THE EDITOR, Sir:
I CAME, I saw and I fell in love.
For close to five years I had this wonderful time in Kingston.
What, I am not very lucid?
O.K. let me say it differently. About five years ago I had been leading a nice peaceful life well, as peaceful as it can be in a household with three men, two of them teenagers and I being the only female (read as sensible, logical being).
It was on the other side of the hemisphere. I was in New Delhi when my husband broke the news of his being offered an assignment with the International Seabed Authority, in Kingston, Jamaica.
After the initial euphoria came the planning stage. We realised it was going to be a mammoth task. Uprooting a family of four from its well-settled moorings and transplanting in a different hemisphere wasn't going to be easy. I tried to read as much about Jamaica as I could get my hand on.
Unfortunately there wasn't very much except the usual tourist stuff. That was good but only to an extent. I was keen to find out how it would be to run a home in a place that is also known as the holiday resort of the rich and famous.
IN LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT
Landing in Jamaica, I fell in love at first sight. The lush greenery with the profusion of flowers, its exotic birds, the attractive combination of sun, sea, sand and mountains would have charmed anyone.
As if that is not enough, Mother Nature has very generously thrown in a few rivers and bewitching waterfalls and lagoons too. With all this, the climate is good too. I remember people complaining either it was too hot or it was raining. The ultimate was during those short stretches of winter months.
Sometimes the late evenings and nights would have that little nip in the air that some felt was 'sooo cold'. Coming from Delhi, India (a place of extreme climate where summer temperatures cross 45 degrees centigrade and those of winter's dip down to 2-3 degrees, remaining just shy of freezing point), I found the Jamaican climate just perfect.
I must admit that I was fortunate to never have to venture out in hot sun for any length of time. Still, I found the climate moderate and I loved the fact that even on the hottest of days the evenings would become cool.
When I saw the town house I was going to make my home I was filled with mixed emotions. It was a beautiful place almost my dream house. From my bedroom windows I could watch the first glow of the rising sun behind the mountain range.
And what lovely mountains they are. Watching them I could never get bored. Different times of day they looked different, but fascinating all the same. Changing times of day created varied scenarios and moods. Shifting shadows of clouds added different attractions.
Looking at the doors though, I was puzzled. The town house was in a complex with 24-hour security and guard. The main entrance had a grill then a wooden door and then a grill door again. All grills had padlocks. It was the same at the backyard. Do we need so many grill doors and locks? What kind of place have I landed myself in?
SURPRISES AGAIN AND AGAIN
Well, I was not long in suspense. Reading the local newspapers, the news on the TV made the need for such security measures clear. We were also warned not to venture out on the roads on foot. It had to be a car, always. Certain sections of the city were to be avoided. But well, if you have to go, go only during daytime and be out of it asap. However, one Orange Street was a certain no-no, day or night alike.
To our surprise, during the first month or so every weekend while exploring the new city we found ourselves in Orange Street. We never had any problem whatsoever. Interestingly enough my husband's office was located at the Conference Centre in the downtown Kingston area.
Once, simply unable to find his way, my husband stopped the brand new car on the forbidden street, entered one of the small bars and requested help. Need I add that it was graciously given? Thank you, Orange Street, and thank you downtown.
Once we were returning from Negril. Our two sons sitting on the back seat humming away popular hits. My husband, on the driver's seat trying to reach Kingston in under four hours. We were on a hill road near Mandeville. There was a pothole on the road and our car tyre burst.
My husband somehow managed to stop on the side of the road without any further mishap. It could have been much worse as there was a steady stream of cars and most driving in the vicinity of 100 km/h. What we had heard of Jamaican roads and general security situation came crowding to our heads and made us, to say the least, apprehensive.
The car in front stopped, reversed. The driver and the passenger got down to help us in changing the tyre. Two of the cars following us also stopped and offered assistance that we politely refused with thanks. Our experience was pleasantly very different to what we had heard of Jamaica.
Jamaica kept surprising us time and again. And the Jamaican people are a great people. With their ready smile and lovely sense of humour not to forget their gift of the gab I shall always remember them with affection.
Mind you, I am not referring only to the educated, well-to-do people. One simply had to spare a little attention. The street side vendors, the inevitable windshield-cleaning boys at the road intersections, and a few beggars, all of them have these qualities. They all have an innate dignity. I pray to God for their betterment.
JAMAICA, I MISS YOU
There are so many interesting anecdotes like beautiful pearls embedded in the tapestry of my Jamaican memories.
The days turned into weeks and weeks into months and years. Before we knew it, four years were over and it was time to say farewell. We were moving to New York. Our friends congratulated us. We were moving on to a developed country. As one friend put it to the lap of luxury. True, all this is true.
Given time, I suppose I would learn to love the Big Apple. But right now my heart doesn't care for the politico-economic classifications. It misses the sunny beaches and the not-so-perfect roads to the cool hills.
It misses the warmth of the sun as well as that of the people. Most of all it misses the dream home with all those grills and the tiny little patches of garden front and back; my helper and gardener who would help me, not minding how many times I asked them to repeat their unintelligible patois to me.
I miss Jamaica. Jamaica, I miss you.
I am etc
MADHU RAJAN
mrajan1@yahoo.com
