Passage Across the Mersey

by Robert Bhatia

  I am trying hard to get some extra rest but although I have the time now in which to rest, I cannot. I wander around like something lost.

  I have finished reading a translation of the ‘Fugitive’ by Tagore, and cannot honestly say that I understood it in its entirety, but much of it was very beautiful, but awfully sad. Even in the translation his words touched one’s heartstrings – the original must be very fine indeed – I presume that original is in poetry, although the translation is in prose. I will keep on reading – I have discovered a whole new literature.

  Avadh seemed concerned to reassure her and on 14 January he wrote her a four-page letter that began:

  I have only a few minutes back posted an air letter to you, but I find that my thoughts are still running after you and I am reading your letters again and again, so I thought I might as well write to you again. My whole heart wishes to say to you, times without number, that I love you and yet you are not here to hear the thumpings of my heart. I am being sentimental but so far as you are concerned I cannot be anything else. Sometimes I do wish I had not left England at all – at least I would have been with you then and that is probably the only thing I want now but somehow destiny was determined to lead us otherwise lest

  by getting that or this (a little early)

  I might grow proud a while.

  As well as protestations of love, and with this elegant near-quote of 17th-century poet Robert Herrick’s ‘To Electra’, he told her that ‘the storm in Delhi and in Kashi’s mind is subsiding now – as I hear from brother – and in due course I hope to be able to call you again to come.’ He also said that he planned to take Kashi back to her family in Kashmir just as soon as the railway line was operational again.

  Helen’s response to this letter, written on Thursday 19 January, is glowing:

  My dearest Pussycat,

  Today I received the nicest letter I have ever received in my life. You said you would not read it a second time for fear you should disapprove of it and tear it up. It is a lovely letter and I shall treasure it all my life. Do not think to be sentimental is a profession of weakness – the English are a sentimental race and I do not think even now they could be called weak, but we are afraid to show how we feel sometimes and the result is brusqueness and rudeness on our part quite frequently. But who in the world minds being told they are beloved – certainly I love to be told so – it gives me strength to face each day and encourages many another virtue.

  There is a saying that there is nobody so politely rude as the English and it is very true. It is perfectly clear that everybody here thinks I have been jilted and am too proud to say so. They take the attitude that it serves me right for daring to marry a foreigner.

  Although they were all quite pleased that I was getting married they expected that it should go off without a hitch, and the fact that something has obviously gone wrong, as I cancelled my passage at such incredibly short notice, makes them look round in their minds for criticisms of me which, alas, they can find all too easily. If I would admit that I had been jilted, they could patronize me with pity, but since I have certainly not been and have a boundless trust in you, they think I am snooty and proud.

  I love you intensely and nothing can shake that but my letters may have inadvertently conveyed some of the suppressed fury I have felt against people here, and I do not want that to happen. I could not care less if I was snubbed by people I did not know, but to be snubbed and sniggered at by people I do know (most of whom have some healthy skeletons in their own closets) reduces me to a rage beyond reason. ’Owever, we are crawling through and will doubtless survive until we eventually land in India.

  To speak of something a little more cheerful, has your brother, who has been, so kind, any children? If he has, please tell me whether they are boys or girls and how old they are. I should especially like to come to Delhi armed with a little gift for each of them. I can remember as a child watching grown-ups unpack and the incredible joy and wonder when at the very bottom of the case there was a present for me and I would like to do the same for them. It will have to be a light parcel because of the limit of my luggage, but our toyshops are full, as you know, and I should love to bring them something. I suppose I dare not bring Vijay anything??

  We have a funny saying, ‘dreamin’ of my darling love of thee’, and that is what I am doing this minute!

  Much love, dear,

  Immer Deine [The Lucky One]

  Helen

  On 20 January, Helen wrote with sympathy for Kashi: ‘If there is anything I can do to help her in her predicament, you must tell me and I will do it. I hope she will not shut herself away from life, but will go out amongst people.’

