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THE GOOD FEELINGS

THE GOOD FEELINGS…


It was a sunny morning in Twyford. As usual, I got up early and made my

way to the local tobacco and news paper shop. Last night, I was rather

disturbed by the thought I had in the early hours. It was about pain that

my wife suffered in the lumber area.


After some intensive treatments in the local hospital, she began to walk

reasonably well but still suffered pain. She was given TENS machine to

get relief from frequent pain. I too used the machine for the pain resulting

from spondelytes syndromes. Every time I resorted to the use of machine,

I remembered her.

As I came out of the shop doors, I was greeted by a man whom I had seen

often walking down on Glenda Street adjoining my house.

“Good morning, hope it is going to be a nice day.”

“I certainly hopes so. Is there anything interesting on the advertising

board?” I asked as I turned my head towards the board displayed from

inside the paper shop.

“Well, I was just looking at the advert I put in today. I am looking for a

Tens machine for my wife.”

I was surprised to hear that.

“What is she suffering from?”

“She has severe neck pain due to injury she received in a fall.

Unfortunately, she did not qualify for the benefit. I am retired too. She

had physiotherapy but they said that she would benefit by using the

TENS machine. They lent the machine for a short period of time and

advised that we should buy it privately if she felt better. So, when I asked

for the price of the machine in the chemist shop, I was told that it was

over thirty pounds. I decided to put this advert hoping someone might

have such a machine to sell at a reasonable price.” There was sign of

anxiety on his face as he looked at the advert.

I suspected that his financial status could be tight.

“Well my friend, you have just found such a person. I am Raj, what is

your name?”

“Peter Sadler”

I was surprised again by that name. I looked at him poignantly. I began to

notice the familiar pointed nose and the wrinkles around his mouth. Yes,

it was him who taught me economic subject at the Kingston College in

Surrey some forty years ago. Momentarily, I felt like hugging him. He

helped me enormously, not only in my study for Bsc. Economics degree

course, but also in other fields of my life.

Peter looked at me and asked,

“You have the machine? Oh, that’s great. Please tell me how much will it

cost me?” He looked down as he asked.

“Would you mind telling me where do you live? I have seen you often

walking on the Glenda Street. I would be happy to deliver the machine to

your house, if you don’t mind, that is.”

“Oh, that is very good of you. I am at 32 on that street. But, please tell me

how much will it cost?”

“Nothing. I have a story to tell you when I will see you.” I smiled as I

said.

There was an anticipatory look on Peter’s face. I told him that I lived at

34 London road.

“Thank you. You are welcome today for tea, if that suits you.”

‘Good, that is fine by me. Before I go, may I know the name of your


wife?”

“Gwen” he said.

I smiled as I said,

“So, I will see you at four o’clock then” I noticed the smile and glint on

Peter’s face. He always reflected that style when he was surprised and

thankful for things given to him by me in the past.

It was precisely four o’clock as I knocked on Peter’s house door. I bought

some flowers on the way.

As the door opened, I saw a young man standing near a sofa. Peter introduce him as Richard, his son.

“Please sit down. Gwen will be down shortly. When I told her about our

meeting, she was surprised to know that you have the Tens machine and

would come home to deliver. You know Raj, it is not often such luck

comes so quickly to one looking for something. In the past we advertised

for a dining table, and it took ages before we found one. Ah, here she is.

Gwen, this is the gentleman whom I met this morning. His name is Raj.”

Gwen gently walked towards me and shook my hand before taking her

place on the nearby sofa. Yes, I knew for sure that Gwen was the lady

who had researched for the possible British naturalisation issue for me

years ago. I was a student holding Portuguese passport and my study in

the UK was conditional to return home after finishing the course in

Economics. As I looked straight into Gwen’s eyes, I suddenly realised

that she was a bit concerned by my look. It was a rude behaviour on my

part. So I said spontaneously,

“Sorry Gwen, I forgot to give you these flowers” as I stood up and

presented the flowers. They were surprised at this.

