Mani Parsot

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Mum was born on 10 July 1932 in the village of Bodali in Navsari, Gujarat. She came to New Zealand at a young age with her parents Daya and Vali Lala and her three sisters and three brothers. She was the second child and the eldest girl. Her parents owned a fruit shop in Commerce Street in Frankton, near Hamilton. In New Zealand she attended Whitiora Primary School in Hamilton. Later, every time we drove past the school, she always proudly pointed it out: ‘That’s my school—Whitiora Primary’. A family trip back to India in 1947 became prolonged, so Mum also attended Wanita Vishran School, a girls-only boarding school in Surat, Gujarat. She subsequently returned to New Zealand with her father and brothers in 1950.

 

Pukekohe & Family Life

Mum was eighteen when she married our dad, Morar Parsot, aged twenty-one, in Frankton, Waikato, on 10 June 1951. Theirs was the second Indian wedding in New Zealand. Dad was a market gardener and had come out to New Zealand with his father at a very early age. The village he came from was Kadoli, which is also in Navsari. 

After their wedding our parents moved into their own home on Union Road in Pukekohe, which is still the family residence. Mum settled into a rural way of life, which in those early days was very labour intensive. There was little mechanisation, but we had three Clydesdale horses to work the land, particularly ploughing the soil. We loved our horses and were excited to see them come home at the end of a day’s work. The Clydesdales grazed in the paddock behind the house and once their harnesses had been removed, we would ride them to the shed bareback, holding onto their glossy manes. It wasn’t far, but these short rides filled us with such joy and excitement.

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In those days washing clothes took ages, as a fire had to be lit under the copper to boil the water. A wringer washing machine later replaced the copper, and was a challenge in itself, always jamming or not quite wringing the clothes properly.

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In central Pukekohe, milk was delivered in a billy but this service didn’t extend to where we lived, so Dad bought a cow. Mum would ride, bareback, to the bottom paddock to milk the cow daily. She churned butter in the boilershed, next to our orchard and also made fresh homemade yoghurt every day, keeping it in a jar in the hot-water cupboard to ferment. Often she would give some of her plentiful supply to friends and relatives. The yoghurt would be used to make kadhi.

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Mum was the second Indian woman to drive in New Zealand. This, as well as the fact that she was able to speak and read both Gujarati and English, made her a real asset to the local Indian community. Mum always had time for everyone, regardless of their race, age or family connection. When we were young, we were often all bundled into the car because someone in the community had to go to the doctor or dentist and Mum had volunteered to take them. 

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She was very obliging and always only a phone call away. Mum was often trusted and relied on to take other women to the doctors, acting as both driver and interpreter. She would also help with buying groceries, and was even trusted with bank account details to help with their banking. Because of her education in both New Zealand and India, Mum was able to read and write Gujarati and English fluently. This skill was not common in those days, especially among women.

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Mum balanced not only looking after us young children, but also working out in the paddocks every day with Dad. In the very early days, when she was in the paddocks away from home, she had to take us young children with her because there were no caregivers to help. She would ensure Sumitra, Ishavar and Jagdish were comfortably settled and nestled into makeshift shelters in the depth of the hedges. We kept her in our sights and could see her looking back to check that we were safe and not wandering off. We sat and played for endless hours in those shelters with our milk bottles in hand until we fell asleep, Jagdish, the youngest sibling at that time, usually slept in the old pram. 

 

Rural Life

Later on, we were all involved in garden life, and no matter which paddock or field we were working in, Mum was always with us doing the same task: weeding onion beds, hoeing potatoes, weeding and transplanting lettuces, cutting and packing cabbage and cauliflowers.

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Not only was our mother an asset to the local women but also to Dad with the day-to-day running of the farm. Mum was always an active partner in their farm life together. During potato digging season she would pick up the workers early in the morning to bring them to the farm, follow them in the potato beds picking up any stray spuds, drive the trucks and tractors, take all the workers’ lunch orders, sew the sacks of potatoes and at the end of the day take the workers home again. She’d also write down the daily tallies, keep the books accurate and pay all the wages. Mum would often cook Indian meals for the Maori women who cut seed potatoes in preparation for planting, and these were always a welcome treat. 

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Together Mum and Dad worked for a better life for their family. With determination and hard work they did prosper. As we grew up we helped out around the market garden and house. Before we started work we’d have a picnic-like afternoon tea. Then we would hoe potatoes, weed onion beds or cut lettuce. 

