Join me as
I sit on the veranda of this old colonial bungalow. It is evening
now and the sun has begun to dip to the horizon, turning the
sky to flame. Long shadows lie across the lawn, and the "brain-fever" bird—a
harbinger of summer—fills the dusk with its repeated questing
call which builds to a maddening crescendo, and then falls suddenly
silent. Parrots streak like emerald darts between the gulmohur
trees and as the darkness thickens, fireflies flicker through
the mango groves. The heady scent of mogra and rath-ki-rani blossoms
flanking the driveway, mingles with the smell of wood smoke borne
on the breeze from the cooking fires in the servants’ quarters
at the rear of the compound.
The bungalow
is older than I am. It has known many seasons: the searing days
of May, when the paint on the roof bubbles and blisters, and
ceiling fans creak through the drowsy afternoons; crisp winter
mornings where the sunshine is mild, and fat chrysanthemums and
heavy-headed dalhias nod in the shade of neem trees; the onslaught
of monsoon storms when rain blurs the windowpanes, and the earth
smells strong and sweet.
The rooms
are filled with mementoes: personal anecdotes and family photographs.
Its walls still hold echoes of a long gone era, a vanished world,
which I once belonged to: Anglo India. There are links to other
Anglo-Indian sites, to articles, to well-loved recipes and to
a listing of familiar "Hobson-Jobson" Anglo-Indian words.
Under the "guest
articles" section, you are welcome to send me contributions about
your own personal memories, accompanied by one or two photographs
if you wish. I’m looking for recollections about school days
in India, about celebrating in our own unique fashion the traditions
of Christmas and Easter, tales of meeting up with old friends,
and favourite family recipes, or anything else you’d like to
share with our global network of Anglo-Indians.
