When I first arrived in Secunderabad there was almost a shift in the youth-age balance, as I acquired a bodyguard in the form of 13-year-old Maria who wouldn't let me even stay in the internet cafe on my own. But the natural order of things was quickly put in place and now I am 'Auntie'.
There is a lot to be said for being an auntie. I do not actually have any nieces or nephews here in India, but by just being an elder I have been socially elevated. It is a role I have easily fallen into and those of you from Indian or Anglo-Indian extraction will recognise the scene; picture me sitting inelegantly on a couch, eating curry and rotis while pretending to be strict with the children. Yesterday they were determined to get permission to bunk off school today - perhaps my promise to take them to Snow World, a faux Alpine environment set up in a warehouse near Tank Bund between Secunderabad and Hyderabad, had unsettled them a little. And so they kept nagging me to say they could take the day off. This persistence ended in a magnificent performance in which they floated out of the bedroom, dancing gracefully while chanting "Auntie please...auntie please" as the eldest boy beat out a rhythm on a drum. Then they performed a graceful conga around the room, still singing and chanting. That kind of initiative and creative expression needs to be rewarded, so I said that they could choose whether to bunk school for a day or go to Snow World. Interestingly, the subject was dropped.
It made me think about when I was first in Hyderabad as a girl of 19, sitting with my real aunties. Ah how the wheel turns...
So today, continuing a family theme my cousin Dominic, a friend of his and I headed back to the cathedral to ask to see the records. It was the first time I have ever been persuaded to get onto a local bus in this area; being rush hour it was totally full and once I had squeezed inside I had to hang on for grim death to stay standing as it lurched and juddered. One bonus about Indian buses (if you are a woman) is that they have Ladies Only seats, even though these are often full with fat chaps while the girls are left standing. I noticed with annoyance that this was the case today; and while I do not think women should have extra rights just for being female, I also think there is no point in being in a sexist society without trying to reap whatever benefits that are available. And so Dominic's friend indicated to a young man that he should give his Ladies Only seat to me. I, feeling on full bitchy form, made a show of declining because they were Ladies Only seats and so the two men sitting there must be ladies. They very quickly insisted that I take the seat.
Once at the cathedral, what we found was limited, and frustrated at first by glaring inconsistencies in the records. The (still rather grumpy) priest and the (not grumpy) clerk explained that the originals were old and falling apart, and so all we could see were the duplicates. But because there appeared to be obvious mistakes, we asked if it was not possible at all to see the originals. There, in a glass cabinet, wrapped in a sheet were piles of original registers, many of which were completely crumbling away. Much of what was left was in tiny pieces because the paper was so dried-up and brittle. And yet we were very lucky. All of the time periods we wanted to look at were intact.
To ensure we had a record of what was written on the original registers, I photographed the pages much to the concern of the priest. The originals should not have been made available to us, and the church was also worried as to why we wanted the information. "We already have one police case," the clerk told us - something about someone being married or not married or goodness knows what.
Of course what we found has only left family history open to individual interpretation, and Dominic and I ended up having a very lively argument today as to what history we preferred, even after we had agreed that "what is, is" as Dominic said sagely.
And I doubt we will be able to find out anything else from the cathedral - probably if we went back they would now kick us out. Oh well. (Note to family, I will write up everything as it has been found and mail it out.)
So after our many hours of research we stopped off for my first glass of cane juice, which was absolutely delicious. I can only share the making of it with you. Enjoy...
There is a lot to be said for being an auntie. I do not actually have any nieces or nephews here in India, but by just being an elder I have been socially elevated. It is a role I have easily fallen into and those of you from Indian or Anglo-Indian extraction will recognise the scene; picture me sitting inelegantly on a couch, eating curry and rotis while pretending to be strict with the children. Yesterday they were determined to get permission to bunk off school today - perhaps my promise to take them to Snow World, a faux Alpine environment set up in a warehouse near Tank Bund between Secunderabad and Hyderabad, had unsettled them a little. And so they kept nagging me to say they could take the day off. This persistence ended in a magnificent performance in which they floated out of the bedroom, dancing gracefully while chanting "Auntie please...auntie please" as the eldest boy beat out a rhythm on a drum. Then they performed a graceful conga around the room, still singing and chanting. That kind of initiative and creative expression needs to be rewarded, so I said that they could choose whether to bunk school for a day or go to Snow World. Interestingly, the subject was dropped.
It made me think about when I was first in Hyderabad as a girl of 19, sitting with my real aunties. Ah how the wheel turns...
So today, continuing a family theme my cousin Dominic, a friend of his and I headed back to the cathedral to ask to see the records. It was the first time I have ever been persuaded to get onto a local bus in this area; being rush hour it was totally full and once I had squeezed inside I had to hang on for grim death to stay standing as it lurched and juddered. One bonus about Indian buses (if you are a woman) is that they have Ladies Only seats, even though these are often full with fat chaps while the girls are left standing. I noticed with annoyance that this was the case today; and while I do not think women should have extra rights just for being female, I also think there is no point in being in a sexist society without trying to reap whatever benefits that are available. And so Dominic's friend indicated to a young man that he should give his Ladies Only seat to me. I, feeling on full bitchy form, made a show of declining because they were Ladies Only seats and so the two men sitting there must be ladies. They very quickly insisted that I take the seat.
Once at the cathedral, what we found was limited, and frustrated at first by glaring inconsistencies in the records. The (still rather grumpy) priest and the (not grumpy) clerk explained that the originals were old and falling apart, and so all we could see were the duplicates. But because there appeared to be obvious mistakes, we asked if it was not possible at all to see the originals. There, in a glass cabinet, wrapped in a sheet were piles of original registers, many of which were completely crumbling away. Much of what was left was in tiny pieces because the paper was so dried-up and brittle. And yet we were very lucky. All of the time periods we wanted to look at were intact.
To ensure we had a record of what was written on the original registers, I photographed the pages much to the concern of the priest. The originals should not have been made available to us, and the church was also worried as to why we wanted the information. "We already have one police case," the clerk told us - something about someone being married or not married or goodness knows what.
Of course what we found has only left family history open to individual interpretation, and Dominic and I ended up having a very lively argument today as to what history we preferred, even after we had agreed that "what is, is" as Dominic said sagely.
And I doubt we will be able to find out anything else from the cathedral - probably if we went back they would now kick us out. Oh well. (Note to family, I will write up everything as it has been found and mail it out.)
So after our many hours of research we stopped off for my first glass of cane juice, which was absolutely delicious. I can only share the making of it with you. Enjoy...
Cane juice being made
And ready to drink....delish!
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Hope all is safe where you are!
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