While waiting at the supermarket checkout on Sunday, I was idly flicking through a mag on all things green. And in there was an article on the food fad known as ‘freeganism’.
If like me you went “Eh”? after reading that, here is an definition from Wikipedia. “Freeganism is an anti-consumerist lifestyle whereby people employ alternative living strategies based on limited participation in the conventional economy and minimal consumption of resources".
What it means is that the “lifestyle involves salvaging discarded, unspoiled food from supermarket dumpsters (and other dumps) that have passed their display date but haven't passed their edible date. They salvage the food not because they are poor or homeless, but as a political statement*.”
I was fascinated (and revolted) by the concept, and read some more on it. Apparently, the movement started in the 1990s. And those who practiced freeganism weren’t poor or needy, but they got a kick out of getting something free and also by saving money on food bills and doing their bit to save the planet. It was a choice they’d made.
Hmm, I’d never heard of it (or seen it) before Sunday. Or had I? In the recesses of my brain, a memory stirred.
Me, a young girl, just heading out of a kalyana chatram (marriage hall) with my thatha (grandfather). No sooner had we taken a few steps, when behind us there was a noise. I turned to see the banana leaves, bearing the remains of the previous pandhi's (batch) of meals were being tossed out - on to the pavement of course. That the pavement also doubled as the junk bin was accepted fact. As though that action had flicked on a switch, there was immediate action. A few skinny lads running to the leaves, pushing each other out of the way, shouting, fighting, before grabbingng on to a few leaves each and furiously shoving the food from the leaves into their mouths.
“Thatha, they are eating from yechal elai,” I said, tugging at thatha’s hand. I mentally cringed too – I had wasted some food when I was at lunch there. Maybe it was my yechal, leftover food that those boys were eating.
A sad, resigned look came over thatha’s face. “Yes, they are poor boys and unless they eat this food, they won’t get any food at all today,” he said.
For those boys, freeganism wasn’t a choice, it was survival.
__________________________________________________________
* Apparently, the US wastes, in some form or the other, 50% of all food produced there. I wonder if Mr Obama knows this;-)
Tuesday, 11 November 2008
Thursday, 30 October 2008
35 years ago
30 Oct 1973
It was the lightning that woke her up. At least that’s what she thought. She could hear the rain and see the lightning through the small window in the bedroom.
Click here to read the complete post.
It was the lightning that woke her up. At least that’s what she thought. She could hear the rain and see the lightning through the small window in the bedroom.
Click here to read the complete post.
Friday, 29 August 2008
Ten minute theratti paal (yes, ten minutes)
Ingredients:
8 cups whole milk powder
2 cups fresh cream
2 cups raw sugar
2 cups brown sugar
pinch saffron
Mix milk powder and cream in a microwavable dish and microwave for 5 mts. Remove, then stir well, and microwave for a further 2 mts, stirring after the first minute. Then, add sugar, mix well and microwave for a further 2 minutes again removing it to stir half way through.
Then, if consistency of the mixture is thick and if it begins to come away from the sides of the dish, stir once more and then add elaichi and saffron and let cool.
If you are not happy with the consistency, then microwave for a minute more, than add the elaichi and saffron.
And if you like your theratti paal fairer, then substitute white sugar instead of brown, but add 3 cups of it. And do be careful to keep removing the mixture from the microwave and stirring it more often if it is warranted - the mixture can easily go dark brown or black due to excess heating if you don't.
Serves 5 or 20 depending on how much everybody likes theratti paal at home.
Making this dish for Krishna jayanthi brought back so many memories of Patti, sitting next to the wood fires (when I was really young) and then later on, near the gas stove, patiently stirring the milk for hours together. Of course, this quickie recipe is only a pale imitation of that original. If I waited to sample more of the original, I'd probably have to wait a lifetime!
So, there you go. A quick traditional, caloriful treat. Enjoy!
PS: I wish I could put up the photos, but this lot of my theratti paal was consumed instantaneously, before even the idea of putting up the recipe online came to me.
