Lalitha Natarajan
A Tribute to my Late Sister Lalitha Natarajan
Written by Vasantha Jairam (nee Hariharan)
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| Back row (l-r): Lalitha, Meena (her older sister); Vasantha (her younger sister and author of this chapter) Front row (l-r): Ramaswamy (husband of Rajam); Rajam (Lalitha's older sister); Hari (Lalitha’s older brother); Gomathi (Radhika's grandmother); Hariharan Iyer (Radhika's grandfather). Kluang, Malaysia, 1959 |
Lalitha was in the pioneer batch that joined the Canossian Convent School Kluang, Malaysia, in 1951. She was just three years old and when the nuns came around recruiting children for the new school, my father enrolled her. My older siblings were already in GES [Government English School].
She joined the kindergarten and must have been there for a number of years before graduating to Standard One. She was an extrovert (a far cry from me) and I grew up in her shadow. She excelled in her studies, was very articulate and had extraordinary writing skills. She was also a debater, an actor and a public speaker. She was a good school prefect and her outstanding leadership qualities enabled her to be the Head Prefect of the Canossian Convent in 1964.
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| Lalitha and Vasantha, Keluang, 1959 |
She moved on to graduate from University Malaya, became a teacher and a lecturer at a Teachers' Training College and then went off to settle in Edinburgh, Scotland after her marriage.
In Edinburgh she worked as a teacher, trained and taught dyslexic children, acted as court interpreter for the Sri Lankan refugees and gave lectures on Indian Culture over BBC. She also did a lot of social work to help senior citizens in her area, besides being active in the Hindu temples.
Sadly she passed away on 21st July 2015 after a short illness.
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| Lalitha Natarajan (Radhika's mother) Edinburgh, Scotland, ca. 2013 |
My Two Different Worlds, by Vasantha Jairam
"My relationship with the convent started in January 1956 when I entered Standard One, with a bag of new books, a bottle of Milo and two dosas packed in a banana leaf by my loving mother, for my break."The very first day the nun, if I recollect correctly, Mother Victorina, lined us in a row, looked at us and picked me out to be a prefect. And that was what I was throughout my school life. My first friends were Saro, Suguna Malar, and Rathi. It was an adventure with crayons, coloured pencils, writing, reading, drawing, cutting and pasting (literally - not today's world of computer cut and paste). I loved my books of Janet and John and oh! the Enid Blyton series that took me into another world.
Coming to school in the first year was an adventure. We lived in an estate that was a mile away from the school. The estate, Revertex, was run by British colonial managers. They did provide some facilities for the children of the staff. Until 1956 all school children, including my siblings went by the lorry that was used later to transport latex. So rain or shine, there we were on a lorry, riding to school. The following year we were provided with a bus which was better and more dignified.
My Family -- A Couple Sailed Across the Seas
My father Hariharan, came to the estate way back in 1931, with my uncle Krishna Iyer. He married my mother, Gomathi a young fourteen-year old naive girl from India in 1937. Needless to say my poor mom was bewildered, petrified and shaken to live in a lonely bungalow amidst the verdant forest that was very slowly being converted to profitable rubber plantations.
Being the youngest child, totally protected and loved by her parents, I can imagine the trauma she would have faced, not only being far removed from her parents in Kerala, but living in an alien world and keeping home for an authoritarian man, my father.
It was here she gave birth to my three older siblings before the Second World War. As news of the Japanese Army coming to Malaya spread [December 1941], my father packed off his young wife and three children, the youngest being only 40 days old to India by ship. My mother used to relate tales of her ordeal on board the ship. They travelled on a British warship called the ERUMBRA.
The seas were turbulent, everyone around would be throwing up; she had to manage three young children, two of whom were toddlers, the other was just 40 days old. On top of that there would be complete darkness in the night, as all lights were switched off to prevent detection by the Japanese. The voyage was long and finally they reached the shores of Madras more dead than alive. The ship was the last passenger-carrying-boat to India before the War broke out.
