The good old days are gone

Col DS Cheema (retd)

ONCE upon a time, most Indians lived in a joint family system. Ours was no exception. In those days, all relatives and friends enjoyed a close bond of brotherhood and were willing to support each other in times of need. Then Partition happened, but it could not destroy the special relationship between people living on both sides of the border. Refugees, as we were called then, were welcomed by relatives and friends in today’s India. Every uprooted family had to stay with them for days, and in many cases, months, without a sign of any strain. 

Most refugees showed tremendous resilience and bounced back with vengeance. My father settled us in a small town as he was appointed headmaster of a high school. Though not as affluent as we were in Pakistan Punjab, we could manage a decent livelihood. During the 10-odd years I spent in school and a college nearby, I don’t remember a time when one or two grownup children of our relatives or friends were not staying in our house. It was the done thing, if one was in a town which had a school or college. 

My father was a very likeable man and wanted to help others. None of us — my mother, three brothers and two sisters — had any say in the matter. He only announced the date of arrival of the guest and dictated the new arrangement of sharing three rooms, one hall and a single toilet, much to the discomfort and resentment of the ‘permanent’ members of the family. 

Since there was no system of any appeal to the decree of the head of the family, we accepted it as part of our fate. Within a few weeks, every one adapted to the new system smoothly, with an occasional outburst by one of us, which resulted in a scolding from him. And then things would return to normalcy. 

We would heave a sigh of relief when the guests temporarily left us to visit their permanent abode during holidays and vacations. This relief was always shortlived, as when  they came back to join us, someone came to drop them and stayed on for a couple of days, putting more pressure on the already stretched-to-the-limit living conditions. 

When I got married, I shared with my wife the experience of living in a ‘hostel’ in my home. It gave me some consolation to learn that her extended family was much bigger as her father owned a high school in the heart of the city where they lived.

Years passed and a time came when my two children were of college-going age. Around that time, I was posted to a station which did not have a college of my son’s choice. Fortunately, (later it turned out to be not-so fortunate) a close relative lived only a couple of hundred metres away from the college my son wanted to join. It was assumed that he would stay with her. All preparations to implement this plan had been made when I asked my wife to seek the lady’s formal approval. The response made me think, “Kahan gaye woh log? Kahan gaye woh din?”