8 cups whole milk powder
2 cups fresh cream
2 cups raw sugar
2 cups brown sugar
pinch saffron
Mix milk powder and cream in a microwavable dish and microwave for 5 mts. Remove, then stir well, and microwave for a further 2 mts, stirring after the first minute. Then, add sugar, mix well and microwave for a further 2 minutes again removing it to stir half way through.
Then, if consistency of the mixture is thick and if it begins to come away from the sides of the dish, stir once more and then add elaichi and saffron and let cool.
If you are not happy with the consistency, then microwave for a minute more, than add the elaichi and saffron.
And if you like your theratti paal fairer, then substitute white sugar instead of brown, but add 3 cups of it. And do be careful to keep removing the mixture from the microwave and stirring it more often if it is warranted - the mixture can easily go dark brown or black due to excess heating if you don't.
Serves 5 or 20 depending on how much everybody likes theratti paal at home.
Making this dish for Krishna jayanthi brought back so many memories of Patti, sitting next to the wood fires (when I was really young) and then later on, near the gas stove, patiently stirring the milk for hours together. Of course, this quickie recipe is only a pale imitation of that original. If I waited to sample more of the original, I'd probably have to wait a lifetime!
So, there you go. A quick traditional, caloriful treat. Enjoy!
PS: I wish I could put up the photos, but this lot of my theratti paal was consumed instantaneously, before even the idea of putting up the recipe online came to me.
Monday, 28 July 2008
A few pieces of mundiri
I was making a dish using mundiri paruppu (cashews) recently when I thought of my grandmother.
Well, I guess I should actually start off this post by saying I associate any sort of good cooking with my grandmother (Patti), especially the traditional south Indian food. Even if she had to use fairly pedestrian ingredients sometimes, she had a certain something in her hand that made her dishes the best I have ever had. Call it perfectionism. Or care. Or love.
But I digress...coming back to the mundiri, I looked at my pantry, housing this large jar of cashews. And remembered how, when I was younger, a scrawny ten-year-old, whiling away the hot summer holidays in Madras by squabbling with my brother and doing other mostly useless things (we didn’t have a TV at home then), Patti (maybe in an attempt to get me to do something half useful) would get me to run some errands for her. My mum, the sole breadwinner, would be at work and so it was just me, my brother, thatha and patti at home. (My dad wasn’t alive then).
Patti used to get me to go to the edhir kadai (shop opposite). Although the shop was no longer opposite our house, as the one ancestral house had been partitioned into many, each with its own entrance and our entrance was now on the next street to the shop. But still, we called the shop edhir kadai. “Go and get me mundiri for one rupee from edhir kadai,” she would say. “Take the money from the Karaikudi dabba.” This was a set of cuboid-shaped metal containers that she had in various sizes, the smallest of which was used to store loose change.
My first feeling would be joy. Buying mundiri meant only one thing. That she was making something sweet, like payasam or kesari. That meant the cashews would be roasted in ghee. Yummy. Then, I would demur. “But Patti, mundiri for one rupee will be so few. Why can’t we get for two rupees.”
She would think for a minute. That was the affection for grandchildren, warring with the prudence born of years of saving paise that enabled her and my grandfather to get 5 daughters married and 3 sons educated and married on the one single accountant’s income. Then, she would smile and say, “Sari, take two rupees and make sure you ask the kadaikaran to put in a couple of extra mundiris.” I would rush off, happy that Patti hadn’t spotted my deviousness. The more the mundiris, the more the chances of me and my brother getting some fried ones to eat by themselves, instead of picking them out from the sweet dish. And not surprisingly, at that age, if I could bully my brother (who is two-and-a-half years younger than me) into giving me some of his, I would certainly do so.
I would take the change from the dabba and then cross the road (mostly carefully) and arrive at the shop, with the change clutched in my sweaty palm. (Madras summer, so I was mostly sweaty!). The shop was dark and dingy and was stocked with things from floor to ceiling. It had a really high counter and almost always had many people waiting to buy things. I could barely reach the top of it to put down my money when my turn finally came. “Rendu rubaiku mundiri,” (mundiri for two rupees) I would say. The shopkeeper, a stocky, well-built dark individual, would tear off a bit from various newspapers he had stocked all around the shop, and toss a handful of mundiri into the paper.
