LEVON

The following is another extract from the incomplete “LEVON.”  Kairsy’s father, Kaikoobad is a meek businessman while his brother, Rusi is an eccentric literati in love with abusive language. The scene takes place on a Sunday morning when the arrival of the milkman disturbs Rusi’s weekend sleep.

Dinshaw

Kairsy stubbed out his cigarette and again looked at his watch;  8:10 and 6:10.  6:10 Sunday morning in Karachi.  With a chuckle, he visualised the typical Sunday morning screaming, shouting and boom-bararas.  As usual, Rusi Kaka must, at that very moment, be abusing the poor milkman in the most fowl and base language implying the bichara doodhwala’s promptness on his incestuous relationships with his sisters and mother.

“It is because you are a bhainchode that you come at six in the morning and ruin my sleep, you madarchode.”  The milkman had got used to such abuse, for, he had been coming to their house every morning for over the last twenty years now and always on the dot of six-ten.  Even after having to put up with the slanderous tongue every Sunday, he still ceased never to restrict himself from his punctuality, the three loud rhythmic taps on the front door and the clanking sound of the ladle against the milk container.  Kaikoobad would often, politely and softly, tell his younger brother to calm down and not use such el-fel language at such a peaceful time of the day.  Rusi, though, somehow showed a more compassionate attitude towards the milkman on weekdays and would jokingly and affectionately tell him, “you swine, you are what Shakespeare calls, a bloody cock” and then taking on a more eloquent tone would add, “that is the trumpet to the morn.”

LEVON

The following is an extract from a novel I had started writing in 1994 about a charater, Kairsy Kaikoobad Kerosenewala.  The passage is about the conflict Kairsy’s father, Kaikoobad faces living in Karachi in the early 1970’s. 

The emphasis here is about the horrendous dichotomy that exists in the juxtaposition of the two worlds in which the Parsis live.

The novel, “Levon” will remain incomplete as I have no interest in further pursuing this project.

Dinshaw

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Kaikoobad, who was now fifty years old, had spent an equal portion of his life under the rule of the Union Jack and the Crescent Star.  He, like most Parsis of his generation, would still have preferred to live under the former flag which in its divide and rule policy had made some communities more equal than others.  The Parsis of India, though miniscule in number, had enjoyed an economic and social stature second only to that of the alien rulers.  In return the Raj had brought about a cultural metamorphosis within this small community.  The Parsis mimicked British institutions, such as, schools, colleges and clubs from their disciplinary rules to codes of dress.  Porridge became as much a staple diet for mornings as sherry and scotch for the evenings.  Even English eccentricities trickled down through literature.  Jeeves had become a household name and British military marches stirred deep sentiments.  Sir Edward Elgar’s Land of Hope and Glory became the Parsi anthem with its revised lyrics.  And, no social gathering was complete without some pianist or baritone leading the crowd into a chorus of emotional frenzy with,

Children of the Royal Race of Noshirwan,
Rally round his banner, sing of old Iran
Charity and Ashoi, these are watch-words true,
Mazda Lord of Good Mind, ever will save you,
Mazda Lord of Good Mind ever will save you.

Yet, nowhere was this transformation more evident than in their speech.  The fashionable Parsis of high society spoke mainly in English and when on occasion their lips uttered sentences in their native Gujrati, it was inundated with English words and heavily accented with an Anglicised drawl.  Other than reading material and personal association, the key facilitator for this transmutation was with the airing of the BBC’s Empire Service in 1932 which later for political correctness was renamed the World Service. For even the untraveled Parsi, it became a window to the world from its broadcasting house in London.  All wristwatches were synchronized with the radio’s time beeps.  World news and sports were followed diligently and regardless of the quality of the reception because of stray atmospheric interferences, never was a play, recital or concerts ever missed. It is said that had Hubert Spencer been around to see the Parsis of this period, he would have loudly uttered, quod erat demonstrandum.  The only area where the Parsis did not budge was in accepting Christ as their eternal saviour.  They cherished their crutch in their Zoroastrian faith and remained grateful to Ahura Mazda for fashioning them more like the English than any other dominant group of the subcontinent.

Jacqueline Marie-Jose Marguerite Mallet

Jacqueline Mallet died on March 23, 2008 (Easter Sunday) at 8:10 AM at St. Joseph’s Hospital, Toronto while I was by her bedside holding her hand.  By previous night she had receded into a coma and the transition from life to death seemed totally effortless with no sign of anguish or struggle.

Her suffering had increasingly worsened in the previous few months though she kept her fight on till the end with participating in an experimental drug treatment and being optimistic about the results.

Though she died at a relatively young age, she led a full and an accomplished life.  Born in Paris, France, Jacqueline came to Canada in the early 70’s without much knowledge of English.  Within a span of a few years she attended university and only took subjects taught in English.  She did her undergraduate degree from Victoria College, University of Toronto (U of T) and scored the highest Grade Point Average.  She then proceeded to do her Master’s degree in Political Sociology with her thesis on the problems of nationalism in the Soviet Union.  Meanwhile she also held a teaching position at U of T.  Much later she did another undergraduate degree in French / English translation from University of British Columbia.  In all these endeavours what amazed me the most was her extreme level of concentration, focus and diligence.

Jacqueline was an avid reader and took keen interest in the arts, music and other cultural activities.  Furthermore, she was a person of tremendous integrity and always meant what she said and said what she meant.  In her absolute frankness and honesty she only offended those who hid behind the curtain of falsehood and pretence.

As she belonged to no organized religion nor believed in an anthropomorphic god even during her latter days she faced death with frankness and her recent words to me were something as following; “Death, like everything else in life is an experience and I am going to make it a good experience.  We come from oblivion and go into oblivion so what is there to worry.”  She lived by these words bravely till the very end.

As per her wishes there was no religious or public funeral.  Jacqueline was cremated on Wednesday March 26, 2008 at 9 AM.

Though departed from us, Jacqueline will live in my heart and of many others as a symbol of love, bravery, truthfulness and decency.

In March 2010, after obtaining the necessary permission from the French government, I took her ashes to St. Malo, Brittany, France and there with her dearest  godmother Annick Foret and her children (Jacqueline’s first cousins) we spread her ashes in Parc des Corbieres, in an enclosed section with a couple of benches and canopied with lush greenery.  This particular spot also being a cliff faces the Atlantic Ocean with a view of the old town of St Malo to the right and Dinard to the left.   Knowing Jacqueline, she would have opted for the same spot if she was planning on a relaxing afternoon in a park with a nice book.

Many who love her, visit the park often, leave flowers for her and sit on one of the benches reminiscing of all the good times they shared with Jacqueline.

There is also a bench placed in memory of Jacqueline at 2323 Bloor Street West, Toronto by the Eclectic Gallery which she was so instrumental in designing and setting it up.