Thief of Baghdad or Barber of Baghdad

Baghdad

I remember the time when I went to school in New Delhi after returning from Baghdad and being ragged.
I was now the barber of Baghdad I had no idea how. So I let me go down memory lane to life in Baghdad before the oil crisis 1969 – 1972.
We went by ship from Bombay in the worst kind of ship ever…specially after the fabulous holiday on a French liner earlier in 1966. This ship was tiny….a British India ship. We sailed to Karachi…did not really stop there for long ….then proceeded to Muscat which look oh so beautiful from a distance….and our ship remained far away from the port….then we stopped at all the UAE ports where there was nothing beyond US navy ships. Abu Dhabi, Dubai, Doha. Crates were unloaded and we moved on. It was the month of July. Still air and very hot…we kids had enough to do. Spoke to deck passengers…some were hippies I think. Bengalis with long hair singing Rabindra Sangeet and Beatles hits. Gosh..had I been older and better versed on these I might have been able to talk to them about music. That was yet to happen. One Bengali deck passenger (more like a stowaway was constantly singing and chatting with us kids…..much later in life I realized that they were adventurers on a boat off to great experiences as travelers. The only port which has some sign of civilization was Kuwait. We did spend a few hours there and then headed to Basrah our final destination. The journey was nothing more than 45 degreesstill air day and night. My parents were unnerved …just back from two years in Vietnam in the thick of war. We, the kids, were bored to death….Dinner with the captain didn’t impress us one  bit. We were happy watching cargo being unloaded and loaded. Huge crates swinging in and out of the ship’s hold.
In Basrah, we ended up at the Indian Association Club rooms for the night and then took a great railway journey, first class to Baghdad. They gave us blankets and food….never heard of in Indian railways those days ….am told the Indians built their railways….pretty good job. Once in Baghdad, we went to the home designated for us. A three storey house with 5 bedrooms and a terrace – a stone’s throw from my dad’s office – the Indian Embassy – a rather impressive building next to the Ambassador’s residence which was incredibly fancy with its artifacts and fancy furniture and two great cooks who had the best collection of film songs that they shared with us. They came to our home, whenever they were free to teach my mom some amazing dishes and desserts. ...
more to follow......sooooon