and sent each of them to the best schools they could afford with his salary.
2012. Sixty years later. On a hot summer day in April, the same couple stood at Mumbai's Chatrapati Shivaji International Airport waiting to board their flight to Melbourne, Australia. A pretty, young girl standing in line with them smiled sweetly asked, "Where are you off to?" The old man smiled back and replied with a twinkle in his eyes, "On our honeymoon!". The girl blushed and giggled; the old lady rolled her eyes and gave him a look of mock chagrin.
1952: A Love Story. One that endures till today.
On behalf of your eight grandchildren and great-grandson, I wish our dearest grandparents on their SIXTIETH WEDDING ANNIVERSARY on this day. Thank you Tatagaru for all those wonderful stories you told us on hot summer nights; stories that always began with "Anaganaga oka sari..." that carried us away into a magical world. I can't wait for Agastya to grow up, sit on your knee and fly away on that carpet of stories. Thank you Ammamma for all the love that only grandmothers are capable of. Love you both immensely.
written by Shivani Vellanki.
No comments:
Post a Comment