Relationships

When I Was A Child Religion And Class Didn't Matter

By OSWALD PEREIRA

When I was a child, I didn’t know the difference between religion, caste and creed and class.

In our village in Thane, Hindus, Muslim and Christian children played and laughed together. Our favourite meeting place during the day after school was an ancient banyan tree, which blessed us with its shade and was big enough to accommodate the whole gang of youngsters. Behind the tree was a Shiva temple. When devotees rang its bells, it seemed like music to our ears. But we continued with our childish talk, even as worshippers walked in and out of the temple.

In the evening, we meet at a cross in the centre of the village. Hindus, Muslims and Christians sat on the steps of the cross. But the cross was not big enough to host the whole gang. So the late comers had to stand.

Our favourite sport was cricket, played with a soft tennis ball. I recall the team captain was Dattya, who was the son of so-called poor parents. His mother Gangu was a ‘bai’, the Marathi word used to describe those who work in better off homes washing and cleaning. His father was a drunkard who blew up a big chunk of the money earned by Gangu.
Dattya, like his two brothers Anand and Baloo, never went to school. Anand and Baloo were my good friends. Dattya was older to me and I hero worshipped him, because he was such a great fast blower and splendid batsman, while I was a poor player who was sent as the last man.

Entertainment for us was Hindi movies in the only theatre in town, Prabhat talkies. As pocket money was limited in those days, we saw movies sitting on wooden benches on the first rows. The ticket was prized at five annas. I remember Dattya escorting me and other boys, like we were his younger brothers, to many movies. He always paid for his own ticket, because he earned money working on odd jobs and even treated us to a packet of wafers, which came in really tiny packs. Sometimes Anand and Baloo too accompanied us to the movies, after we had pooled in money for their tickets.

The only mode of public transport within the city was the tonga, which as children we couldn’t afford; so all our outings were on foot.

All this friendship was, however, outside my home. My ‘poor’ friends Anand, Baloo and Dattya never visited me at home, though I sneaked into their hut on the outskirts of the village many times. How could they come home and socialise with the family when they were the children of a ‘servant’? The class divides and religious differences were made clear at home. I can’t recall them ever joining in our Christian festivals; or enjoying celebrations in the village like weddings, which was a full week of merry making in those days. We never sent them a Christmas cake.

As a child I found this so unfair and sad.

Then I grew up and joined St Xavier’s College in Mumbai. Almost overnight, Anand, Baloo and Dattya seemed distant to me. When I used to return home from college I had better things to do, like making new girl friends, than sitting under the canopy of the banyan tree or the steps of the village cross. I would occasionally bump into them.

While they would shout a loud hello, I would reply with a mere nod. My childhood friends and cricket hero had become nodding acquaintances.

When I think of them now-a-days, I shed a silent tear or two. But what’s the use of my crocodile tears when in adult life, I ultimately turned out be like many of my kind ….

Click Here to read the blog on The Speaking Tree

 

Should Women Retain Their Maiden Name After Marriage?

By OSWALD PEREIRA

Though my name is Oswald Pereira, I am often called Mr Singh. That’s because my wife, a Sikh, has retained her maiden name (Singh) and people who know her and don’t know me, assume that the husband of Mrs Singh would be Mr Singh.

When people call our landline to speak to my wife, and she’s not at home, they often say, “Mr Singh, please tell Mrs Singh I had called.”

When I try and correct them and affirm that “I’m Mr Pereira,” they hang up abruptly, saying “Sorry, I think I've got the wrong number.”

The more persistent ones insist, “But doesn’t Mrs Singh live here?”

When I stand my ground and assert, “Yes, this is Mrs Singh’s residence, but I’m Mr Pereira,” they hang up, after making sympathetic, clucking sounds, perhaps imagining that I must be a crackpot.

I’ve got to thank the cellular phone revolution. Now we don’t get that many calls on our landline. Callers now call my wife on her mobile phone and I’m saved the trauma of losing my identity.

I’ve only myself to blame for this identity crisis. During our courtship days, I once looked into my wife’s large, brown eyes and declared, “I believe in women’s emancipation and gender equality.” It was part of those clever lines that you say when you are dating and really don’t mean it.

But my girl friend took it seriously. A tiny tear of joy trickled down her right eye. She held my hand tenderly and cooed, “This is the kind of man I’m looking for.”

I responded by proudly puffing my chest inflated with 50 push-ups in the morning and crowed, “Count on me young lady to treat you like a queen.”

Her next line hit me like a storm. “What are your intentions, young man?” she asked firmly, releasing my hand like it were a hot potato.

Taken by surprise by the suddenness and intensity of her query, I blurted out, “Marriage, of course.”

“And, you won’t mind if I retain my maiden name after marriage?” she asked sweetly.

“I’d love it that way,” I heard myself say.

So we were married soon enough as Mr Pereira and Mrs Singh. Soon after marriage, we got our first tiny flat on a mortgage as Mr Pereira and Mrs Singh and have since purchased a house jointly, using the same Pereira-Singh combination.

The name plate outside our house now bears three names — mine, my wife’s and my son’s, who had the good sense to chose my name as his surname. Now door-to-door salespersons who ring our door bell ask for one of the Pereiras, as Singh seems to be the odd one out. Including my son’s name on the nameplate was my dirty little trick.
It gives me the strength of numbers.

Don’t take that last line seriously; it was said in a lighter vein.

If you ask me on a more serious note, “Are you happy that your wife has retained her maiden name?” I would reply, “Yes, of course, most certainly, don’t ever doubt it!”

“I’d love this to happen again and again with all my wives, in as many lives that I’m born a male.”

I believe that women should be given the choice to retain their maiden name after marriage.

Click Here to read the blog on The Speaking Tree