Post card from Ranchi ( Bihar) 1981

Sun rise in Ranchi
 

Ranchi was once a hill station during the times of the British Raj, with the reputation as a health resort. However those days have been and gone and my visit for two days to Ranchi with a family was simply to see the sun rise in one of a number of hills on the edge of the town.

It was a beautiful weekend, in the hills away from the dusty town life. At crack of dawn, the mighty sun rose as it had been doing so for millions of years and it did not let me down with it's beauty on the day I was there to witness it's appearance.

On the day of my arrival in Ranchi, I also found out that it was the day when millions of Hindus worship the Lord Shiva Lingam, a phallic ( penis) symbol. Did I know the reason for worshipping a phallic symbol? No, came my answer and then one of my host told me the story about Shiva's Lingam and why I kept seeing it in many Hindu homes!!

( There are lots of different explanations  and I do not want to repeat what I heard and to find out which story you, the reader wants to believe, Google the word Lingam!! )

Time I moved on to my nest port of call......

Letter from Asonsol ( West Bengal) 1981

 A shower after celebrating holi day in Asonsol



According to the Indians, the building of the railway lines which connects the whole of the country from North to South and from East to West is the best piece of treasure the British Raj has left behind.

Travelling to Asonsol , ( a stone throw away from Calcutta) was my first experience of the Indian steam railway which lived up to my expectation!! It was all there, what I had seen in the movies, bigger then life it self, acting on a vast stage set up on the Delhi railway station. The coolies fighting over my luggage to earn few rupees, the clatter of chai-wallas( tea sellers) and the food sellers and numerous books and magazine stalls and not forgetting the crowd of people from all walks of life wanted to get into the carriage at the same time as little me. The journey from Delhi to Asonsol was an overnight stay in the 2nd class carriage, which contained long wooden benches to sleep on. All the necessary bedding for a comfortable sleep on the plank, together with the food and trunk full of belongings was what most travellers had carried with them. I watched with interest how the little coolie would  balance the whole family kitchen sink on his small head and  dart towards the carriage and made sure he got to the carriage before anybody else, to claim the pre booked seats!!! Was he doing this for extra tip, maybe?

My heart missed few beats every time I saw a European face on the platform, they were rare in my part of India I lived in.

My stay in Asonsol was very different from the other places of my stay. The large family I was staying with was educated, professional and ran iron foundry. Do I know anything about iron foundry? No, was my answer; so off I went for a day trip to the bottom of the earth to see how the iron was extracted!! The conditions were so primitive, that I questioned if the travel insurance I was carrying around with me would have covered if I came to any harm? Anyway the trip to the bottom of the earth crust was not what I had in mind in Asonsol, but that was all, what was available in a town with dusty tracks for roads, poverty surrounding the big house I found myself locked in most of the times and according to my host, rape and robbery was common pass time hobby amongst most male species of Asonsol. This meant I could not walk out of the house without an escort!!! I did once found myself in a company of a male admirer, knew his family and had a motor cycle ride with him and even a cup of tea at his place to pass my time. To my horror, I was told that he had recently been paraded on a donkey with his face blackened, it was his punishment for raping a local girl !! Trust me to pick a wrong man for a bit of fun !

Throughout my stay in this big house, I had lots of good food to eat in the company of very hospitable  people who watched Western porn to get their kicks and drank whisky to keep up with what the British Raj had left behind for them to treasure! I was for ever invited to dinner parties and picnics by the high society of Asonsol.

 The high light of my stay in the town was to celebrate the coming of spring season, 'holi' ,  On 'holi' day I wore white clothes and so did the rest of the town and at the end of the day, everyone took on this new  multi-coloured look as the whole day was spent throwing coloured powder at each other. Throughout the day there was  good food to eat and soft drugs to take to give a feeling of reaching for the sky!! Finally, at the end of the day the curtains came down and an open air showers were taken to wash off all the colour from the bodies!!  That was fun.

Post card from New Delhi ( again) 1981

My uncle in Delhi reading his prayer book 

I returned to Delhi by base to recharge my batteries and also picked up some post from England. I was so happy to have some letters to read  and to know that there were friends back home who remembered  me and thought of me and wrote a letter or two. I was missing everybody I left behind.

