My Sister

Violet was born on the 23rd of February 1944, three years and three months after I was born. She was just six months old when our father suddenly disappeared and deserted us. I have faint but fond memories of our father but my sister has none. We were both brought up by our dear mother.

Mum was extremely distressed after our father deserted us. I would often find her sitting alone lost in deep thoughts. She seemed to have lost her desire to live or care for us. I think my baby sister sensed the situation and started out with her attention seeking tantrums as early as seven months. Perhaps it was not attention seeking, it must have been her way of getting mum on track and taking care of the reality as it was without the support of our thoughtless father.

Violet drank fresh cow’s milk from the glass feeding bottle. Mum would give her the bottle and either sit on one side of the bed day dreaming or occupy herself with some clean-up in the room. Of course my dear sister would find this the appropriate opportunity to ask for attention! As soon as she finished the milk in the bottle, she would fling the bottle on the cemented floor where it would lay in pieces with a big crash sound. This of course would bring Mum back to the world of reality. Mum would lose her temper but since she could not chastise baby Violet, she would go for me instead. I was always there near her and my sister.

“Could you not keep an eye on your sister?” She would scream at me in frustration and plant a slap across my cheek. I remember being rather stunned by her slap yet I would not allow any tears to flow because I too was aware of Mum’s state of mind at the time, and felt I had let her down. I should have kept a watch on my sister, I thought, but instead I was too preoccupied with my toys.

Mum would make me hold the bottle while Violet drank milk from that day. Violet took her own time drinking; it was a long time for a little girl like me to sit still and hold the bottle. Very often I would forget the purpose of holding the bottle and being vigilant, and would turn my head to answer Mum for something, or look around the room. I would get distracted by anything around and that is when my dear baby sister would find the opportunity to fling the bottle down! Violet broke about a dozen bottles in that month and I must have been slapped or shaken in desperation by my mother every time. I don’t know whether it was my mother or I should have been vigilant! Anyhow, Mum finally took hold of the situation and kept strict eye on the feeding bottle herself, much to my relief. Anyway, this incident taught me to take care of my sister at a very early age of three years, and nine months. I developed a sense of responsibility towards Violet from then onwards. When she started walking I followed her about to see that she did not fall and hurt herself. I developed great love and care for my baby sister and felt that I had to protect and keep her safe all the time.

We had a big land in front of our house in Saharanpore. Very often cattle would appear from nowhere to graze on the green grass. I remember once Violet dawdled towards a bull and before I could stop her, the bull pushed her to the ground and was about to hurt her with his huge horns, I ran crying to save her, “my sister, my sister, please don’t hurt my sister!”

People around and the servants about ran out with sticks and before long Violet was rushed into the house unhurt into Mum’s arms. This did not stop Violet from being adventurous. I remember visiting the Rajah of Bhadri’s house, near Allahabad city many years later. Mum was working as a private nurse for the Rajah Sahib’s only daughter. She was suffering with pleurisy and Mum was sent by the doctor to be the private nurse for a month. Both Violet and I were able to visit her for a few days. We reached Bhadri one morning. Mum came to receive us as we got out of the car. She kissed Violet first and then came towards me. Suddenly we both heard a scream.

Violet had managed to run towards what she thought to be a dog tied to a tree. In actual fact, it was the Rajah Sahib’s pet tiger cub. As Violet touched the cub to pet, the tiger growled and held her leg by both its paws. Thank God! Rajah Sahib was close bye and was able to order the tiger to let go of her leg with just few scratches!

My sister loved dogs and never forgot to pet stray street dogs. Once, a mangy dog nearly bit her stretched hand. “Violet will never learn!” Mum would shake her head in despair.

“Poor little dog Mum,” Violet would defend herself; “he did not know I was going to pat him affectionately, he may have thought I was going to hurt him like most people do!”

The two of us were brought up as boarders in Mum’s friend, Aunt Natasha’s house at the railway colony in Allahabad. She had children of her own. Life was a struggle for Aunt as she tried to cope with the daily expenses to make her family and us comfortable. I remember once on a Sunday morning we were slowly walking back home from the Cantonment Catholic Church. It was a hot summer’s day and we had to walk a long distance.