I clarified,

“Please look at me, you might recognise me”

They looked at me in amazement. Momentarily, Peter looked at Gwen

and Richard and then at me. They could not recognise me.

“The Kingston College, doest that clue help you to identify me?

Acquisition of the British nationality?”

Peter and Gwen literally jumped, throwing the bunch of flowers on the

adjoining sofa, and came to me and held me by my shoulder and looked

into my eyes.

“Good grief, if it isn’t the same Raj. We missed you for so many years.

Thank God you look well. We are sorry that we didn’t get in touch with

you since we left Tolworth, Surrey.” They hugged me one at a time. I

could see tears in Gwen’s eyes. Then, Richard came to me and shook my

hand, saying,

“So nice to see you uncle Raj” I put my left arm over his shoulder and

said,

“So you too have not forgotten this uncle. Nice to see you.”

I took my seat and looked at both Peter and Gwen, and said,

“I knew from the moment I heard your Welsh accent at the paper shop,

that you could be the long lost family friend. I was absolutely surprised

by that feeling I had. Then, Peter mentioned your name. I realised that I

had found the friends who gave enormous help to my late wife and me in

the manner no other person could have given then. We have been always

grateful to you both.”

“Sorry to hear about Rani. When did she pass away?”

I explained all about Rani who had suffered from pain and many other

health problems. Then, I presented the TENS machine and instruction on

how to use it to Gwen.

“You have certainly brought great pleasure by this unexpected but nice

meeting. When did you come to Twyford?”

“Some six months ago, after her death. The house and places we visited

often became haunted for me. My son is in the USA. I had visited this

town many years ago and liked the peace of the countryside. I need this

sort of atmosphere to write stories. So, here I am and lucky I chose this

place otherwise we would have never met again and lost the good

feelings!”

After tea, I left their house late in the evening. I looked up towards the

sky and said,

“See my darling, they remembered you and expressed their sorrow for the

loss of you. I have given the TENS machine free to Gwen. She cried as

she took the machine.”

R.Morarjee..7/11/07 Words:-1296.

Trip to India in 2008

MY VISIT TO THE VILLAGE OF AMADPORE, GUJARAT, INDIA

BETWEEN 21ST JANUARY TILL 27TH FEBRUARY, 2008


As I landed at Mumbai airport at 11:30 am, to my amazement I walked

through the Immigration and customs without any hassle. Four years ago, when my wife and I

visited India, the amount of hassle we faced in both departments was unbelievable.

The porters wanted money in dollars! They would escort you to a less busy place and

demand money. I have heard that the money they got was shared with the officers of

both departments. It seemed that all that is over now. I walked through the customs

area without any check. May be I was lucky this time. I had nothing to declare and

hide.

Although it was sunny outside the terminal, I felt cold. My cousin

who came to receive me took my baggage to the people carrier he travelled in from

the village Amadpore. He was accompanied by a driver whose business was to ferry

visitors to and from the airport.

Soon we headed for the nearby highway connecting Mumbai and

Delhi. Amadpore was located some 250 kilometers north of Mumbai. Once out in the

sunshine, I began to feel warm and comfortable. My cousin confirmed that the

weather was exceptionally cold this time. The Western Ghats mountain range soon

disappeared as we made way northwards. I observed people, wrapped in blankets and

sweaters, going about their business. The highway that was very rough and narrow in

the past, is made wide giving smooth and non-friable surface. There were small

crudely built bumps along the road. The stray cattle, goats and dogs lazily walked

on both sides of the road. Some even ventured to cross the highway. A keeper took his

time to move the animals to one side of the road. The frequently passing trucks were

carrying far more goods then the tonnage specified by the law!

We stopped for a break at a place called Charoti . When I saw the

freshly painted building, I assumed that the place would be clean and hygienic inside.