In Delhi I  started to get use to the cockroaches in the kitchen, and the household mouse who always appeared to snip at my ear when I wanted to have my siesta on the floor ? I got used to eating with my food, extra bits of vitamins which came in the form of ants invading the kitchen every day. There was no time to get bored in my surroundings in Delhi, the music was still there all over the neighbourhood. There was no place I could escape to, to be alone. In my spare time, which I had plenty, I would watch the people around me, especially my elderly uncle who spent most of his time mediating, praying , sun bathing on his bed in the court yard or  he would do some useful task such as sewing up old sacks; nothing was wasted in Indian homes or on the streets of India.

My next journey by train  to the state of  West Bengal was  accompanied by my cousin's wife. I was not allowed to travel alone!!

Letter from Bajawara ( Punjab) 1980

Village life for a baby in Bajawara
 

Accompanied  by my cousin from Delhi to Bajawara, I stopped for few days in Chandigarh, the half way house for me. I was in Chandigarh in 1975 and it seems that over the years the city had lost it's appeal as a modern city. The French designer Le-Corbusier had very little understanding of Indian's way of life. As I ventured out into the city centre, signs of rubbish dumped on barren stretches of wasteland (which were meant for green parks) and cows roaming the city roads were back as part of the Indian scenery!!  

Bajawara village is situated in the outermost edge of the Himalayas and it is a bus ride away from Chandigarh, near the town of Hosiapur. The village had suffered the 1947 petition of India and Pakistan. There were lots of derelict, half ruined houses and most inhabitants were making use of the space with four walls surrounding them. My aunt's house was built after 1947, with a court yard surrounded by four rooms, a kitchen and in the middle of the court yard was a water pump. This supplied the water from a well situated inside the house, lucky me! I shared the big house with four adults and a four months old baby. I had planned to stay in the village for at least two months, however my move to my idyllic life turned out to be another unhappy experience. Seems like a story of my life?

I come from a family of artisan, associated with the caste system very much the fabric of Indian culture. In India it is illegal to discriminate people from different caste, and here in my idyllic village, I started to see the ugly side of the village life. I was not allowed to talk to villagers who belonged to lower castes, definitely not to the untouchables. I had to stop meeting them at water well every morning, where they came to collect water and I went there with my paint brushes, hoping to paint the scenes. I had no idea who was who in a tiny village of 200? I was only aware of one old lady, untouchable caste, who came daily to pick our waste from our loo which was situated at the roof top; yes, the toilet ( W.C.) was right at the top of the first floor roof and without any door !! So whilst I was there in the loo doing my business, I was on 'could 9' , with the view of the mighty Himalaya in front of me!!

I tried to keep myself busy by helping my aunt's daughter-in-law with her teaching lessons which she gave privately to the local children in her house. I even thought of opening children's school in the village and live there happy for ever!!That romantic idea did not materialised; working with my aunt's daughter-in-law was mission impossible for most around her, including me from foggy England !! I took up another interest to keep me sane; my family of artisans not only made musical instruments like sitar but were well known for playing music too. I went every day to Hoshipur, to learn to play sitar and found myself being followed by a bunch of young men, all I guess hoping to get a passport to England ? I was not ready to be tied down yet and my lessons came to an abrupt end.

I arrived in Bajawara during winter  and the nights were cold and the power cuts most nights meant I had to huddle up in my quilt and with a help of a candle I read a little before going off to sleep. Winter times also meant a lot of spinach and corn roti to eat, all made on an open fire. It was time of the year when the festival of lori was celebrated by children who knocked on doors to sing, in return for some sweets; the whole of the neighbourhood lit up wood fire and everybody had some more spinach to eat; idyllic time for me.

I got to know the local farmer and his family and I spent a lot of my spare time with them. I started to bring back, for my not so rich aunt, home made butter, home grown vegetables and milk which  pleased my aunt. She had no objections to my visits to the family of farmer's caste, they were of higher caste and worth getting to know, if only for the free food!! My last bit of village adventure , without my aunt's blessing, was to go deer hunting up in the mountains with a bunch of farmers. I was pleased to come home alive and in one piece, my body was not trained for climbing mountains and I had very little idea what I had let myself in for, it turned out to be more then I could cope with !!