At this stage, I would force myself to say to him (he used to be a bit scary), “innum konjam pondunga” (put some more please). With an expressionless face, he would throw in another half-a-mundiri. And then, for the grand finale, he would deftly twist and fold the paper so that it made a safe parcel with the mundiri in the middle. Bigger items like a kilo of idli rice etc got a different treatment in wrapping from him, but that deserves another post all to itself.
Bearing the mundiri triumphantly, I would rush back home. And from then on, every few minutes, me and my brother (egged on by me), would take turns to ask Patti, is it finished yet, can we have mundiri now? She would say, no not yet, perumalukku amsaye pannitu thaan (only after it has been offered to God as prasadam).
Then finally, it would be done. It would be lunchtime and sometimes we wouldn’t even wait that long. As soon as the puja was finished, Patti would serve us payasam (kheer) first and make sure she picked out more pieces of mundiri from the payasam and deposited it in our portion. Even then, me and my brother used to rush back to Patti to make sure that the amounts got equalised if one of us got more mundiri pieces that the other.
And towards evening, after her post-lunch work was finished and she was busy only with coffee etc, Patti would summon us and give us the special pieces of fried mundiri that she had saved without tossing them into the payasam. Always, always, there was some mundiri left over for us. So much for my deviousness!!
I use a lot of mundiri nowadays in my cooking, never mind the cost and am quite liberal with the ghee I use to fry it too. But somehow, it never tastes the same as those two pieces of snack-time mundiri that she used to make…
Maybe one day, my grandkids will say the same things about my cooking. But I somehow doubt it. Those were simple pleasures from a past generation. They can’t be replicated exactly in this age of mobile devices and busyness.
Well, I guess I should actually start off this post by saying I associate any sort of good cooking with my grandmother (Patti), especially the traditional south Indian food. Even if she had to use fairly pedestrian ingredients sometimes, she had a certain something in her hand that made her dishes the best I have ever had. Call it perfectionism. Or care. Or love.
But I digress...coming back to the mundiri, I looked at my pantry, housing this large jar of cashews. And remembered how, when I was younger, a scrawny ten-year-old, whiling away the hot summer holidays in Madras by squabbling with my brother and doing other mostly useless things (we didn’t have a TV at home then), Patti (maybe in an attempt to get me to do something half useful) would get me to run some errands for her. My mum, the sole breadwinner, would be at work and so it was just me, my brother, thatha and patti at home. (My dad wasn’t alive then).
Patti used to get me to go to the edhir kadai (shop opposite). Although the shop was no longer opposite our house, as the one ancestral house had been partitioned into many, each with its own entrance and our entrance was now on the next street to the shop. But still, we called the shop edhir kadai. “Go and get me mundiri for one rupee from edhir kadai,” she would say. “Take the money from the Karaikudi dabba.” This was a set of cuboid-shaped metal containers that she had in various sizes, the smallest of which was used to store loose change.
My first feeling would be joy. Buying mundiri meant only one thing. That she was making something sweet, like payasam or kesari. That meant the cashews would be roasted in ghee. Yummy. Then, I would demur. “But Patti, mundiri for one rupee will be so few. Why can’t we get for two rupees.”
She would think for a minute. That was the affection for grandchildren, warring with the prudence born of years of saving paise that enabled her and my grandfather to get 5 daughters married and 3 sons educated and married on the one single accountant’s income. Then, she would smile and say, “Sari, take two rupees and make sure you ask the kadaikaran to put in a couple of extra mundiris.” I would rush off, happy that Patti hadn’t spotted my deviousness. The more the mundiris, the more the chances of me and my brother getting some fried ones to eat by themselves, instead of picking them out from the sweet dish. And not surprisingly, at that age, if I could bully my brother (who is two-and-a-half years younger than me) into giving me some of his, I would certainly do so.