How wrong could I be? Inside, the tables and chairs appeared dirty, mosquitoes were

flying about. The waiters’ uniforms and the stainless steel cups containing drinking

water were dirty. The customers were shouting at the top of their voices. They were

drivers and tourists with children. Those who came from the USA on holidays were

absolutely shocked seeing the conditions of the place.

I dared not to drink or eat anything from the restaurant but my cousin

and the driver had a lunch. If I had eaten anything, I would have had stomach

problems within a matter of hours. I experienced this in the earlier trips I had made.

This time I drank filtered water from a bottle and ate mini cheese biscuits I took from

the UK. I was constantly waving about my arms to shift the flying mosquitoes. I then

went to sit inside the car until cousin and the driver arrived.

Our journey to Amadpore took four hours. Before the new highway

road was built, it took eight hours to reach the destination! On arrival at the house, I

was greeted by my uncle, aged 76 years. My grandfather had four sons. My father was

the eldest. He died at the early age of forty-five in Mozambique, my birth place. The

uncle in Amadpore is the last surviving person in my family. I bowed to his feet and

embraced him. We both shed tears as I greeted him with the traditional’ NAMASTE’,

meaning I bow to God in you. He held my hand for a while and said,

“It has been a long time since you were here last. Come, let’s get

inside the house” I could see the frailty in him. He wore sweater and wrapped himself

in shawl. I felt cold as I walked inside one of the four houses. I then met cousin’s wife

who asked me if I had good journey and that my son and his family members were

well. I passed their regards to her. It was nearly five in the evening and the darkness

was creeping on.

.

The marble floors inside the houses were immaculately clean.

There were adequate lighting and fans inside and outside the houses. The four

terraced houses were under one roof. The houses now belong to the sons of four

brothers. The first one belongs to me as my father was the eldest.

However, since all the cousins are residing abroad, the uncle and his son use the entire

lot of the houses. My cousin is a keen farmer who has been awarded prize of Rupees

100000 with the title ’The mango king’ for growing best quality mangoes in the

whole of Gujarat State of India. In addition to his own 300 acres of land, he makes

use of the lands of those cousins who are residents abroad. Each summer,

he and his father sold mangoes to customers who came from local and faraway places.

From this summer, they are to stop the sale of mangoes from home as the uncle’s

health is deteriorating fast. Moreover, the fruit pickers required by hundreds in

numbers are not available anymore. Instead, the product is sold on wholesale basis to

big commercial companies. The old customers are sad but appreciate the situation the

family is in.


I visited the nearby city of Surat which is fast developing its

industries and general retail businesses. Several malls are in existence and many more

are being built. The influx of labourers from the neighboring states of Utter Pradesh

and Madhya Pradesh was noticeable. Apart from few well to do people, the majority

worked in cotton factories. The factories do not follow safety regulations as required

by law; only a cursory attention is paid to the rules. Therefore, when there is a

fire in a factory, the workers had no systematic exit facilities from inside, and

the ferocity of a fire would entrap the workers who then die in numbers. There is no

parking and emergency clear area for the fire engines to approach the main entrance

of a building. It is reported that there are two thousand business offices in such factory

buildings.

The roads are wide and clean compared to the previous status.

Despite dual carriage ways, I found some motorists driving on the wrong side of

roads! I was informed that people wanted to park cars in spaces on the opposite side

would drive the wrong way! A driver would keep his vehicle, be it car, scooter,

rickshaw, motorbike and bicycle, very near the vehicle in front of him. He would use

the brakes frequently and dangerously. If he were to leave a safety space in the front,

other vehicles would occupy it very soon before him.

It is a common sight to see very young children and teenagers

packed, in the numbers of ten, in a rickshaw. These rickshaws are designated carriers

for many school children. They are appointed and supervised by the school

authorities. There have been cases where several children died from accidents.

