Kesi Ramji

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Twenty-one years. That’s how long my amazing mother had to wait to see her mother after she left for a new life in New Zealand. Unbelievable! 

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Mum was asked for her hand in marriage at the age of seventeen, while she was still at school. This was an arranged marriage and an offer to go abroad was too good to refuse. Mum left on a boat from Mumbai, which arrived in Wellington four weeks later. She hated the trip because of seasickness, the bland food, the language barrier and her loneliness, being without family. 

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My mum, Kesiben Parbhu Lala, was born on 18 August 1937 in Matwad, a small village in Navsari, Gujarat. She was the second born of four children, with two brothers, Magan Mama and Nanu Mama, and one sister, Valimasi (our lovely Masi passed away ten years ago). 

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In 1948 my dad, Lallubhai Ramji, was brought to New Zealand by my grandfather. He attended Richmond Road Primary School then worked in several fruit shops in the Ponsonby area. After four years he went back to India and married Mum. Two years later, once Dad was able to pay for her passage, on the ships Himalaya and Wanganella, Mum came out to New Zealand. Dad picked Mum up from the Wellington wharf and they made their way to Pukekohe where they stayed with extended family. My eldest brother, Dhiru, was born in Pukekohe. They then moved to Hamilton in 1957, where I was born. Finally we moved back to Auckland eighteen months later and my younger siblings, Bharat, Kusum and Prakash, were born at Bethany Hospital in Grey Lynn.

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On our arrival in Auckland we lived in a rented bedroom in Brown Street, Grey Lynn, for seven months. We became good friends with the other family who lived there. My parents purchased their first Grey Lynn house on Richmond Road and then Dickens Street, where we spent most of our childhood. Dad was now working for New Zealand Railways, in their Otahuhu workshops. Hence all our holidays were based on wherever the trains went—mostly the number 1 trunk line to Wellington. 

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One sad memory I have from childhood was when my youngest brother, Prakash, was crawling on the kitchen floor and knocked over a bucket of hot water. In those days all our water was boiled in a copper and as you can imagine the water was extremely hot!! Mum needed to get him to a doctor as soon as possible. With no phone or transport of our own she asked our local dairy owner, George, if he would take her in his car, which he very kindly did. The next problem was what to do with the rest of us. I remember Mum placed us in the front bedroom of the house and asked us to watch the cars go by while she was away. It worked (I think!). Prakash had burns to his foot that needed dressing every few days, and still has scars to show for it. We remember George as very helpful and kind, letting my siblings and me watch Lassie on his TV.

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Our family home was filled with people, love, laughter and lots of delicious food. We had many fun times mixing with other Indian families. I remember the first topic of conversation with other Indian families was always whether there were any letters from India. I found that quite strange until I was much older and realised Mum had left behind her beloved parents and siblings, a huge sacrifice that I cannot imagine having to go through with my own family. Hers was probably similar to the story of many new immigrants from India at the time. 

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Belonging to the local Indian community was a very important part of our family’s life. It gave us a sense of belonging, identity and culture. A family outing was bussing to the Indian movies, held fortnightly on Sundays at the Rialto theatre in Newmarket. Then we would go on to my kaka’s place in Point Chevalier where we would play with our cousins and have a meal. At the end of the evening our kaka would drop us home. 

I vividly remember making papad in the summer months with several family friends. Mum would wait for a fine sunny day and then ring everyone to come and help. Then on the next fine day our whole entourage (six of us!) would go on to the next friend’s place to make more papad. (I have to confess that in my later years making papad was not a job I really enjoyed.) 

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Mum would make our favourite Indian sweets for our birthdays: ghari rotli, ghughra, doodhpak, golpapdi, or sakapura, probably replaced by birthday cake later. For most weekday meals we had a set menu: meat-free Monday with Indian lentils and veges, home-made lamb mince on Tuesday, curry lamb on Wednesday and Friday and chicken on Sunday. Saturday was treat day with home-made hamburgers or breadcrumbed chicken with twice-cooked chips—yum! Three times a week Mum would make five dozen rotlis. My sister and I took over making the rotlis once we reached high school—something I’m so pleased we learnt how to do because I still make them now and we all love them! We also made bhajia, and it was my job to cut the head off the whitebait while Mum made the batter. Now I look back and can’t believe we actually did this to each individual whitebait!!

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We were never allowed to waste any food—we had to scrape clean the almost empty margarine pot with a spatula —and Mum could always make something from leftovers. Mum would make winter magaj—Indian comfort food—
for all the relatives out of town. 

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I’ll always remember Mum taking us to Farmers department store in Hobson Street in the school break. It was our holiday outing, and we bussed in with several other families. The top floor was a playing haven for children, and we loved it. Mum always packed a hearty lunch for us and we were each allowed a treat from the cafeteria. 

Mum’s first job was at an Indian restaurant in the city. She worked school hours and then moved to the Heards lolly factory in Parnell. When that closed down she moved to Griffins in Avondale. Mum worked very long hours in these jobs and because she didn’t drive and was reliant on public transport this meant very early starts and late nights. I especially felt for her having to go out on cold dark winter days. 

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At the time it was very unusual for Indian women to go out to work, and not a good look! But Mum was quite determined and ambitious to move ahead and help with the family finances. She learnt to speak English at work and to write a little as well. Mum was a forward thinker and was always willing to give anything a go. Another thing she did that raised a few eyebrows was buying my sister and me our first pair of trousers when most Indian girls wore only skirts. 

 

Mum and Dad encouraged us to get a valuable education but our career choices were left to us. We were told to follow our passions, remain positive and that there was always a solution for a problem no matter how big it was. I have found it to be very constructive advice and hope I have passed it on to my own children. 

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Several years ago my mother-in-law, my mum and dad and my own family visited our villages in India. It was a great experience for all of us. After seeing our village my youngest daughter, Shamina, said she was going to ‘thank Ba and Dada for coming out to New Zealand’. We saw my mum’s school and I remember my grandmother telling me that Mum was a fast runner and even won a few school races—a surprise to us! Mum was also a bright student and her teachers were disappointed when her education was cut short for marriage. 

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Mum’s greatest attribute is her firm, kind and caring nature. Childhood friendships that were formed in those early years are still very much alive today thanks to Mum and Dad. We are so grateful that Mum, Dad and their generation were the early pioneers from India, who paved the way for the life that we lead in New Zealand today. 

 

By Kesiben’s eldest daughter Pani Patel, with childhood memories from Dhiru, Bharat, Kusum and Prakash

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