“I am so tired. Aunty may I have some money to buy a lollipop?” I heard my sister say as we approached a corner shop. “I don’t have any money.” Aunt said callously, “You should have asked your mother for pocket money. I don’t have any money for you, go and beg for it and buy yourself the lollipop.”

I felt sorry for my sister, anyhow, I quietly followed Aunt and her daughters up the steps to our apartment. I suddenly realised that my sister had not followed us once we reached the verandah upstairs. I looked down the balcony to see where she was and to my horror; I saw her sitting on one side of the street with her hand stretched out as though begging. She was wearing her Sunday best dress, straw hat and polished shoes with clean white socks, and was sitting on the side of the street and begging! Her eyes were closed, as she repeatedly begged saying, “ek paisa de do, kuch khanne ko nahi hai. Andha ko ek paisa de do sahib, memsahib. Oh babuji, ek paisa de do. (Give me one paisa as I have not had any food. Give money to a blind, sahib, and memsahib. Oh babuji give me one paisa.)

“Aunt” I screamed in shock, “Look at Violet! She is begging like a beggar sitting there on the road.”

“What!” Aunt said traumatized, “How dare she? VIOLET!” Aunt yelled. Her tone was enough to make my sister fly back upstairs in hurry.

“You told me to beg Aunty.” Violet said boldly once she was up. “The man was going to give me money but you yelled and I had to open my eyes and run upstairs!”

“You stupid girl! I did not think you would be such a fool to do it. I did not mean what I said; I was only trying to stop you from whinging for lollies when I had no money. That man would have kidnapped you if we had not called you up. Fancy sitting there well dressed and begging for money!! Don’t you dare do that again?” Aunt said angrily. Violet was just seven years old then.

Violet grew up with a mind of her own. She loved food and eating like most children do. Unfortunately, Aunt had limited quantity of food for each of us at the table. “Your mother gives me very little money for the food. I cannot afford to feed your enormous appetite with the money she gives.” I would slowly pass her my share of food to make her happy.

Violet never complained to Mum, instead she grew up stubborn and indifferent to all the denigration at home. She was well loved by her friends at school for her witty and caring disposition. She was always full of fun and play; nothing seemed to worry her at all, whereas I always sat brooding over unkind remarks at home and grew up sensitive. I felt committed and responsible all the more. I prayed and tried to find means to keep my little sister safe and happy all the time.

Soon she was in Year 10 ready for the High School Examination. I was full of ambition for her. I wanted my sister to become a doctor. I thought the world of her; she was very talented and intelligent. She could draw and paint beautifully and could also write short stories. Although I had passed my High School in First Division, I had decided that I would work and earn enough to send my precious sister to the university. I wanted her to become something big and rich like a doctor. I felt my dreams come crushing down when she fell in love with Victor, a young boy from St Joseph’s Collegiate who was also doing the High School that year. Worst was when Victor announced the results, he had failed and she had just passed High School. My sister did not do well as I expected her to and she was capable. Anyhow, Sister Magdalene at the St Mary’s Convent was of great support, “What is wrong with teaching? Violet will make a great primary teacher with her caring disposition and artistic talent.” And so Violet took up Primary Teacher’s Training. She did make a great teacher! Her students loved her and the schools she taught were full of praise for her teaching ability. Unfortunately, she also became a much sought after young lady by the young men wherever she went. Young men fell in love with her at every station she went to teach. She had grown up to be a very attractive and versatile young lady. Most of all everyone loved her for caring, soft and gentle nature.

“Violet, why can’t you choose just one lover and get married.” I would often say to her, “I don’t like people calling you a flirt!” “My dear Minnie, stop worrying. I don’t go after them, they come after me. I consider them all friends only. No one has proposed to me for marriage as yet! Anyway if it makes you happy, I promise you that this year, I will marry the first man who proposes to me in earnest.” Violet replied laughing.