  Her letter continued:

  I am going to dance at the British Council each Sunday until I can come to you, the reasons being that it is a form of entertainment which costs me nothing and in dancing I can completely lose myself, forgetting my miseries completely. Afterwards my mind is refreshed and clear. I do not dance with anyone very long but flit from partner to partner, so as to avoid any embarrassing entanglements. The dance makes me go out whereas otherwise I would not.

  I am thrilled to pieces at the idea of sorting out the flat and making it a happy home for us, but first I must take a peep into one or two Indian homes to see what they are like – otherwise you will find yourself with an English home and that will not do at all. Perhaps your Doctor Brother’s wife would show me round her home?

  I am not worried about Ahmedabad not being westernised – as long as the fly population does not invade our flat!!

  Avadh replied that he was quite happy for Helen to continue attending the British Council dances: ‘I have no objection if you go out a bit more only please let no one else fall in love with you and you with someone else otherwise, well, it would be a disaster for me.’

  On 17 January Avadh wrote describing the life Helen could expect to find when she arrived in India:

  Ahmedabad city can be described as one which in certain ways has remained completely untouched by the Western ideas – for example, literally there is not a single restaurant (except at Railway Station) where one can eat anything – unless of course you try to eat the local food – which I must say is not very interesting. The Railway Station is 3½ miles [5.6 km] from our place and on bus it takes about an hour to reach there. Vegetables and all vegetarian things one can get very easily, even at the door of the flat, but meat is scarce and hard to get – eggs can be had from town (2 miles [3.2 km], ¾ hour on the bus) and also western bread.

  Of course, I have asked for a power plug but I cannot say if it will be fitted because the characteristic of the people here is to never say ‘no’ to anything and do things only at their own wish.

  However, my only worry is how you will employ yourself or your time. So far Dr Vikram Sarabhai’s (Professor of Cosmic Rays) family is the only one where ladies know English and then he and his father are millionaires, being the owners of the finest cotton mill in India, and live at a distance of no less than six miles [9.6 km]. I do not find anyone going to his place except when they are invited.

  Dr Sarabhai was a native of Ahmedabad who had studied physics at the local college and then at Cambridge University. He had founded the Physical Research Laboratory in 1947, initially in his own residence, with funding from the Sarabhai family, who were wealthy mill owners, and some well-to-do friends. While another scientist, Dr Ramanathan, was in charge of the laboratory, Dr Sarabhai and his family were clearly very influential in the university community. Dr Sarabhai went on to play a major role in the Indian space programme. My parents often referred to Dr Sarabhai as Professor Cosmic Rays as that was his field of study at the time.

  Avadh continued:

  Probably you will be able to get some job at the University as a stenographer or teaching English, although I don’t think you need earn because my income will be sufficient for us. All this might mean that for some time to come you may have to become a Sweet Stay at Home! Of cou
rse there is a Lady Lecturer in the flat adjoining to mine (Christian) who will I presume to some extent be your company.

  Every Sunday at 10:30 AM or so we can go to see an English or American picture provided we start from our flat at 9:30 AM which is easy enough since the sun rises at 6:30 AM.

  My mother does not mind you coming provided you will adopt as many as possible of our ways. You can try to learn a little more Hindi when you come so that when any member of my family comes to stay with us, they will appreciate it very much.

  On 18 January Avadh wrote with more information on domestic matters in Ahmedabad.

  I have settled in my flat and have got a man to cook for me. Last night was his first. He does not understand Hindi and I do not understand Gujarati and so there was a good deal of a humorous scene with no one to enjoy it – what a pity. Anyway I am now beginning to learn the language of the province [Gujarati] – so that I could enjoy when you will have to explain to him anything.

  He added: ‘I have received information from Brother that Kashi’s mother has come from Kashmir and is with her. I do not know what decision has been taken but since my position is quite clear in their minds; i.e. if they insist on their way, I shall simply come to England.’