My relationship with my aunt went sour, mainly over food which I brought in daily but saw very little of it. I lasted six of the eight weeks. It was time to leave  the village, to the people who knew how to live in it without breaking the rules of the village life.

There was on local transport for me to take me out of the village, so I hired the local farmer to give me a ride on his scooter, with my big suitcase in place, off I went to my next port of call....my  aunt was not amused!!

Sadly I never met up with my aunt again.

Letter from New Delhi ( India) 1980

 

 

 

The courtyard with a water pump and area to sleep  and rest in a hot day 

 

I arrived in New Delhi on 22nd December 1980 and my plan was to stay in India for a year before returning home to England. I was here in 1975 for a short stay and loved every minute of my time then. However, it did not take me long to confess to myself that a year seemed  like a life time away when all my friends and immediate family were back in England. I was missing England already in my first week of my arrival in India!!!

 I arrived few days before Christmas and though whole of India had a day off on 25th December, in a non Christian home, like the one I was staying in, nothing really happened, no turkey, no Xmas tree and no festive trimmings which I was so used to in England. The Christmas day came and went quietly and then came the New Year day, again the whole of India had a day off from work but nothing really happened to celebrate the coming of Western new year!! Another ordinary day off work in Delhi for most of the population and me too; getting use to the Indian way of life was not going to be as easy as I thought it would be !!

New Delhi is the capital of India and it is divided into the 'old Delhi' where most of the Muslim live and New Delhi, created by the British and contains many embassies and government buildings, plus my uncles and aunties home in very run down part of the city.  After only few weeks in Delhi, the city life started to get me down, the noisy crowded buses, dusty roads, the music blaring from every where. The  family I was staying with and whole of the neighbourhood, all seem to be screaming and shouting at each other , that was the only way I  found they communicated with each other. My sleeping bed had to be shared in a room full of 4 other members of the extended family. Morning life began at 4 am with hundreds of birds singing, water being pumped for a bucket wash, throats cleared by all men around the neighbourhood, the smell of fire wood burning, the smell of breakfast, made it all very difficult for me to go back to sleep after four in the morning.

 I needed a change of environment, I thought it was time for me to move on to a place where there was peace and tranquillity and the only place I could think of was the idyllic village of Bajawara, I was there in 1975 with my mother and love it.......

Moving home again 1980

My passport to India
 

My life started to fall apart , on my return from Russia. I lost my job, I failed to get into a school of fashion and worst of all, my unsuitable relationships which followed the heart breaking, intense four years with my ex-partner, left me to question my maturity, my innocence in the lonely western life I found myself living in London?

I made some mad and hasty decisions in winter of 1980; I decided to leave all my worldly belongings  and  the money from the sale of my flat in the hands of my ex-partner who had moved to Liverpool. Since he was a socialist at heart, I gave him a suitcase full of communist literature, entitled ' from Russia with love' !!

 I purchased one way flight ticket to India, the land of my parents where I had in mind to learn about the Indian culture, the Indian values and find a good Punjabi speaking Indian husband and have six children and live happy ever after!

My hasty actions were also made to make one person happy, my mother!!

Letter from U.S.S.R.... 'from Russia with love' 1980

wide road in central Moscow
 

I was in U.S.S.R. when the country was hosting the Olympic games in 1980. I was not there for the games, and nor was I there for the Russian politics. I was there simply, to explore in my own naïve way the vast continent which had put fear in most of us in the West and was known as the continent ' behind the iron curtains!!'

U.S.S.R. was not the place, I could visit simply by having a British passport and buying a plane ticket. I had to apply for a special visa from the Russian embassy in London and with the application came a special pass which I had to carry with me throughout my travel in Russia. The special pass had to be handed in, at the time of my departure, I therefore  have no official record on my passport of my visit to U.S.S.R. I could not travel alone and joined a party of 7 other travellers from England. A Russian guide accompanied me throughout my journey, just as well, as I knew only one word of Russian language. I remember once, whilst I was retracing my foot steps back to my hotel, I lost myself ( story of my travelling life !!!) and with no words to explain my panic attacks to the bewildered  onlookers, Big Brother must have been watching me,( the tourist from the West); help from a wandering solider got me safe to my hotel. I also once found my way into male toilets; that all added to the experience of travelling in the country where I did not speak nor could I read the language.