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During school holidays Mum would help us start a paddock, working alongside us for most of the day. We would race to finish our work so we could have a few days off. We grew tomatoes, silverbeet, beetroot, celery, lettuce, carrots, cabbage and cauliflower in our earlier years, then concentrated on potatoes and onions in the later years.

Like many women in those days Mum was a homemaker in the true sense, self-sufficient because she had to be. We grew up with chooks, both for meat and eggs, and fruit trees galore, with the sweetest, juiciest peaches and nectarines. We were fortunate to have such a flourishing orchard and we became agile tree climbers, able to reach the fruit on the highest branch. Mum would spend endless hours bottling them and we would pick countless tomatoes to be made into sauce.  

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The orchard was fenced with mesh wire and our chook house was enclosed within. We had many chickens, roosters and even ducks—fresh eggs were plentiful and collected every day. Every week, we got our Sunday chook from the flock, which was then cooked by Mum, with a stack of rotli, rice, dhal and kadhi accompanied with a fresh salad. It was our favourite meal of the week and probably for most Indian families at that time. Mum was always cooking or baking something. Often it was Indian sweets, like jalebi or barfi, or snacks were made and shared with others. Mum would regularly make us apple pie, using the abundant supply of red apples from our enormous tree. We were never short of food because Mum loved to cook. 

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Mum was a great cook and hopefully we, her daughters, have inherited that skill. We remember, some early mornings, hearing the pots and pans rattling. It was Mum preparing her utensils and this often meant that kakis and masis would be arriving soon to make papad. These gatherings, which went late into the afternoon, were an occasion for the women to gossip and catch up as they worked. 

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We also remember spending hours in the kitchen with Mum, stirring the pots or kneading the dough as we made double and triple batches of Indian sweets and snacks. After they were made, she would deliver them all over town to family and friends. Her love for family, food and giving were always intertwined and this was particularly clear when the eight of us went on roadtrips to Wellington or New Plymouth. Mum would pack a full picnic for all of us, including puri and saak and we would stop in a park or near a river to stretch our legs and enjoy the feast. Mum never gave a second thought to the time and effort the preparation took, and looking back on it we realise that it was because she simply loved sharing it with her family.

 

Family Life

In our teenage years Mum was a great support to us three girls, with the founding of the first Indian girls’ hockey team in Pukekohe, a team that had a lot of success winning many games at tournaments. She attended all our matches with great passion and was one of our biggest supporters.

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Though Mum worked long hours on the farm she still treasured her own gardens. She had a large patch next to the house for vegetables, especially Indian vegetables. These couldn’t be bought anywhere then, so every household grew their own. When they were ready, these were shared with relatives outside of Pukekohe, and any seeds were cherished and shared between the womenfolk. At the end of each season seeds for the following year would be carefully stored. It was always interesting to see how a new variety of seed was acquired or just seemed to appear. Mum always seemed to have newly acquired seeds in her pocket.

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Mum loved her flower gardens and we often had an impressive display of flowers, especially marigolds and dahlias, around the house. Her favourites were geraniums and dahlias of many colours and shapes, both double and single blooms. En masse and blooming profusely, these flowers attracted a lot of attention and conversation. She used to divide the bulbs and take cuttings to replant in other sections of the garden as well as swapping them with aunties and friends. Maybe this is part of her legacy; we all seem to have inherited her love of plants.

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Mum took a lot of pride in her personal presentation, and in those days married women wore only traditional saris, usually of polyester or cotton; English clothing was not seen as an appropriate choice from a cultural perspective. She loved colourful patterns, and her favourite colour was a teal blue. When she worked on the farm she wore gumboots under her sari. Many years later, when Indian women and girls wore English clothing, Mum, like the other early pioneer women, still wore saris.

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Mum always had her hair tied back in a bun that nestled at the back of her neck. She would cover it in a black crocheted hairnet and often tuck flowers from her garden into her hair, especially on outings. This elegant and attractive touch earned her many compliments. She also liked to wear red nail polish, which drew favourable attention. Mum would feel shy about this and hide her hands but we all enjoyed seeing her nails done this way.

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In our early years Mum dressed us three girls in dresses made by a seamstress, often made in her favourite colour—blue. We always felt lucky to have new dresses made for us; Mum took pride in dressing her daughters for weddings and other functions. 

Mum’s elder sister, Jamna Jiji, tells how she and her two younger sisters looked forward to Christmas Day every year because they knew they would each get a new tailor-made dress as a gift from Mum.  They too felt very privileged to be given a new dress on Christmas Day. Jamna Jiji said they never stopped smiling on Christmas Day and Mum was always thrilled they liked their new dresses.