  Avadh described his Doctor Brother as having become his friend through this turbulent period, and said he wrote to him twice a week. He told Helen that his brother was well aware of the humiliation she was experiencing and was doing his best to resolve the situation. I met my uncle a couple of times when I visited India in my early twenties and heard much about him over the years. He struck me as a kind, strong, unflappable man, equally capable of dealing with the complexities of his impoverished patients in old Delhi as with difficult family matters. The mutual respect between him and my dad was obvious and I am glad that he was there as a moderating influence during this terribly difficult period.

  *

  Money was tight for Helen and Avadh, and Helen had borrowed against the value of a small life insurance policy, which was not an uncommon arrangement. Even the poor sometimes had a policy with a premium of a few pennies per week to cover funeral expenses, and, if they were slightly better off, to be used as a form of savings. In Twopence, Helen describes beautifully the elaborate funeral procession of a rag-and-bone man, paid for with insurance.

  Helen had also borrowed from a friend. John had been Eddie’s best friend and was an old colleague of Helen’s at the Petroleum Board who had generously lent them £100 to help start their married life. Helen had agreed to pay him back at a rate of not less than £4 a month.

  On 24 January she wrote to Avadh outlining the state of her finances:

  Borrowed on [life] insurance policy £ 47.0.0

  Borrowed from John 100.0.0

  Saved 20.0.0

  £167.0.0

  I have had to spend as follows:

  Sea Passage £85. 0.0

  Inoculations 1. 1.0

  Luggage to London 1.17.6

  Insurance of Luggage 2. 5.0

  Luggage to Ahmedabad 8. 8.9

  £98.12.3

  This leaves me with £68, out of which I must pay a further £45 for air passage, £2 to London, further luggage by sea, say, £5, and incidental expenses on the journey. I think I shall just manage nicely. I hope to save a few more pounds. I have not saved any more up to now as you will realize I have paid for all cables and £5 for telephone calls out of my weekly salary.

  She said she was ‘rather concerned’ to be starting her married life in debt but hoped that if they were careful they would manage. She added: ‘It is good to have one’s married life on a sound financial foundation.’ There speaks the girl who had managed to feed seven children and two adults on one shilling a day in the early 1930s!

  There were complex and difficult negotiations to be undertaken before Helen could set sail and it must have been horribly frustrating to be stuck in Liverpool with so little influence over events. But she was dogged in her determination. It was only a matter of time before they would be together again. The Hindu Code Bill had been deferred until at least August, so there was plenty of time for Helen to get to India and be married under the old law. I expect she wished the bill would pass sooner because then they would have had to act more quickly. As it was, Helen waited, more or less patiently, at home in Liverpool for news of when she could rebook her passage to India and begin her new life.

  Chapter Ten

  Sometimes I get so appalled at the thought of all that I must learn and at all the mistakes I shall inevitably make that I am reduced to despair and your letter reminded me that I shall have someone to laugh with and someone to tell me. It will be your turn to say, ‘Hush’, or ‘Don’t do that’ and I shall simply die laughing because I shall know just how you feel!

  As they waited for a settlement to be agreed with Kashi and her family, Helen and Avadh wrote almost daily about their forthcoming life together, in letters that are often amusing and always affectionate. They shared a similar sense of humour and entertained each other with their lively descriptions.

  On 25 January 1950, she wrote:

  Your descriptions of Ahmedabad [in his letter of 17 January] made me laugh and wonder if it would shake the town to the foundations if I rode a bicycle too. If it would not be considered absolutely unpardonable, that is what I shall aim to do, even if it takes all my pocket money for two years to buy. I could always wear slacks so that my legs remained covered whilst on it. If both of us had bicycles we could sometimes – when the heat was less – get away from the city for a day. Anyway I’ll soon see how other ladies deport themselves, when I arrive.

  Avadh replied that a bicycle was practically a necessity because of the heat. It was a twelve-minute walk to the laboratory where he worked and bicycling was much preferable.

  There will not be the least objection from my side of your having a bicycle, and ladies do go on bikes; if not so much in Ahmedabad, it is common in Poona, Bombay, Delhi and Allahabad. So don’t worry on that account – when you get here, the first priority will be your bike. I never thought of a bike for you – being a fool as I am – at least till the time we are in a position to get a car.