Surat is world renowned city for its diamond business. Also, saris

and other fashion goods are manufactured here and well known throughout the

world. Its embroidery work on silk and cotton goods are very famous too. The

growth of modern cinema houses and super markets attract many customers from the

hinterland. There are pizza places, sandwich shops, restaurants and sweetmeat shops.

The growth of cyber cafes and jewellery stores and night time popular outdoor eating

facilities available on many LARIS attract hundreds of people, both from the local

and surrounding villages. I enjoyed eating Parathas prepared on sight on a stainless

steel LARI which the owner kept very clean. When the cook showed me his clean

hands before touching the dough, I queried about the water used to clean his hands. He promptly produced a small stainless steel utensil and poured commercially

available filtered water and washed his hands in it. He said that he was aware of the

visitors from America and England are concerned about unhygienic conditions in

India. So he and other Lari owners around him adopted cleanliness of their cooking

units and hands. It was one of the best memorable events in my life.

I recommend a visit to Surat whenever one goes to India.

Ramanlal Morarjee. © 18/11/2009. Words:-1399.

Journey into past

Journey into past

At the age eleven, I began to notice the selfish motives of the people. I lived in a village with fifty houses in the Gujarat district of India. The people lived communally and they adhered to the code of practice established since they migrated from the Punjab area. Originally, the ancestors were very poor. They had the opportunity to acquire reasonably cheap, and in some cases, free land pieces.

I was brought up by the grandparents, mother and aunts. The grandfather was the sole income earner supporting ten members of the family. He worked as a watch repairer in the city nearby. He leased a piece of land, large enough to grow variety of crops like cotton, wheat, rice and sugarcanes. He planted mango trees around the field. The members of the family slept on the ground that was painted with the cow dung. They placed mats, made from jute strands, on the floor and spread cotton sheets over them. A cotton bedspread was used to cover them. The night lights were made of tins with wicks and for the fuel they used Kerosene. They had one meal a day, mainly in the evenings. For lunch, they had any leftovers from the previous evening, and sometimes roasted peanuts and savouries all made at home. Chapattis, made of wheat flours, were considered as luxury items. They were for the guests and for festival celebration times. I loved a chapatti with molasses but could not get it everyday for my lunch at the village school.

My mother became ill with above normal body temperature. It was expensive to call the family doctor from the nearby city as the money was not easy to come by from the agricultural produce. She was told to walk to the surgery in the city which was three kilometres from the village. Also, there was no money available for the transport. The grandmother had prepared a large basket, full of vegetables, Ghee and some sweetmeats for the aunt who lived in the city. Even at the young age, I realised the inconsideration given to my mother’s health. A house servant put the basket on the mother’s head. A word of warning was given by the grandmother,

“Be careful of the bus drivers. They drive very near the edge of the roads and you could get seriously hurt.”

It was almost midday with the temperature of 37*C. I did not have shoes or slippers. My mother wore a well used pair of slippers she got from her father. She was concerned about my feet.

“What happened to your shoes that you wear when you go to the school?”
She was looking at my feet which I couldn’t keep in one place due to the hot dust on the road.

“It will be OK, Ba. Don’t worry about me” I was aware of her health. I was very annoyed about no money being given for the transport, but I did not show my anger to mother. We left the house and walked about quarter of a kilometre in the burning dust and heat before getting near the tarmac road. A bus with some people hanging outside passed by. The flying dust filled our eyes and nostrils even though we were standing reasonably far away from the road. As we began to walk on the road, my feet were in pain due to the hot tarmac surface. My mother noticed it and decided to stop for a while under a shadowed area. There were many bushy trees casting shadows on the sides of the road.
As we began to walk again, another bus stopped near us.

“Do you want to come aboard? It is very hot.” said the driver.

My mother looked at the driver first and then at me, and asked me,

“Are you OK?”