 

All the hotels were of high standard, 5*  and also the food which was served; bear meat was the dish of the day most evenings. As I explored the world outside the hotels , I could not help but notice the long queues, where the local people waited to be served for basic food like bread and milk. The vast department stores for the tourists, were full of expensive gifts and behind the counters were not so happy looking young men and women who had a job for life, but not out of choice. When ever I was out alone, I seemed to attract Russian soldiers, all very keen to buy Western items from me; selling anything on the streets was illegal and I would have finished up in concentrated camps, maybe?

My first port of call was Moscow, visiting the famous Red Square, and the Moscow ballet theatre. Next came 24 hours flight from Moscow to Khabarovsk, the city on the other side of Russia and  my body  received a bit of a shock on my arrival at the airport. As the doors of the plane opened, my body appeared to have been hit by fire from hot furnace;  the humidity and the temperature were sky high.  Khabarovsk, a small sea side resort  was where I could swim and get to know the local crowd and they got to know me as a gypsy? I guess they have  never seen brown skin Indian before? My guide informed me that the kids saw me as a novelty, small, brown, toy doll to play with? My guide, Olga was a large young lady and most others women I saw during my travels were on the large side too and sometimes extremely tall. Just like the one, I had seen in the ' 'Bond' movies.

 My next journey took me to city of Irkutsk, travelling for two days in the famous Trans- Serbian- Railway. The journey gave me a chance to rub shoulders with the local people who were happy to share their simple food with me and I also had the taste of Russian vodka from the soldiers on the train. The country side was bleak and grey but my train compartment had all the comfort I needed for the journey yet the local were travelling in very poor conditions, I was sad to witness such unfairness. From Irkutsk  I flew to city of  Brusk, where I discovered  why the Russian are so good at playing chess, there were chess players on every corner, mind you, men only! The return journey to Moscow via a visit to Leningrad, a showpiece for the nation where the country had gathered together all the arts the nation owned,  for the tourist to see in the Hermitage Museum of the Winter Palace.

Finally , the unique Russian experience was to walk bare feet on Moscow's squeaky clean, marble floor  underground system where chandeliers hung from the ceilings !!

 As a tourist I was encouraged to take all the communist ( Marxist) literature available where ever I went. On my arrival at  the airport my suitcase was searched and so was my note books examined. The the custom people were happy to let me come home with my suitcase full of their good communist propaganda, they had missed finding few Russian currency I had tucked away in my suitcase, lucky escape ( it was illegal to bring back any Russian currency).

Post card from Paris ( France) 1980

Paris underground the Metro

Off to Paris for a week to see French fashion shows with fashion students, my evening class mates at the local art school.

There I was having a good time with the girls, wearing high heels and trying to keep up with the trend. Paris, one of the beautiful cities of the world had lots to offer if I could only speak the French language!! Without a word of French to my name I struggled to order my French fries!! But that did not stop me enjoying the art world the city has in abundance, visiting all the fashion  shows made me think about changing my career when I returned home to London.

On my return journey I stopped over in Boulogne a port which had very little to offer other then time for me to reflect on life waiting for me in England ?

Post card from Ireland, the emerald Island 1979

enjoying getting my feet wet
 

Time to go solo, to Ireland !!!

Ireland is also know as the  emerald Island because it rains there all the time and the grass is green all the time. The Island is also well known for having some of the friendliest people on this planet and of course, the main  ingredient on any holiday, is food and Irish  home cooked wholesome food beats any other European cuisine, for me!!!

 I reached Dublin by boat from Liverpool and found myself lost, and I soon realised  that my sense of directions do not exist ( that also explained as to why I had failed my driving test 5 times ) !!! However, the friendliness of the local people in the city of Dublin stopped any panic attacks taking hold of me. I found a chap, a university lecturer, I met at a café who offered me a night at his place which  I gladly accepted. Not taking any risks in his house, I placed a chair behind the door of my bedroom and locked it before going to bed. The following morning, my host, apologised for the noise he made during the night which might had disturbed my sleep because he spent all night trying to stuff his pillow with feathers which had bust open?? I had no words to tell him how many hours of sleep I had missed !!!