I would take the change from the dabba and then cross the road (mostly carefully) and arrive at the shop, with the change clutched in my sweaty palm. (Madras summer, so I was mostly sweaty!). The shop was dark and dingy and was stocked with things from floor to ceiling. It had a really high counter and almost always had many people waiting to buy things. I could barely reach the top of it to put down my money when my turn finally came. “Rendu rubaiku mundiri,” (mundiri for two rupees) I would say. The shopkeeper, a stocky, well-built dark individual, would tear off a bit from various newspapers he had stocked all around the shop, and toss a handful of mundiri into the paper.
At this stage, I would force myself to say to him (he used to be a bit scary), “innum konjam pondunga” (put some more please). With an expressionless face, he would throw in another half-a-mundiri. And then, for the grand finale, he would deftly twist and fold the paper so that it made a safe parcel with the mundiri in the middle. Bigger items like a kilo of idli rice etc got a different treatment in wrapping from him, but that deserves another post all to itself.
Bearing the mundiri triumphantly, I would rush back home. And from then on, every few minutes, me and my brother (egged on by me), would take turns to ask Patti, is it finished yet, can we have mundiri now? She would say, no not yet, perumalukku amsaye pannitu thaan (only after it has been offered to God as prasadam).
Then finally, it would be done. It would be lunchtime and sometimes we wouldn’t even wait that long. As soon as the puja was finished, Patti would serve us payasam (kheer) first and make sure she picked out more pieces of mundiri from the payasam and deposited it in our portion. Even then, me and my brother used to rush back to Patti to make sure that the amounts got equalised if one of us got more mundiri pieces that the other.
And towards evening, after her post-lunch work was finished and she was busy only with coffee etc, Patti would summon us and give us the special pieces of fried mundiri that she had saved without tossing them into the payasam. Always, always, there was some mundiri left over for us. So much for my deviousness!!
I use a lot of mundiri nowadays in my cooking, never mind the cost and am quite liberal with the ghee I use to fry it too. But somehow, it never tastes the same as those two pieces of snack-time mundiri that she used to make…
Maybe one day, my grandkids will say the same things about my cooking. But I somehow doubt it. Those were simple pleasures from a past generation. They can’t be replicated exactly in this age of mobile devices and busyness.
Thursday, 17 July 2008
Burma to India – one long walk: Pg 6
(contd from previous page)
After a few days I was discharged from the hospital. Then I went to Trichinopoly and stayed with Pacha* for about ten days. Then I went to Kodaikanal and stayed with my brother-in-law Mr. Soundararaja Iyengar. Here I stayed for about 20 days. In Kodaikanal I enjoyed the stay. I used to go to the Boat Club for which he ws the Secretary. I used to go with him in the boat which he used to row in the lake.
After about a month, I came to Sevilimedu and stayed there. In July, 1942 I was called to Allahabad to join office. I proceeded to Allahabad. After a few months, I was transferred to Kolhapur. I stayed at Kolhapur for a few months.
Iti samaaptam
After a few days I was discharged from the hospital. Then I went to Trichinopoly and stayed with Pacha* for about ten days. Then I went to Kodaikanal and stayed with my brother-in-law Mr. Soundararaja Iyengar. Here I stayed for about 20 days. In Kodaikanal I enjoyed the stay. I used to go to the Boat Club for which he ws the Secretary. I used to go with him in the boat which he used to row in the lake.
After about a month, I came to Sevilimedu and stayed there. In July, 1942 I was called to Allahabad to join office. I proceeded to Allahabad. After a few months, I was transferred to Kolhapur. I stayed at Kolhapur for a few months.
Iti samaaptam
*Pacha was another of my grandfather's brothers.
Friday, 11 July 2008
Burma to India – one long walk: Pg 5
(contd from previous page)
There were a lot of passengers waiting at the station to go to different places. There was one Gentleman Mr. Rangaswamy who was looking to arrangements for evacuees to go to their native places. There were associations who arranged for our free travel to Madras and gave each about 2 rupees for expenses.
