A large family

A remarkable situation in father's life is the recurring motif of living in a large family. As a child he was one among eleven children, occasionally augmented by cousins who frequented his maternal home. Again as a married man he raised a slew of children in his home of which only four were his own, the others being nephews, nieces and cousins from all over the city of Hyderabad. It has been the lot of that generation of men who left the districts in search of their destiny in the growing cosmopolitan city that being self-sustained and better-off professionally and socially compared to their siblings, undertook the onus of disciplining and fostering education and a sense of responsibility in the cousins who grew up with us in the sixties and seventies. Until he moved with his own family to Banjara Hills, considered an inaccessible and inhospitable outback of that period, father spent the prime of his life among a large family and his rented home in Abids was a haven to a floating population of friends and relatives. My cousins, especially the female ones, recall with touching gravity the help and homely atmosphere they received from my father and the gratitude they feel for my mother who made it all possible without a whimper. It may be noted here that surprisingly all the relatives without an exception were from the father's side and remarkably enough mother went about her wifely chores of the household without complaint or discrimination.

Despite his busy life as a reporter, he invariably spared one day during the first two months of every new year, recalls my elder sister Indira, when he took us to the industrial exhibition. A retinue of children followed him into the exhibition grounds, bypassing the ticketing queues, for he carried a pass. She felt elated and proud that she could walk right through the barriers unhindered, without having to show the ticket, unlike the rest of humanity which plodded ponderously in a long chain of ordinary people with tickets in their hands and awaiting their turn to pass through. He was generous in purchases and we all returned home eminently satisfied. My siblings and cousins bought bangles, toys and dresses, but I badly wanted a cane, which father bought for me ignoring Indira's protests. Later when I used it successfully to beat the younger ones at home, her worst fears came true. We grew up freely and happily, and though mother controlled us with shouts and screams father left us pretty much to ourselves. He was too active in the happenings of the world outside, carving a niche for himself in the hectic and fledgeling world of journalism; he spent little time at home.

When he was free he went to the cinemas in the neighbourhood: there were at least a half dozen within walking distance from home running three and sometimes four shows a day. Every new movie in the town saw mother and father watching it in the first few days of its release. Father's favourite was Madhubala? And Sadhana? He watched movies with children too; only one accompanied him at any time. Which movie did I see with father? My memory fails here or I may never have gone out with him to see a movie at all. So is the case with my next sibling Manjuala. We never really enjoyed the movies; we were made of different stuff that made us cry and disturb those who took us there. Indira and Rajani found much favour in this regard; while the former recalled blandly watching bhakti movies, the latter recollects in her typically exuberant way having thoroughly enjoyed watching Zorro with father. Perhaps he knew precisely well the child's temperament and conducted accordingly. Indira reminisces warmly how she got to munch snacks during the intermission and returning home with an icecream when she went out with father. By all counts he was a good father, caring and keenly aware of the needs of his children.
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