 I  had heard that hitch-hiking in Ireland was the norm and once again having lost my way to the B&B, situated in the country side, far away from the city of Galway, help was on hand  in the local pub and a lift from a passer by made sure I was at my B&B in one piece!! "What a nice girl like you, hitch- hiking, don't do it again, came a warning from the driver of the car!!" Since the warning came from an elderly man, I thanked him for his wise words and obeyed!!!

My journey from Dublin took me all the way to the East coast of Galway, beautiful colourful city and then to the Aran Islands, desolate and only seen on foot. On my return journey, the boat to Liverpool was delayed and I spent the evening  at a local theatre and got to know  some more  friendly Dubliners, including a very interesting gentleman from America. Life, going solo can't be that bad?

Yes, my first ever solo journey to the Emerald Island was, fun, met friendly people, had good food and was on the whole  liberating experience, indeed !!! Where next, the world is my oyster ?

Post card from France 1978

Camping out in France
 

 Cracks in our relationship started to show before we even started our journey to France. But, we   continued to make plans for another camping holidays and asked another couple, friends of my partner, to join us.

Four of us landed on the shores of France, St. Malo with our rucksacks on our backs. It was very clear from the start that I was ill prepared for all this new back packing camping adventure. My back could not cope with the weight of the rucksack and my partner carried most my luggage.  I could not keep up with cycling adventure the rest had prepared themselves for, I found myself left behind throughout the journey. I found my self at odds when it came to drinking French wine, eating French cheese and French bread, nothing like the curry back home. The worst part of my holiday was when most evenings were spent talking about the old times; I had very little in common with the rest and found myself miserable and alone.

However, looking at the brighter side on the French soil for the first time, I loved the language and wished I could speak like the French. The French people  I met were beautifully tanned and I stayed out in the sun to get a tan just like them! I loved the taste of my first ever French crêpe. The breath taking scenes of French coastal region where the sea was really, really, blue  and the sky was always clear blue and  I could get into my tiny bikini and frolic in the sea was exhilarating.

 

Our journey took us from St. Malo, Brest and Quimper and then back to St. Malo and finally home, where grey sky waited for us all!!

Post card from Stornoway ( Hebrides) 1977






Shores of Isle of Lewis

 

Chauffeur driven all the way to the Hebrides, the little desert Island hideaway, thousands of miles away from the main land England seems an idyllic place to be? That's where my partner and I  headed for our next trip together. My partner borrowed his father's car, he was the navigator and the driver for  the whole journey to Stornoway and return journey  home, via the scenic route, through Scotland, stopping at various B&B . My turn came to drive when we reached the isolated roads on the Island and  under supervision,( from the driver of the car !)  I  nearly drove the car off the cliff edge few times. I guess we all do some stupid things and break the law when we are young and in love too??

We were camping on the Island where the sun hardly came to greet us and to our horror nor did the population of the Island. Whilst the rain dominated most of our short stay there, I spent most of the evenings making wool balls out of the woollen hanks which I bought on the Island. Cooking  any decent camping food in rain drenched tent was not always possible and we found ourselves out hunting for food shops to keep away the hunger. Lucky, for us, we walked into a friendly Indian corner shop. Civilisation at long last....

Letter from North America 1976

Washington DC

Yes, after a big trip to the East, that is  India, the next big trip had to be towards the West, the mighty North America indeed!!
With my new found freedom came a chance to travel with my new found partner. We bought  our Grey Hound bus pass in England and landed by plane in Montreal ( Canada), stayed few  nights there and went off to the Grey Hound bus depot to catch our first bus to Toronto, a big city with lots of tall buildings. Then off to  Sault St. Marie, followed by Calgary where they had the tallest tower to boast about? then off to Winnipeg, where my partner learnt few words of Punjabi and he taught me few words of French. Vancouver, beautiful cosmopolitan city was our last place in Canada before we moved  to the mighty U.S.A. We rushed through the  west coast of California, through Eureka, San-Francisco, Santa Barbara, San Diego, Phoenix, San Antonio, and across to New Orleans, then to Washington D.C., Chicago, New York and finally to Detroit before returning to Montreal for our departure home.