Although my feet were burning, I said that I was OK. My mother thanked the driver and indicated that we would walk. If we had taken the ride, we would have been expected to pay the fares otherwise the other passengers would make a big noise. A kilometre down the road, we faced a large pond with stagnant water which provided the perfect breeding ground for the mosquitoes. As we proceeded further from the place, I said,

“Ba, can we stop under that tree as my feet are getting hot?” I pointed at the large tree that reminded me of an incident that caused great pain to my right foot in the past. We stopped under the shadowed area for a while. I began to tell her about the incident.

I was on the way barefooted to attend the school in the city. My books were weighty and now and then I had to stop under a shaded area for a little respite. It was getting very hot. I began to walk towards it from this side. Then, I heard the sound of the bus approaching from behind. To avoid possible accident, I decided to run at full speed, dropping a book on the middle of the road. As the bus passed me it created a big dust cloud. I ran hurriedly, only to find me stepping on to a large thorn which pricked right through between the big toe and the adjoining toe. I began to cry instantly. I pulled out the blood covered thorn carefully. I felt as if lot of blood oozed out. I tied the handkerchief around the foot and made my way to collect the book from the road. I could see my friend coming towards me.

“Hey, what happened to your foot?” He held up my foot to see how much damage was done. As I wiped the tears, I angrily said,

“Bloody thorn went right through my foot as I tried to move quickly here to avoid the oncoming bus.”

The friend offered me help by carrying my books. I kept my left arm around his shoulder as I limped all the way to the school.
My mother listened silently as I cited the past experience. Then, she ran her fingers through my hair and as she wiped the perspiration on my face, she uttered,

“In future, always listen for the sound of a bus before crossing the road. You should not run because the bus driver can see you from far away on this stretch of the road. He will slow down the bus. The book could have been destroyed and the granddad would have been very crossed with you. The books are expensive; you know that, don’t you? Anyway, why do you leave our house before your friend leaves his?”

“He goes to work with his father on the farm in the early hours of the morning. I do not want to be late because the art teacher punishes whoever comes late. You know Ba, do you remember that day when I returned home from the school with my fingers swollen? That was because that horrible teacher made me put the fingers on the edge of a drawer which was slammed hard with his foot. It could have broken my fingers. The granddad was very annoyed and wrote something addressed to the principal. From then, the teacher gave me a nasty look but he did not punish me. I was very frightened of him at first”.

“Alright my darling, lets make our way to the doctor.” I tried to help her to put the basket on her head.After delivering the basket to my aunt,we arrived at the surgery.

After examination of my mother, the doctor exclaimed that we should not have walked from the village under her condition. He then told my mother that on completion of the course of medicine he was to prescribe, she must report back for an x-ray of her kidney. He emphasised that she should not walk to his surgery in future. We left after picking up the medicines.

I was looking forward to the treat of ice cream and hot roasted salty whole peanuts and lentils. We set inside the famous air conditioned ice cream parlour. The mother ordered full portion of ice cream i.e. two large dollops for me and milk shake for her. It was a sheer heavenly experience for me. I tucked into the ice cream non stop. My mother kept looking at me and then said,

“Hey, take it easy. You will choke otherwise. There is no hurry; we will be taking a ride in the rickshaw up to the small bridge. From there we will walk home.

I was excited at the prospect of having a ride in the rickshaw. That was a luxury for us.

“But, you will not mention a word about the ride to any one in the house or in the village, understood?” She said that as she finished drinking the milkshake. I affirmed and licked the plate to finish the melted cream.

Little, partially clothed children, who stood in the hot sun outside the entrance to the parlour were looking at me, licking the cream. I was too young to realise their plight. The proprietor kept swearing at them as they did not move away. My mother noticed me looking at them. She drew my attention,

“Come on love, we will have to catch a rickshaw. It is getting late. Do not mention that we had these things here to anyone at home.” She repeated.

As we came out of the parlour, I could see still those children standing and starring at us.

My mother bought the roasted peanuts and whole lentils, some for the people at home and some for us to eat on the way home. As the rickshaw made a slow meandering bumpy ride on the half tarmac and half dusty road leading towards the bridge, we were shaken and tossed up and down. Some of the peanuts and lentils fell on the floor of the rickshaw. My mother requested the driver to slow down the ride.