After getting the ticket I sent a telegram to father at Sevilimedu that I had reached Calcutta, and that I will be coming to Sevilimedu village (near Kanchipuram) shortly.
I reached Madras and came to 30 Salai Street*. There Payya alone was living. All others had gone to the village. The whole of Madras was practically evacuated as some days before Japanese planes came to Madras and bombed the harbour. Then myself and Payya went to Sevilimedu village to see parents. I remained there for a week. Afterwards, I had to go to Shimla, where a small portion of our office was functioning.
A few days before I could start for Madras (to go to Shimla) I had an attack of fever. For this one Doctor Rajamanickam LMP treated me. He could not diagnose the fever properly. So Payya** was asked to come to the Village. When he came he said that this fever could not be treated here and that we should go to Madras General Hospital.
So we went by train from Conjeevaram (Kanchipuram) to Madras Beach Station. As I could not walk I was taken in a stretcher to the taxi stand. From the taxi stand we went to General Hospital. Afterwards the Doctor checked me up and said that I was suffering from Malaria fever without shivering. This is peculiar. All people who came from Burma by walking suffered like this.
The Doctor in charge of my room was Kalyanasundaram. I enquired if Dr. K.S.Sanjivi was in this hospital. He confirmed that he was working there. I told him to inform Dr. Sanjivi that I was here and that I wanted to see him. On hearing this, Dr.Sanjivi came to my room and saw me and told Kalyanasundaram that we were classmates. He told him to take special care of me while in hospital.
Contd…p6…
* This was my grandfather's ancestral home in Mylapore, Madras.
** My grandfather's brother, who was a doctor.
Next: Burma to India – one long walk: Pg 6
There were a lot of passengers waiting at the station to go to different places. There was one Gentleman Mr. Rangaswamy who was looking to arrangements for evacuees to go to their native places. There were associations who arranged for our free travel to Madras and gave each about 2 rupees for expenses.
After getting the ticket I sent a telegram to father at Sevilimedu that I had reached Calcutta, and that I will be coming to Sevilimedu village (near Kanchipuram) shortly.
I reached Madras and came to 30 Salai Street*. There Payya alone was living. All others had gone to the village. The whole of Madras was practically evacuated as some days before Japanese planes came to Madras and bombed the harbour. Then myself and Payya went to Sevilimedu village to see parents. I remained there for a week. Afterwards, I had to go to Shimla, where a small portion of our office was functioning.
A few days before I could start for Madras (to go to Shimla) I had an attack of fever. For this one Doctor Rajamanickam LMP treated me. He could not diagnose the fever properly. So Payya** was asked to come to the Village. When he came he said that this fever could not be treated here and that we should go to Madras General Hospital.
So we went by train from Conjeevaram (Kanchipuram) to Madras Beach Station. As I could not walk I was taken in a stretcher to the taxi stand. From the taxi stand we went to General Hospital. Afterwards the Doctor checked me up and said that I was suffering from Malaria fever without shivering. This is peculiar. All people who came from Burma by walking suffered like this.
The Doctor in charge of my room was Kalyanasundaram. I enquired if Dr. K.S.Sanjivi was in this hospital. He confirmed that he was working there. I told him to inform Dr. Sanjivi that I was here and that I wanted to see him. On hearing this, Dr.Sanjivi came to my room and saw me and told Kalyanasundaram that we were classmates. He told him to take special care of me while in hospital.
Contd…p6…
* This was my grandfather's ancestral home in Mylapore, Madras.
** My grandfather's brother, who was a doctor.
Next: Burma to India – one long walk: Pg 6
Wednesday, 9 July 2008
Burma to India – one long walk: Pg 4
(contd from previous page)
there is a God who will always help whenever we need help. This shows clearly that there is God who will always come forward to help us.
We reached a hilly region where we had to walk on level ground, climb up in the hilly tract and then go lower down. This hilly region was about 15 to 20 miles. This route leads us to Imphal state. At about 4 pm, in the evening it will be very cold and chill. For getting drinking water we had to go down about 200 to 300 feet by narrow pedestrian track. From 4 pm to night and early morning there will be the howling noise of jackals and other wild animals. While going through hilly tract, the route was slippery as previously there was rain. During our journey also there was light drizzling. So to avoid falling down, we had strong sticks, plucked from the forest. This stick was used, as we had to rest on the stick and walk like old men.