 I found Canada unwelcoming and was glad to have spent less time. I loved everything U.S.A. had to offer. The vast empty roads once we left the city life, travelling through the mountain areas , massive forests and lakes were all very new and fresh experience. I loved the big cities where food was served in huge portions and we shared one plate of our meal all the time. I loved the real life dramas played on the streets of big cities like New York and in bars of New Orleans. The police siren which went on all night while we were trying to get some sleep in crummy hotel in New York; lifts full of drug addicts and the friendliness of the Californian people, were all sketches from the American movies, coming alive for me in USA.

We spent most nights sleeping in the buses and most of the day time exploring the sights on foot. Yes, walking, in the land where they have no foot paths. It was exciting for me but also tiring as well;   spending too much time together had put a strain on our relationship. We fell out of love and fell in love through out our journey. The experts say that the best way to find if your relationship is going to work for the rest of your life is to go on a holiday together and examine the result on your return. We did just that!!

Moving home 1976

 

 

 I left school in the late sixties, when jobs were plenty. As a civil servant the pay was good and it also gave me opportunity to work away from home in the  city of  Birmingham, where I lived for a while in YWCA, bed sits and as a lodger during weekdays and returned  home to Coventry for the weekends. Working away from home in other cities: Evesham, Windsor, High Wycombe and Aberystwyth and staying in hotels gave me a taste for independent life . I finally found a good reason to move to London with my job. Yes, I found 'love', with blonde hair and blue eyes and I moved to Kew to be near him and moved to Ealing to live with him before settling down in Richmond-Upon-Thames where I bought my very own small flat. Away from home that is Coventry and away from relatives that is Bradford gave me freedom to cultivate new friends and with my new found friends came freedom to live life my way?

 

 

 

 

 

 

Letter from India 1975

Sitting in front of Taj Mahal in Agra

 

Having found my passport, had all the jabs and travel cheques, my brother drove us to Heathrow airport to catch our flight to New Delhi with Afghan airline. Yes, in those good old days, Afghanistan cheap, unreliable flights were available from London. I remember, the plane stopped at Kabul airport and all the passengers were asked to wait in a small room for hours. To our surprise the waiting room was full of armed soldiers and women wearing black full length burkas, a bit scary sight, indeed. The problem in Afghanistan was probably brewing up in the seventies, yet I was oblivious of all the politics and the sad history Afghanistan had under went and was to go through in the years to come.

Our journey took us to streets of New Delhi, dusty, crowded, full of colour and smell of burning wood where we visited all the Sikh temples for the sake of my religious mother. Next came Shimla, where there were still remains of the British empire most in ruins. Then off to Chandigarh, a clean city, proud that it had the hand of famous architect, Le Corbusier in planning it. Off to Jullundur, the city with no real roads, but dusty alleyways where my father's family lived. Next, to Amritsar, the holy city for the Sikhs, where at sun rise I had my holy dip in the water which surrounded the Golden temple; it was the most peaceful experience of my time in India.Then off to little idyllic village of Bajawara, where my aunt lived . My final destination was to Agra to see Taj  Mahal, getting there at a crack of dawn was important to take in the true experience of  one of the wonders of the world; I did not miss my opportunity to get there in time for the magical sight of the great marble monument built simply to show love for a wife.

I must have spent about 3 weeks away, in the country where my parents grew up and I loved it all. The hot dusty roads to travel on, the hot chilly food to eat by the road sides, lots of mangos to make me sick and sugar cane juice to kill my thirst, the hospitality of the relatives who simply found me a novelty and made me into a  spoilt little brat for 3 whole weeks. However,  coming back to cold, foggy, yes the fog was still around in the seventies, England, was not breaking my heart, I missed the green grass of home.

In my excitement, travelling for the first time, I failed  to understand the time difference associated with travelling long distance, certainly, no lessons were given on this subject by  my geography teacher? I managed to get the timing of our return journey all wrong and my brother was no where to be seen at Heathrow on our arrival. We had to get home some how and in state of panic, catching a taxi home was the only option; yes we got The Black Taxi from Heathrow to Coventry for a princely sum of £30 !!!

