Wednesday, November 02, 2016

When history was the present

My maternal grandmother was 19 when India gained independence from the British in 1947. How I long now to ask her about life then. Of course, being 19 then was vastly more 'adult' than it is now. She'd been married a year and was pregnant with her first child, my mother. Her husband was 11 years older than she was. She was not expected to pursue a career, although she had a razor-sharp brain and came from a long line of distinguished lawyers. 

Sadly, that never-told first-hand account of life in British India is lost to me forever. Why did I never have those talks with her? During the last years of her life I saw her quite frequently. Those were the good days of cheap flights in India (I once got a ticket for a rupee) and it was a short hop away. We developed a friendly, almost mischievous relationship in which I would tease her mercilessly about her various suitors and the effect of her cleavage in obtaining super-fast and efficient home-delivery for her groceries. 

Now I'm finding that I am simply blazing with curiosity to hear about what India was like in the 1940s. It's one thing to watch a glitzy t.v. show or read a well-crafted book, and quite another to hear it from someone who lived it.

Maybe this sense of lost history is another insidious way of realizing that I am now older. History means something entirely different to me now. 

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

When did your grandmother pass? It made me sad to hear the missed opportunity of hearing about her youth...but the relationship you DID have seemed beautiful (and I can completely picture the mischievous part.

Her suitors? Had your grandfather passed quite a while before?

Anonymous said...

Never thought of it that way. My grandparents lived in French Africa for a while. Too late now.

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