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We had many many stray cats, which Mum always fed well, giving them milk every morning and afternoon. It wasn’t unusual to see those cats following Mum around the farm; even when she walked to the furthest paddock to get watercress, you could see them all in tow and then coming back home with her. 

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It was a treat when Mum’s two sisters—Santi Jiji and Luxmi Jiji—married and settled in Pukekohe. She helped them get used to a country way of life and we grew up with our cousins. Mum visited her sisters almost every day, often dropping off meals. We also loved visiting our Dad’s cousins, Bhana Kaka and Santi Kaki, where we would look at slides and devour delicious butter cake with pineapple. 

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Sometimes, on weekends, we attended Indian movies, shown on Sunday afternoons. It was a welcome afternoon off for all and a break from gardening work. Mum enjoyed the movies as well as the chance to catch up with everyone in the Indian community. 

When we think of Mum we think of her honesty, work ethic and unselfishness, how she was an inspiration and dedicated to her family, always with a very giving nature and always there for others. She was a mother not only to her own children, but played a huge role in the upbringing of her nieces and nephews. They, too, loved her for her generosity and the motherly love she showered upon them. 

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Mum’s legacy is that no matter how difficult a task she was able to work it out, being both resourceful and able to multitask effortlessly. 

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Our mother’s story is like so many other stories at that time. It is one of hardship, yet fondly treasured family memories. These memories are from her children Sumitra, Ishavar, Jagdish, Niru , Manju and Vinu. We all have our own fond memories of Mum that we will always cherish. Mum passed away suddenly on 8 June 1997. 

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Family Memories

Sumitra, the eldest of the six siblings, remembers Mum for ‘her boundless energy, her resilience and vigour, always working to her capabilities, particularly with managing many tasks and roles simultaneously and autonomously: household responsibilities like cooking, cleaning, raising children, milking the cow, chopping firewood, hand-washing clothes, churning butter, to name a few. If I had to sum up, she would be ‘Mum Extraordinaire!’ 

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Niru says ‘as one of six siblings, it could be easy to think that my relationship with Mum was ordinary, but this can’t be further from the truth. I am lucky in that even when I got married and had kids of my own I stayed in Pukekohe and Mum remained very much a part of my daily life. Every day we would either talk on the phone or be at each other’s houses. Often my kids would jump in the car with her and head off to play at Nana’s.’

Manju recalls, ‘of the early years when we were young, I have so many special memories. Like Mum spending hours preparing for our Christmas gatherings. I remember going strawberry picking—the first of the season—for Christmas Day. Or the picnics we had with friends and family on Boxing Day. These were huge gatherings and Mum always packed a variety of snacks and treats. 

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In the later years, after I was married with a family of my own, I have so many memories of doing the ordinary things with Mum. Like going visiting and catching up with family and friends. Or going to places with Mum and my daughters, on many of the times she came to stay with us. Our girls have fond memories of these outings and Nana’s stays. We would go visit Mum and Dad every second weekend, something we all cherished. Mum never let us leave without packing a selection of “goodies” to bring home.’ 

 

Mum’s granddaughters

Anita (Niru’s daughter) writes: ‘I was lucky enough to have eleven years with my nana. It’s difficult to sum up her complex and unique personality in a few short words. Nana was strong, in every sense of the word. She spent long hours outside in the garden, regardless of the weather, and she would always speak her mind. Nana was unique in that she looked every bit the Indian grandmother in her sari and jewellery, but spoke perfect English. This would often cause shop assistants to do a double take and, to me, it was always obvious that my nana was someone special.

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Nana was talented at whatever she turned her attention to, and this was especially true in the kitchen where she was often sitting on the floor grinding her own spices, or creating full Indian meals, always including her family’s favourite dishes. Her strength of character and giving nature are things that I see in my mum every day and I can only hope that I too follow in her footsteps.’

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Sharmila, Anjeela & Salena (Manju’s daughters) write: ‘We remember weekend trips to Puke and spending school holidays with Nana. While we were down there Nana seamlessly added us into her daily routine, whether it be taking lunch to the paddocks or going to the supermarket (where we were always treated to the pick and mix bins—on the condition we didn’t tell anyone else). Every night Nana would heat up a steaming-hot pot of milk for a Milo just before we went to bed. It was always fun when Nana came to stay, including the time we went to see Beauty and the Beast and Nana told us to return the chipped cup not knowing that was how it was meant to be!’

 

By her daughters Sumitra Krishna, Niru Hari and Manju Naran with shared memories from the family.