“Aunty, if I were to slow this, we will never make it to the small bridge. The engine will stop and to restart, it will take more fuel. I have a little fuel left for my return to the city.” spoke the driver in a croaky voice, the result of chewing tobacco mixtures, I thought. His eyes were red. For a moment, I also thought that he was drunk. We clutched on to the side handles until we reached the bridge. My mother paid the fares.The driver asked us if he could take us to our home. My mother refused his help and he drove away towards the city.

“Ba, I still get frightened of walking on this road. I have heard stories about monkeys jumping on us to get things from our hands. I also heard that there are robbers hiding in the bushes here”. I looked around as I spoke.

“Now there are no robbers and the monkeys here. The village council has directed some folks to keep a regular watch here. We will be OK, my love”. After a glance towards me, she quickly scanned the area. She could see a person sitting under a large tree, smoking BIDI, a hand rolled cigarette, and waving his arms towards us.

“Hello Babubhai, how are you?” greeted my mother.

“Oh, I am fine. This heat is unbearable.Where have you been?” he said as he stood up.

“I went to see the doctor. I am not feeling well nowadays. How is your family?” she asked him as we stood near him.

“All are well. Here, let me carry all those things. I am about to return home anyway” he took couple of items from us.

“Did you see any robber today, uncle?” I asked. Babubhai smiled as he looked at me and said,

“No my son, there are no more robbers here. I tell you what, I saw that little boy who plays wonderful tunes on the flute. You know who I mean, don’t you?”

“Raghav, the worker’s son”.

I wished I could play the flute. Soon, we arrived at home. Babubhai was invited for tea. The grand mother enquired generally about the trip and her daughter, my aunt in the city. She appeared very pleased to receive a packet of biscuits from her daughter.

I felt very sad again to observe her happiness. Why could not she be so happy to see us? Why did she not give money for the transport and snacks?

After a quick bath, I settled down for a snack. My mother began to prepare the evening meals. She looked very tired but as no one in the house volunteered to prepare the meals, she being the eldest daughter-in-law had to work in the kitchen.

(R. Morarjee) © 14/06/2007 Words:-2127.

Stories

Hello, I write short stories. Recently I finished writing my first novel in English. It is edited by a well known professional editor in the UK. I am experiencing more knowledge in story writing by following the critique I receive. I am retired. My novel deals with an Indian woman who gets married at the age of 14 to an Indian boy who had to leave India due to his Portuguese nationality. Both the Indian and Portuguese governments had disagreement on the territorial rights over Goa, Div and Daman in India. The respective citizens were deported to their country of birth. Hence the departure of the married boy. She had to face many problems on her own without any help. She gets raped by the uncle-in-law. After six years, she is sent to England where her husband is a student.
In England, she learns the basic English and experiences many new things affecting her life. She becomes dependent on husband's help after she has a fall from the top of the stairs in the house. Husband works for the Civil service department for twelve years and gets transfer to Customs at Heahtrow. After the birth of their son, a cousin, who arrived unexpectedly from Canada, creats termoil in the family. The cousin wants to sleep with the lady of the house. He is a son of the uncle-in-law who raped the house lady before. Then, cousin demands money and the ownership of the house. There are frequent arguments between the couple and cousin resulting in many violent situations. The wife suffers from serious consequences; she takes more painkillers and has asthma and depression. The cousin gets married to an Indian girl born in the UK and leaves the house.
Then, the grown up son decides to get married to a girl born in the UK so that his mother could get help with house work etc. However, the daughter-in-law does not want to look after the parents of her husband. The lady suffers more depression and gets addicted to various medications. Her son is forced to leave the house.
The main protagonist has her hips replaced but she never recoveres from the operations and dies in the hospital.
I would appreciate comments on the story plot.