We passed through Imphal State and reached Dunapur railway station. There we purchased Ist class railway ticket hoping to have a comfortable railway journey. After we got into the compartment (1st. class) many passengers without tickets rushed into our compartment. There was heavy crowd in the compartment. At Dunapur railway station we purchased peas for our journey. This journey was to Na Pandu railway station. There was no bridge, we had to walk on the sands of the river and reach the other side to take the train to Sealdah railway station. We reached Sealdah railway station on 18th May, 1942.
About 4 of us joined and took a taxi and asked the taxi driver to take us to a Madrasi hotel in Calcutta. There we took Masala dosai, poori, good coffee etc. as we did not have good food or coffee etc for about 20 days. We then enquired and went to a hair cutting saloon. As we had grown lot of hair on our head and beard, we had a crop, and then took a room in the hotel. We took rest for the night. Next day we went to Howrah railway station to find out if we can go conveniently by train to Madras.
Contd…p5…
Next: Burma to India – one long walk: Pg 5
Thursday, 3 July 2008
Burma to India – one long walk: Pg 3
(contd from previous page)
We took rest in the afternoon and again started walking at 3 PM and stopped at dusk near a camp at about 6.30PM. We were given at the camp rice and dhal out of which we prepared pongal. First, we were a group of 20 with a cook to prepare our food. As the cook could not walk and do service to us, we split into groups of four and did cooking. Our kit consisted of stove, coffee powder, sugar, kerosene, etc.
Our personal belongings consisted of a pair of shirts, a pair of dhoties, small jamakalam, a rug and a hand bag to stuff our things. In the nights, we had to sleep on the floor. On the way, the local people distributed peas etc, pitying us. Thus, we trekked for about 18 days. Nearly about 5000 people, old and young and children were marching.
One day we had to go through a forest early morning. As we entered the forest there was the roar of a tiger. Children were crying. When the tiger smells human movements, they will come near to us. But our colleague Aaru, said he will imitate the voice of a tiger and did it. However, by God’s grace, no harm was done to us and we escaped. This instance also shows that God will protect us during our trying times.
One day we were resting near some paddy field. All of a sudden there was heavy rain. So we took shelter under a banyan tree. After sunrise, we enquired if there were people nearby. We were told that there were Gurkhas near by with cows and buffaloes. So we went to them and purchased good milk and ghee. We prepared good good coffee and enjoyed the same. As the Gurkhas there did not know to prepare good coffee, we gave coffee to them also.
Next day we were at the next camp and prepared food out of rice and ate. Then our rice stock was exhausted. Then I remarked our rice stock was over and that if God gives us rice only, we can proceed further. Immediately a man appeared before us with a big basket of rice. We purchased the rice. Then I said “We see
Contd…p4
Next: Burma to India – one long walk: Pg 4
Monday, 30 June 2008
Burma to India – one long walk: Pg 2
(contd from previous page)
give us accommodation, due to rush of people in panic, we travelled by motor launch for 7 days. The launch will ply during day time only, as if it travels in the night, the launch will get stuck up in the sand. Daily early morning we will bathe in the river and have our coffee and food in the boat. During day time we were enjoying the discourses made by a Tamil Graduate (Mr. Subramanian Pathar) our colleague. We stayed at Mandalay for a month where our office was working. We were staying in the first floor of a building from which we could see the temple of Lord Buddha (Payya) situated in a hillock. There were steps to reach the foot of the temple. We used to visit the temple during Sundays and enjoy the calm and silent surroundings, a fit environment for offering prayers to God. There was also a big golden temple of Buddha, named Sule Pagoda. It was a grand sight to look at the shining golden cover on the sloping roof of the temple. This used to dazzle during mid-day sun.