Once in India another chapter of her life started. She had lost her father by then. So my father had to leave her with her siblings while he returned to Malaya. She and her three kids were shuttled from one brother's home to another as well as her sisters' too. She survived seven years only because my grandmother was a pillar of support for her. She had no clue as to whether her husband was alive of dead, until 1946 when the war had ended and passenger ships started sailing again. Only then did my father arrive at her doorstep to take her and the children home.
Back to the estate must have been heaven to her because she had her own home. My two older sisters were admitted to the Government English School (GES) -- the only English school and a coed at that while my brother was sent to a private home-run school - Jubilee School. It was run by a Mr & Mrs Samuel and Ms Samuel took a liking to my brother, who always tried to run out. The school was in a shop lot in Kluang town. Many years later as my brother became successful in life, Ms Samuel would recall with fondness the mischief my brother would cook up. That is the beauty of small towns - we bond regardless of race, religion and cultural differences.
The next three girls were born between 1947 and 1949 (my sisters and I). Then another traumatic experience befell my mother. As my mother brought home my youngest sister from hospital, she was forced to give the baby away to my uncle and aunt who were childless. She was never consulted, poor thing and that was a big blow. She passed away in 2015 at the ripe old age of 92 years and until then this traumatized her. Whenever we mentioned my sister Sashi she would be unable to control her anger and sorrow. How sad those days were when there was no empowerment of women - they had no choice but to obey!
Many a day my mother regretted that she had not learned the English language - her education was aborted when she was in the fifth standard. She was not economically independent and she had to fend for five children who clung to her. What I marvel about my mother, and all mothers of those days, was the unconditional love they gave to each one of their children. She never took out her anger, sorrow or disappointments on us. This is the example I quote to my students of today - how great the mothers were in the yesterdays. It was never I or me - it was always the children and husband - their priority. There were no electronic gadgets to help in household chores. Yet our homes were neat, we were dressed neatly, and there was food on the table always in time. How did these wonder women manage all this and with no less than five to six children in tow? Hats off to all these mothers - our mothers! They went off as unsung heroes but we are here to carry out the lesson of life we learnt from them. We have passed them on and we must assure that reaches our grandchildren too. That is the greatest tribute we can pay to our mothers.
Being the youngest child, totally protected and loved by her parents, I can imagine the trauma she would have faced, not only being far removed from her parents in Kerala, but living in an alien world and keeping home for an authoritarian man, my father.
It was here she gave birth to my three older siblings before the Second World War. As news of the Japanese Army coming to Malaya spread [December 1941], my father packed off his young wife and three children, the youngest being only 40 days old to India by ship. My mother used to relate tales of her ordeal on board the ship. They travelled on a British warship called the ERUMBRA.
The seas were turbulent, everyone around would be throwing up; she had to manage three young children, two of whom were toddlers, the other was just 40 days old. On top of that there would be complete darkness in the night, as all lights were switched off to prevent detection by the Japanese. The voyage was long and finally they reached the shores of Madras more dead than alive. The ship was the last passenger-carrying-boat to India before the War broke out.
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| Australian anti-tank gunners firing on Japanese tanks at the Muar-Parit Sulong Road. Bakri, Johore, Malaysia, January 1942 [Note the rubber plantation along the road on the right] |
Once in India another chapter of her life started. She had lost her father by then. So my father had to leave her with her siblings while he returned to Malaya. She and her three kids were shuttled from one brother's home to another as well as her sisters' too. She survived seven years only because my grandmother was a pillar of support for her. She had no clue as to whether her husband was alive of dead, until 1946 when the war had ended and passenger ships started sailing again. Only then did my father arrive at her doorstep to take her and the children home.
Back to the estate must have been heaven to her because she had her own home. My two older sisters were admitted to the Government English School (GES) -- the only English school and a coed at that while my brother was sent to a private home-run school - Jubilee School. It was run by a Mr & Mrs Samuel and Ms Samuel took a liking to my brother, who always tried to run out. The school was in a shop lot in Kluang town. Many years later as my brother became successful in life, Ms Samuel would recall with fondness the mischief my brother would cook up. That is the beauty of small towns - we bond regardless of race, religion and cultural differences.
