Our Raj masi ji was 95 years old. We were looking forward to another five
years when we would be celebrating her century; the first in our larger family. It was not to be. An early morning call from Daljit mama ji, on Thursday, 13th June 24, followed a few hours later by a call from our adorable Pal (short for Jaspal) masi ji, confirmed the sad news that Raj masi ji left us. An era ended. Memories remain; these will never die.
Raj masi ji was the eldest of the six surviving children (out of ten) of our Pita ji and Beeji (my maternal grandparents); five sisters and a brother. In Indian middle class families and particularly in Punjabi families, a male child was a sought after asset (many years ago I was shocked to read a news item about female fetuses having been discarded in a well in Patiala). Pita ji’s and Beeji’s family is a proud exception. All of us were and are in awe of Raj masi ji and her sisters. Indeed, we the children bonded in the family largely due to the sisters. I don’t remember a single occasion when one of them was heard talking ill of the other(s) even in private. Some of us have tried (purely in jest), but we soon learnt that driving a wedge between them was more difficult than climbing the Everest.
With the present focus (of education) on acquiring as many degrees as possible, particularly from abroad, lets pause to look at the upbringing and education imparted by my ostensibly anpadh Pita ji and Beeji. I would wish that the kind of values and character that they imparted in their children would be a national pursuit. It is not my aim to go into each one of them. I would take just three that my Raj masi ji and her sisters and brother epitomise: One, being forever truthful (in the most holistic meaning of the word); two, finding and implementing solutions to problems; and three, never shirking responsibility.
The entire family was grief stricken when Beeji died. That’s the time when Raj masiji told her siblings: “Maa tanh meri gayi hai; thuade layi tanh main haan (I am the only one who has lost a mother; for all of you I am still here).” This was far from being a vain promise. Throughout her life, Raj masi ji was a mother to her siblings and a godmother to all of us. This particular sense of responsibility was not restricted towards her siblings but towards the larger family of her husband, too. Indeed, the number of people that she nurtured would easily run into hundreds. And when, all of us could stand on our feet, her attention turned to the grandchildren; they received even more love and care than all of us did. A very, very large family got used to the assurance that individual and collective problems conveyed to Raj masi ji were considered resolved.
Through all this, if you are picturing a sad, burdened, and stodgy person, then you don’t know my Raj masi ji. She, with her joie de vivre, wit, and deep-rooted affection for all who came in contact with her, was easily the life of any gathering. This was to be seen at its best during wedding parties. During Lyn and my wedding, for example, she broke into boliyan and gidda with her sisters; our most cherished memory. Her presence at any family gathering promoted laughter, positivity, warmth, and kindheartedness. Raj (Rule) didn’t rule with a heavy hand; but always gently and with enormous compassion.
My masad ji, Inder Jeet Singh, was the most blessed and proudest person. Having Raj beside him was so heavenly that all of us felt it all the time. Their loving togetherness was legendary. They easily found ways and means of supporting each other in every which way. We compared them with the best in Indian history and folklore: Radhe Krishna, Heer Ranjha, and Sassi Pannu. An anecdote comes to mind when our family visited them in Pathankot from our town in Mandi (HP) in the year 1961. There were signs of early morning altercation and commotion between them with such clarion calls as: Masad ji: “Main chhadna nahin hain ajj (I am not going to leave (her) alive)”; and Masi ji: “Main bhi nahin chhadna (I, too, am going to kill (him).” Our family crouched in fear that the unthinkable had taken place with our most beloved couple. It, soon, came out that the target of their rage was a cat who used to enter the kitchen and polish off their milk for the day and they were in hot pursuit of the wily feline.
Incidentally, visiting them was a veritable pleasure next only to visiting Pita ji and Beeji in Urapur. In addition to all the familial gup-shup, and fun and frolic, we used to see movies in special boxes of cinema halls (masad ji was a respected Excise and Taxation Officer). In addition to the movies, we used to be served mouth watering snacks and cold Coca-Cola. Two of these movies left quite an impact on me: Hrishikesh Mukherjee’s Anuradha that we saw with them in Phagwara, and DD Kashyap’s Dulhan Ek Raat Ki that we saw in Dalhousie (at that time in Punjab). The first had music by the Bharat Ratna Pandit Ravi Shankar and the second had music by the maestro, Madan Mohan.
I am sure that the hundreds of people who were helped in need by Raj masi ji must be talking about their personal, one-to-one relationship with her (masi ji always made each one of us feel special and the only one); but I would like to think that masi ji had the warmest place in her heart for her sister (my mother) Herkrishan and family. I was the first male in the family who cut off my long hair (now many have); something that Sikhs ain’t supposed to do. After that, when I planned to visit Raj masi ji, I was cautioned by relatives to desist from it. Else (knowing what a devoted Sikh she was), she would launch me into outer space like a rocket. I still went to see her. She was as loving and warm as before after I confirmed when she asked, “Nitnem karda hain ki nahin (Do you (still) say your daily prayers as a Sikh)?”
All hell broke out in the family when I married a Catholic girl from the South. Her name, Marilyn, suggested ultra-modern, self and beauty conscious woman. As I said, masi ji attended the wedding. But, my parents were fearful that after the festivities would get over she would pass her judgment that was expected to be severe and taunting. We went together to India Coffee House at Solan. She had the occasion to see Lyn at close quarters as also to engage her in conversation. After we returned home, and when we were expecting the worst, she simply said, “Mainu pata si Ravi di choice galat nahin hovegi (I knew that Ravi’s choice won’t be wrong).”
When my dad died suddenly and tragically of a jeep accident on 01 May 1984, the kind of support that we got from Raj masi ji and my cousins was many times more than what she had earlier done for us. We were totally shattered. She visited us many times in Kandaghat all the way from Ludhiana and provided succour in the form of soft loans, use of her car, physical and moral support. There was a time when I went to her house in Ludhiana to obtain one such loan. Whilst I was there a police raid took place (I learnt later that it was masterminded by someone as political vendetta. The ostensible cause, later proved to be totally unfounded, was that her driver had contacts with terrorists). Neither Raj masi ji nor my cousin lost cool even though it was so humiliating and disturbing as the police went around rummaging and chucking things around. As soon as the posse of policemen left, here is the first thing that Raj masi ji said smilingly, “Shukr hai, Ravi, tere loan de paise safe rahe (thank God, Ravi, your loan money is safe).” On my return bus trip with the loan money, I cried; all through the raid, she could only think of my mother and our dire need.
A small mention about the gifts that were showered on us by her. In addition to buying new things for us, I was the recipient of all the clothes that my cousin (six months elder to me) grew out of. My favourite was a woolen sleeveless sweater. It was given to me when I was just 15 years old. I used it for the next 15 years, first as a pullover and later when it faded, as an inner warm vest. It has, now, holes in it. But, a sweater knitted by my Raj masi ji is more dear to me than the three great honours I received in my naval career; so, it is still with me. Finally, when I meet her in God’s house, I am going to tell her to knit me another.
Raj…what an apt name. All through my life she had raj (rule) over my heart and over hundreds of other hearts. It is unlikely to change.
P.S. I am writing this from Mumbai whereas all the albums with my masi ji’s pics are in Kandaghat (Shimla Hills). I have retrieved some of these pics from the Facebook.
P.P.S. More pics for this piece would be put up when I visit Kandaghat.