Next, we had to move to Manyara, as the enemies were approaching nearby. We had to stay here for a month. On Tamil New Year’s day we arranged for a good meal with sweets. When we were about to finish our meals a siren sounded which means the enemies were coming. So all of us hurried up and took shelter in a neem tree forest nearby. The trees were so close, that we could not see the sun on mid-day. After about 2 hours, we returned. Our office was functioning in a school. On 28th April, we were asked to go back to India.
From Manyara we went in a launch to Kalewa. Then we went to Kalemyo. From there, we had to walk. We started walking every day early morning about 7 to 8 miles and halted at a camp specially built where we took coffee, prepared our meals and had it.
Contd…p3…
Next: Burma to India – one long walk: Pg 3
give us accommodation, due to rush of people in panic, we travelled by motor launch for 7 days. The launch will ply during day time only, as if it travels in the night, the launch will get stuck up in the sand. Daily early morning we will bathe in the river and have our coffee and food in the boat. During day time we were enjoying the discourses made by a Tamil Graduate (Mr. Subramanian Pathar) our colleague. We stayed at Mandalay for a month where our office was working. We were staying in the first floor of a building from which we could see the temple of Lord Buddha (Payya) situated in a hillock. There were steps to reach the foot of the temple. We used to visit the temple during Sundays and enjoy the calm and silent surroundings, a fit environment for offering prayers to God. There was also a big golden temple of Buddha, named Sule Pagoda. It was a grand sight to look at the shining golden cover on the sloping roof of the temple. This used to dazzle during mid-day sun.
Next, we had to move to Manyara, as the enemies were approaching nearby. We had to stay here for a month. On Tamil New Year’s day we arranged for a good meal with sweets. When we were about to finish our meals a siren sounded which means the enemies were coming. So all of us hurried up and took shelter in a neem tree forest nearby. The trees were so close, that we could not see the sun on mid-day. After about 2 hours, we returned. Our office was functioning in a school. On 28th April, we were asked to go back to India.
From Manyara we went in a launch to Kalewa. Then we went to Kalemyo. From there, we had to walk. We started walking every day early morning about 7 to 8 miles and halted at a camp specially built where we took coffee, prepared our meals and had it.
Contd…p3…
Next: Burma to India – one long walk: Pg 3
Thursday, 26 June 2008
Burma to India – one long walk: pg 1
Here is the exact text reproduced below। I’ve tried to keep everything, even the punctuations the same as in the original. Please let me have your feedback. This is meant to be a 'family' blog, so some family participation is essential for it to survive. எதாவது சொல்லணும், இல்லை என்றால் it's just a waste of my time.
BETWEEN JAPANESE AND BRITISH BETWEEN 25TH DECEMBER 1941 AND 30TH APRIL 1942
The war started on 25th December, 1941, Xmas day at midnight. But before the commencement of war, Japanese warned that they will fight with British in Burma. So to bear and escape the after effects of bombing, British trained us how to behave during air raids. This training was given to us during night time after complete black out i.e., no light. Even a small bed room light should not burn. Before the enemy planes visited Burma, we had a warning by the sound of a siren which will make a huge noise which can be heard about 5 miles radius.
On the first day, i.e., 25th December, 1941 when the siren sounded at about 11-00 P.M in the night, all the people took shelter below big buildings or in the shelter specially constructed on the roads. On the first day, the Japanese threw bombs from the plane on the ships with supplies and a good number of trucks in the Irawaddy wharf and on the post office and Telegraph Office. Many ships and big buildings were damaged on the Ist. day bombing on Rangoon. In this manner Japanese bombed Rangoon, the Capital of Burma for about a month intermittently and caused heavy damage. Once a gentle man was near a big building which was also a target for bombing. The siren sounded. According to the rules after the siren sounds, there was strict orders that nobody should be outside or be on the road. But disobeying this he drove his car to his house as his wife and children were there. The building opposite to his car was damaged considerably but he escaped as he went away in his car. This shows that there is God who takes care of us and guides us in all our actions. ** In February, 1942, we were asked to go to Mandalay, as our office was shifted there. As trains could not
pto
Next post: Burma to India – one long walk: pg 2The war started on 25th December, 1941, Xmas day at midnight. But before the commencement of war, Japanese warned that they will fight with British in Burma. So to bear and escape the after effects of bombing, British trained us how to behave during air raids. This training was given to us during night time after complete black out i.e., no light. Even a small bed room light should not burn. Before the enemy planes visited Burma, we had a warning by the sound of a siren which will make a huge noise which can be heard about 5 miles radius.
