3.Summer evenings

“This seems like the perfect moment to introduce myself.
My name is Priyamwada, and I reside in this wonderful city of bridges and boats—Rotterdam. Like many of its inhabitants, I am an immigrant.
But let’s start at the beginning.
My father—a blue-eyed, white-skinned Canadian seeker—journeyed in search of stories to the dry, dusty streets of western India, where he met and instantly fell in love with my mother. She, a dark-eyed, brown-skinned Dalit —once considered untouchable— and a Maharashtrian, a native of the western Indian state of Maharashtra
Mum often recalls dreaming about a white man on a horse calling out her name on more than one occasion before she met Dad. It was love, even before first sight. However, none of this mattered then—a union between a brown, untouchable girl and a white Canadian boy was an improbable match, even in the eighties. Yet, as they often say, ‘when you know, you know.’ These two young lovers were certain this was meant for them. So they defied all odds—although not as dramatic as one might expect had my father been, say, a Brahmin or a Kshatriya, or anything above the hierarchy of an untouchable in the Hindu caste system.
Mum lost her father at a young age, and my Aaiya—her mother—had to raise her and her brothers all on her own. Being a teacher herself, Aaiya ensured all her children received a decent education, including her eldest child and only daughter—my mum. However, finding a suitable match who would support an ambitious woman like my mother was tough back then—and it’s still a gamble today. So, when Dad arrived, willing to leave everything—his family, his country—to settle down and start a life with my mother, Aaiya blessed them and offered a two-roomed, tin-roofed house in Chambharwada—settlement of the cobblers—in her own hometown of Jejuri.
Mum used whatever money she and Dad had between them to fix the roof on the front room and initiate what became the town’s first pharmacy. The other room, which initially lacked even a toilet, became their home. It was a humble beginning, yet for two people in love, it was enough.
The pharmacy succeeded instantly, allowing them to avoid walking to the bus stand—a couple of hundred metres from the house—to use the public toilet, and build their own—a significant achievement in those times, even for those with financial stability.
Yet, the tin roof persisted. Somehow, there were always pressing expenses, particularly with the arrival of my mother’s firstborn—my brother, Chandrakant—or, as we lovingly call him, Sunny.
Mum desired Sunny to attend an English medium school, which would mean relocating to Pune and enrolling him in one of the Christian missionary schools there. Dad, brought up in a religious family and having attended Christian schools himself, didn’t entirely agree with all their practices. Moreover, he had developed a fondness for Jejuri and rural life—he even picked up Marathi while assisting my mother in the pharmacy—thus, he wasn’t keen on moving to the city. He insisted on sending Sunny to a local Marathi medium school.
As a compromise—though ‘compromise’ may be a loose term here—they started their own school. Why search for a tap when you can dig a well?
Mum pursued a teaching degree while Dad wielded pen and paper to co-author, with my mother, one of the most significant stories of his life. It seemed as though he had been a potted plant, shifting from window to window throughout his life. Then, he found Jejuri, and that was it—he was prepared to spread his roots—a foreign tree in a tropical garden.
Sometimes, I feel Rotterdam is that for me—that I am a foreign tree, and this is my Atlantic garden. With half my roots still tropical, and half my heart in the mountains.
And so to my third poem.”

Summer evenings
meant a walk,
away from the dusty bustle
of chambharwada,
through the tamarind grove
to the foot of the mighty mountains.

The orange sun,
setting in the skies
behind the massed grey-black rock
of Jayhadri,
Mesmerised..

As a child
I would often wonder
at their still, their stoic nature
steadfast, untiring,
not wandering, not straying,
like us humans, us mortals,
but meditating
in eternal peace.