In spite of her indifferent and couldn’t-care-less attitude at home, she was the most compassionate and caring person to everyone outside. I remember once when I was teaching at Frank Anthony Public School, New Delhi in 1968 and Violet came to visit me from Allahabad the next door servant announced that old Mrs Wanderholt had died upstairs in the Barsati. I was aware that the old lady lived alone in the room as she did not get along well with her daughter- in- law in the first floor. Her son and grand daughter had no time for her. They had the ayah reach her food and water everyday for her needs. Neither did I ever visit her since I did not know them too well.

I saw my sister walk out of the door after the servant. I did not have the time to question where she was going. Violet appeared after two hours. She looked distraught and sat down beside me. Then she burst into tears, crying hysterically. I asked her what had happened and she replied between sobs that she had just helped the ayah to bathe the dead body of the Mrs Wanderholt.

“Minnie,” Violet said between tears, “She must have died during the early part of the previous night; her body was cold and stiff. We had to tear her dress and underwear to take them out. You should have seen her back, it was full of bed sores, pus, and blood everywhere. She must have been lying like that for weeks, in pain and suffering. The poor old lady of 86 years died alone suffering all that in this month of hot June. The ayah gave her food and drink but no one came to see her ever. How terrible! The poor thing!”

Violet had never met the lady nor did she know her family, she only went to see the dead lady when the servant announced her death, but she went through cleaning and washing her! I could not have done that as I am always frightened of dead and the dying. I thought my sister was very brave and great woman.

Of course Violet married the year as she had promised to the first man who proposed to her that year. She married an Anglo-Indian teacher, Russell Gardner, a quiet and simple friend she had come to know. They were both teachers at Boys’ High School in Allahabad. He proposed to her that year and they got married. She has been married for 33 years now and they are still in love the way they were when they married. Violet has been a very devoted wife, mother and grandmother ever since. Her husband is now the MLA of Uttarchal and also the member of Anglo-Indian Board of Education in India. He is also the principal of St Thomas Anglican School, Dehra Dun.

I left India in 1983 for Australia, with my little family of a severely handicapped son, Mario, my normal son Fabian and my old mother. Violet and Russell were teachers then and had two little children then. Ever since then Violet has been visiting me practically every year. I came to know that she and her husband had been doing well in India from her. She had been inviting me to visit them very often, and last year in December 2005, I decided to accept the invitation and visit her in Dehra Dun. She sent me the car to receive us at the airport in Delhi. We travelled seven hours to reach her place. I went to India after nearly two decades. My sister came to receive me when we reached the gate of St Jude High School. There she was my baby sister all grown up and the principal of her own school, but the same old Violet, full of wit, smiles and caring! “Did you have a good journey? Come we have a room all ready and waiting for you. The ayahs and the servants are all ready to welcome you.” She said in her unassuming and humble manner. She had not changed!

She had ten dogs about the place, and many ayahs and servants. Her servants and ayahs were full of praise for her. “Memsahib has saved our lives. She is always there to support us when we need help of any kind.”

I noticed that one of her servant’s wife was in the hospital while we were there. She had delivered a baby. Violet went to visit her in the hospital with a bag full of clothes and baby things as gifts. She was always there to comfort the sick and the suffering amongst her servants and this the Human Rights Commission had found it to be extremely unusual, very touching and kind. She supported many children of the servants and poor who approached her with money for education and medicines on a regular basis. Yes I realised that my sister had a mind of her own, she did not follow my ambition of joining the university and becoming a doctor as I had planned for her, instead she had followed her heart and become a wife and a teacher and today she was a principal of her own school. She loved dogs and had many dogs of her own. She did not need to beg for money to buy a lollipop, now she had enough to buy lollipops and more for many around her. Her caring and compassionate nature had been recognised and she was nominated for a world award of humanitarians. Out of Rs 20,000 salary she receives she gives Rs 10, 000 in caring and supporting many poor. I felt proud to be her sister. She had grown up to be a great person and in her own way, using her own talents and abilities.

[ back to the top ]