On the first day, i.e., 25th December, 1941 when the siren sounded at about 11-00 P.M in the night, all the people took shelter below big buildings or in the shelter specially constructed on the roads. On the first day, the Japanese threw bombs from the plane on the ships with supplies and a good number of trucks in the Irawaddy wharf and on the post office and Telegraph Office. Many ships and big buildings were damaged on the Ist. day bombing on Rangoon. In this manner Japanese bombed Rangoon, the Capital of Burma for about a month intermittently and caused heavy damage. Once a gentle man was near a big building which was also a target for bombing. The siren sounded. According to the rules after the siren sounds, there was strict orders that nobody should be outside or be on the road. But disobeying this he drove his car to his house as his wife and children were there. The building opposite to his car was damaged considerably but he escaped as he went away in his car. This shows that there is God who takes care of us and guides us in all our actions. ** In February, 1942, we were asked to go to Mandalay, as our office was shifted there. As trains could not
pto
** The whole of January, 1942 there were no bus service or trains regularly and offices were not working.
Wednesday, 25 June 2008
WWII – through one family’s eyes (backgrounder on Burma to India)
For those who need it, some background information. My thatha (grandfather), an accountant, served the British government in Burma, specifically, in Rangoon. During WWII, all civilians were ordered to evacuate and go back to India. My grandfather sent his family, comprising my grandmother Ranganayaki, daughters Soundara, Kodai and Seetha, sons Raghu and Narasimhan, back on the last ship from Rangoon to Calcutta. Salvaging what they could, my grandmother, along with her brood, travelled on the ship and reached India. After great hardship, she then reached south India where they all stayed with my grandfather’s family, in Sevilimedu, awaiting my grandfather's safe return.
Meanwhile, my grandfather stayed behind to serve the government, till they were asked by the Brit govt to go back to India. He, along with a group of other Indians, did just that. Only, they had to trek all the way back...
Reading this real life incident again and again, I think of how lucky my life, our lives have been and give thanks to the wonderful people that my grandparents were.
As a young girl, this seemed the height of adventure to me and I insisted that my grandfather should dictate this 'story' to me, so that I could have it all written down and read it whenever I wanted to. I still remember writing it down on the back pages of my history notebook, as my grandfather, late Shri Sevilimedu Raghavachariar, dictated it to me in the 1980s (exact year unknown), in Mylapore, Madras (as it was known then).
My handwritten version was proof read by my Periappa late Shri N R Ranganathan, in Hyderabad and converted to typewritten copy by his daughter and my cousin Sumathi Ranganathan, also sometime in the 1980s.
Next post: Burma to India, one long walk....
Meanwhile, my grandfather stayed behind to serve the government, till they were asked by the Brit govt to go back to India. He, along with a group of other Indians, did just that. Only, they had to trek all the way back...
Reading this real life incident again and again, I think of how lucky my life, our lives have been and give thanks to the wonderful people that my grandparents were.
As a young girl, this seemed the height of adventure to me and I insisted that my grandfather should dictate this 'story' to me, so that I could have it all written down and read it whenever I wanted to. I still remember writing it down on the back pages of my history notebook, as my grandfather, late Shri Sevilimedu Raghavachariar, dictated it to me in the 1980s (exact year unknown), in Mylapore, Madras (as it was known then).
My handwritten version was proof read by my Periappa late Shri N R Ranganathan, in Hyderabad and converted to typewritten copy by his daughter and my cousin Sumathi Ranganathan, also sometime in the 1980s.
Next post: Burma to India, one long walk....
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