The next three girls were born between 1947 and 1949 (my sisters and I). Then another traumatic experience befell my mother. As my mother brought home my youngest sister from hospital, she was forced to give the baby away to my uncle and aunt who were childless. She was never consulted, poor thing and that was a big blow. She passed away in 2015 at the ripe old age of 92 years and until then this traumatized her. Whenever we mentioned my sister Sashi she would be unable to control her anger and sorrow. How sad those days were when there was no empowerment of women - they had no choice but to obey!
Many a day my mother regretted that she had not learned the English language - her education was aborted when she was in the fifth standard. She was not economically independent and she had to fend for five children who clung to her. What I marvel about my mother, and all mothers of those days, was the unconditional love they gave to each one of their children. She never took out her anger, sorrow or disappointments on us. This is the example I quote to my students of today - how great the mothers were in the yesterdays. It was never I or me - it was always the children and husband - their priority. There were no electronic gadgets to help in household chores. Yet our homes were neat, we were dressed neatly, and there was food on the table always in time. How did these wonder women manage all this and with no less than five to six children in tow? Hats off to all these mothers - our mothers! They went off as unsung heroes but we are here to carry out the lesson of life we learnt from them. We have passed them on and we must assure that reaches our grandchildren too. That is the greatest tribute we can pay to our mothers.
Estate Days - The Joys and Trials of Childhood
Revertex - That is where we lived until my father retired in 1969. So all my school days I travelled from the estate to school and back. My daughter teasingly calls me "estate kutty."
It was fun days because we lived in a big house, we had many friends (all staff had a minimum of five children) and most important we had ample space to run around and play. There was no fear of traffic nor miscreants leading to molest, rape or kidnapping. Those were carefree days. Being in the estate, electricity and water were provided free and houses were rent free. So my father, even with small pay, could provide for us well. We were not in the lap of luxury but we were never in want. My immediate neighbor was a Chinese family from China. The wonder was both the mothers did not know English but they became good friends because both picked up the Malay language. We, the children played together, both the fathers worked at the same place and both the mothers could spend the evenings exchanging snippets of gossip.
There would be exchange of goodies during festivals - without fail we would get the oranges, peanuts and cakes from them during the Chinese New Year and in exchange we would carry a tray of Indian goodies to their homes for Deepavali. We used to walk along with them during the mooncake festival, carrying lanterns along the estate road.
In the early years after the war till 1957 our estate was a hotspot for communist activities. So one could see military checkposts at certain corners, and the Gurkhas manning these posts were friendly. Occasionally we would see military trucks bearing soldiers from Fiji, Australia and so on. The best part was, we would all be dressed for school when suddenly there would be an announcement of a curfew. That meant no school for the day. Yay! We would be overjoyed. My cousin and my sister (adopted by my uncle) would come over and we would play the Three Musketeers. My sister Lalitha who was quite a crybaby and my father's favourite, would be the kidnapped princess, my cousin Uma would be the wicked wich guarding her, while my brother, myself and my younger sister would fix towels on our shoulders like capes, carry thin broomsticks and gallop round the place. There would be much sword fighting until the princess was rescued.
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| Gomathi, Sugunamalar, Lalitha and Mother Pierina Canossian Convent School Kluang, Malaysia, 1959 |
On other days, my sister and I would go over to my Auntie's house and together with Uma and my youngest sister, we would play school. Uma being the older would be the teacher and we her students. In our midst would be a Punjabi boy whose father was the factory jaga and his family supplied milk to the estate. All four of us would bully him and give him spelling tests.
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| Sungai Melantai, Kluang, Malaysia |
In the evenings we would play outside with the other staff's children or we would go on a picnic along the river that was flowing through the estate. The older boys would go cycling or play badminton. The so-called badminton court would be muddy during the rainy season. There was one particular boy who was the target and butt of everyone's jokes. The others would purposely patch up the muddy area with leaves and urge him to jump over a high jump pole placed strategically there. But he would be the wiser and would not do it.
Below is the author, Vasantha Jairam (nee Hariharan).
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| Vasantha Jairam (nee Hariharan) |
Here is a photo of Radhika and her family in 2017.
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| Al, Kitty, David, Radhika, David, Bodhi, Edinburgh, 2017 |
Thanks to Radhika and Vasantha
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