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