  On Saturday 21 January, Avadh wrote applauding Helen’s attempts to learn Hindi.

  Even though it will be no good with the servant [who spoke only Gujarati], it will carry you further, for example when my mother comes here. I am afraid that, as matters are now, she, as well as sometimes my father, are bound to come to see whether you are adequately taking care of me and I hope that you will welcome them and take care of them when they are here, as anyone else in your place would have done. That will give us also a feeling (probably specially me) that I have not been dismissed by them. They have been grieved very much by the situation that I have created – but they have accepted it as well – the rest will be in our hands to keep their love on us.

  This letter must have caused Helen some trepidation since she knew that his parents were vegetarian and many of the ingredients she was used to cooking with would not be available. When Avadh first arrived in England, he had been a strict vegetarian. His landlady, Mrs Lewis, presented him with a poached egg but he refused it. She told him that he had to eat it because under the rationing system still operational in Britain, he would starve if he did not eat eggs and meat. He duly slid the egg down his throat whole.

  How could Helen impress her parents-in-law when she was not familiar with either vegetarian or Indian cooking? The chasm between the food Helen was used to and that served in India was far greater than it would be today, now that Indian food is very popular in Britain and many upper-class Indians eat meat dishes. She replied, bravely:

  Of course they will be made most welcome and everything will be done to make them feel comfortable. I only hope they do not come too soon after I arrive, as I am so ignorant and will possibly offend them with my western ways until you have taught me the more obvious things. Also we shall have to buy a few more things for the flat before we can entertain visit
ors! However, you can be quite sure I shall do all I can, not to let you down.

  Avadh replied with a little more detail about the foods that would be available.

  Your food at least to some extent will have to change for the simple reason that we might not get certain things – but milk, eggs, even your type of bread, rice, mutton, vegetables, potatoes, carrots, peas, and other vegetables, bananas and other fruits, good fresh butter – will be available and in plenty. Sugar is rationed (½lb per week) and so is wheat and rice (10oz per day per person).

  He added that the servant he had hired would be responsible for much of the cooking and continued, as if trying to reassure her:

  Yesterday all wheat flour was finished at the flat [so the cook could not make rotis, a staple of daily dinner] so I had to go for a meal out and by luck I found a place only two miles [3.2 km] from our flat which serves English food, and I had soup, fish and chips and bread pudding. It was not very good but it was not bad as well, though charges compared to Indian food were higher (4s/6d) – but Ahmedabadi food in hotels – well I better not talk about it.

  Helen replied:

  Darling, I hope the cook you have acquired is tempting you with all kinds of good things so that you are eating properly and keeping well. I am thinking constantly of all the things that ought to be done to make the flat comfortable and are probably not being done. ’Owever, I must just wait until I arrive. It completely mystifies me how you managed to tell the boy what to do. I visualise you, dictionary in hand, resorting to drawing all over the kitchen wall in a despairing attempt to be understood. Reminds me of Father who, whilst in Russia, wanted to buy an egg. He squatted down, clucking like a hen laying an egg. A delighted Russian, thinking he understood, promptly showed him to the lavatory. After that, father managed without eggs.

  Avadh often wrote to Helen about his work, beginning a lifetime habit of sharing with her his professional concerns.

  I have both plans for developing my section of the Laboratory and fears that I may turn out to be a failure – only God knows how much I shall succeed. My first research student is arriving on Monday, though unofficially one of my colleagues has taken on a research problem from me to work on. I shall battle on with my work as best I can – so that my section is not disgraced – rest must be left to God. From the first week of February, I am starting two courses of lectures on Relativity and Wave Mechanics – lecturing part, I am not so afraid but the research part – well I shall try my best and even if I produce trash, I hope you will love me. The one difficulty is that in theoretical physics, no one here knows more than I do – and I know so little – so that I cannot get much benefit except by my work alone.