My very own passport 1975

So I missed the worst winter England had experienced in 1963, lucky me! However, the African climate did not prepare me for the grey foggy days which waited my arrival, nor did I know what to do with snow which magically appeared from sky above in winter days. In an old Victorian home with draft coming from all directions, I was happy to share a big Victorian bed with my two sisters, it was one way to keep myself warm . I went to the local state school, had the usual school trips to places like Bath and Blackpool. As the years went by, the sun, sand and the Mombasa beach with coconut trees together with jungle safaris to Nairobi, Voi and Arusha became distance memories. My geography lessons, helped by the crush I had for the Geography teacher, led me to day dream about travelling to all the places I had studied. The first trip I had in mind was to Butlins holiday camp because all my class mates went there during summer holidays, where as, I always finished up in streets of Bradford with the family!!

 My first break for travelling came when I decided to accompany my mother to India. I have been there, when I was only 4 with all my family from Mombasa in a boat to Bombay and all I can remember of the journey was getting sea sick in the big boat and eating pop corns when I arrived in India somewhere?

 So, there I was in 1975 with my very own passport which I remember I lost it  for few hours, having left it in a phone box !!!  I was off on my very own summer holidays....... to the land of my parents and my forefathers.....

Post card from Nairobi 1963

I came to England 50 years ago, in April 1963, after the worst winter British people had experienced since the records began.




I and my sister with our relatives in Nairobi

The above photo was taken in Nairobi, few months before I, my two sisters and my mother were to land at Heathrow Airport. My father made his way to England first in 1960 and settled in Coventry, got a job, saved enough money to send for my three brothers who were all older and in need of a job too. After 2 years or so came our turn , my two sisters and my mother. My mother moved her young family from Mombasa to Nairobi to stay with our relatives who owned a high rise building and we were given a space to sleep, cook and eat underneath the staircase on the top floor of the building. The  freedom to run around on the top floor and also view the city life from the top is still with me!

 On boarding the plane, I remember asking the air  hostess, beautiful white European lady, to open the window for me as I was getting too hot, I have never been on a aeroplane before!!

Letter from Nanyuki......Snapshot of my family

Where shall I begin my story? having had a good look at stamped pages of my 5 passports, I thought of using my travel experiences as the foundation for my story.

 After 2 days of mulling over the idea of my story,  I decided to start it with the good old cliché "every picture tells a story", lucky me  I have 7000 photos on my computer to tell many. There is another cliché I have added to my story, that is  ' life is a journey'. My journey through travel from 1949 onwards will  try and  connect my life with the photos I have selected for my story. I start off with a small write up which I posted off to the national newspaper but it failed to  get noticed for printing. I therefore take this opportunity to share my thoughts about the photo above and start my story on this travelblog of mine..... So here I go:

" Though I do not appear in the photo above,  for me, it has been a constant reminder of the time gone-by captured in one photo shoot of my family, times of hopes and dreams maybe?  The photo was taken in a professional studio, with the grand English home setting as a back drop, in a small town called Nanyuki, Kenya. I believe the photo was taken in 1949, a year before my birth.

The photo is of my extended family: my 3 brothers, my 2 cousins. My mother, the head of the extended family is holding my nervous looking sister, perhaps she is camera shy? From time to time the photo comes out for a good scrutiny, giggling  over the boys shoes and socks, are they wearing designer's outfit made by my mother? My eldest brother is the one sitting on the grand  chair, with a smile, proudly playing the role of a Big Brother. My youngest brother, standing on the far left is the only one who has his hands in his pockets, has a naughty look too; he did not change much as he grew older!! On the far right is my sweet looking middle brother with plaited hair, a bit girlie, which he kept under his turban as he grew up as a devote Sikh.

The Mau Mau uprising of the sixties in Kenya meant that we all had to leave behind our birth place and our dreams and move to England with our small belongings. The city of Coventry became our home and we did our best to rebuild our lives and for fill our very own individual dreams. The photograph above is now part of history and only to be handed down for memories, amusement and nostalgia maybe?