Family History

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Ramesh Thampy
Ashok Thampy

Thampy (also spelt Thampi/Tampi) is not a surname but a title. The word itself derives from the Tamil language term for younger brother, Tampi (தம்பி). In Kerala where the Thampys’ originate from, there are the Christian Thampys’ and the Hindu Thampys’. Our family belongs to the latter. The title was given by the ruling Maharajah of Travancore to his brothers and conferred on them special privileges. These included the right to enter the palace unencumbered( and which led to a serious security lapse) and the right to ride a palanquin. In special circumstances other notables were also favored by the Royal Family with the same title.

The Hindu Thampys belong to the Nair caste which is generally accepted to be the equivalent of the warrior-aristocratic caste known as the Kshatriyas. However, some historians relegate the Nairs to the level of the Sudras, a caste expected to be servile to the Brahmans. And there may be some truth to that as the most famous King of Travancore, Marthanda Varma, dedicated his kingdom to the Padmanabhaswamy Temple declaring that the Royal Family were to serve the temple deity , Lord Vishnu ( Padhmanabhaswamy) , and thus the Brahman priests who officiated and managed the religious complex. This action appears to have entrenched the view that the Nairs were servants of the Brahmans. However, Nair nobility often married Brahmans as a way of maintaining status, This was not the case of the Princesses who would be married to a male belonging to one of the four Royal Houses.

Indians traditionally do not have surnames and the custom was imposed upon them by the British who conducted the first census in 1861. Caste names often became the surname of choice. In Kerala, where the people are called Malayalis and the language is Malayalam, traditionally one was identified by the household (Theravadas) name, which in our case would be Thopil. However, for reasons that are beyond me Malayali Hindus took on their caste names (Nair, Potti etc.) or their titles (Thampy, Nambiar, Pillai etc.) over their household names as surnames. Christians on the other hand took the first name of the father as the surname, resulting in some being known as Thampi as well if that was the first name of the father. The situation was further complicated by the fact that in some Hindu castes such as the Nairs the matrilineal system prevailed until the 1920s which meant that the wife’s surname was passed on to the children.

Such was the case of our family in which the surname is that of the maternal grandmother, Thampi, but that would not have been her real last name as it was a title bestowed on men. The switch from the matrilineal system (Marumakkathayam) to the patriarchal one apparently occurred during the Regency (1924-1931) of Sethu Lakshmi Bayi. For decades, the modernists who were nothing more than Victorian prudes with Anglophilic pretensions railed against the Nair system in which the women ran the household and owned property and had the tendency to consort with more that one man. This was very un-British and therefore barbaric. Pressure built up on successive monarchs of Travancore and ultimately the ancient matriliny system was ended by legislation, Nair Regulation Act 1925, and enacted into law by the Regent Maharani. The excellent although hagiographic biography of the Queen by Manu Pillai ‘The Ivory Throne’ offers a detailed description of the events that led to the demise of an ancient system that had for centuries protected the rights of Nair women folk.

The origins of the paternal family are lost to us. We do know that our paternal grandmother was from Mavelikara and related to the local Royal Family being that she was of the Thampi clan. Our paternal grandfather was a Potti and therefore a Namboodiri Brahmin but he was from Mangalore which was then in the princely state of Mysore.

As a Thampi she would have had someone in her family who was at one point in time been the brother of the ruling monarch. She lived in Mavelikara which is the seat of a branch of the Royal Family. The ruler of Travancore resided in Thiruvananthapuram aka Trivandrum and for centuries the two families were in constant interaction largely due to the strange fact that the Trivandrum side could not produce girls and so adopted the daughters of the Mavelikara family to become future queens and to produce the next monarch; the tradition being that only the first son of the daughter of the king could succeed to the throne. The King’s sons were given the title Sri Thampi and had no right to the succession.

The story of our paternal grandfather is murkier. It is said that he was a Namboodiri Brahman who came from Mangalore in the state of Mysore where he served in the Royal Palace as a food taster. He found his way to Mavelikara where he became the tutor to our paternal grandmother and they eventually were married. Namboodiri’s were high caste even among Brahmans but in the overly complicated system there were hierarchies within the Namboodiri’s too.

Tradition would have it that the Namboodiri’s originated on the banks of the Narmada much further to the north (my genetic tests show such evidence) and were sent by Lord Parasuraman an avatar of Lord Vishnu to Kerala. If that were the case, then such event took place thousands of years ago. However, it is more likely that they came to Kerala at the invitation of local kings to officiate at religious ceremonies and thus give legitimacy to the rulers. In time they became wealthy land owners and controlled the temples and were the most highly educated people of the land exercising enormous control over social practices and by virtue of the practice of sambandam ( sexual intimacies with Nair women) they exerted influence in matters of State. In general, they remained aloof and distinct. One of the most famous religious authorities of Hinduism was a Namboodiri, Adi Shankar, who traveled all over India in the 9th century CE or perhaps even earlier. As a result of his perambulations he was not able to attend to his mother and was alienated from his fellow Namboodiris. So, when his mother died, he returned home to find no one would help him with the funeral rites. He had to dismember her body to carry its parts to the pyre he raised in the back yard and cremate her on his own. As a result, he cursed his fellow Brahmins and compelled them to engage in this odd ritual. So, it came as no surprise to hear that the paternal grandfather, Janardhanan Potti, was cremated in a hut on the family property in Mavelikara where he was confined during his last days as he apparently suffered from smallpox.

As of now we do not know the full circumstances of the paternal grandparents, their dates of birth or about their childhoods or education. The grandmother was known as Laxmi Amma, and grandfather was Janardhanan Potti. Accounts indicate that he came from Mangalore and was a teacher at the government school in Mavelikara and lived in a property he rented from our great grandparents. He fell in love with Laxmi and they were allowed to be married as he was a high caste Brahmin and she an aristocratic Nair. They had two sons, Krishnan Krishnan (KK) and Krishnan Narayanan (KN), the latter being our father who was born in 1909. They studied in a little schoolhouse that still exists . They grew up at a time when all of India was in turmoil and the agitation for independence from the Raj was mounting. The princely state of Travancore was not immune to the outside ferment and it appeared to have had an impact on our father who became an advocate for independence a position that would have been in conflict with the prevailing position of the monarchy which was firmly allied with the British. It is not known whether this caused his mother to pack him off to live with her brother , Raman Thampi, in Mombasa Kenya or whether his flirtations with the princesses of the Royal House of Kolathiri (Pandala) in Mavelikara was the cause of the offence. It appears that daughters of the Royal House could only be married to other royalty so the infatuation of one of the Royal princesses was forbidden love and he had to go.

Either way he found himself on a boat steaming its way to Kenya perhaps in 1932 with his maternal uncle Raman Thampi who was employed as the Post Master in Mombasa. They did not get along due to father’s unconventional behavior and soon parted company. Raman Thampi died at an early age in 1933 felled by the Thopil curse of diabetes mellitus. He had 5 children one whom married our paternal uncle KK.

On board Papa met the Cherian family and fell under their spell and eventually became a Christian which further alienated him from his mother and communication ceased until 1954. He made amends with her and communication resumed with the plan to take the family back to Mavelikara. Ironically he died before a letter from one of his relatives arrived to inform him that she had died.

His brother in the meantime rose steadily in the Indian Civil Service under the Raj and became a District Collector in Madras Presidency one of the most important administrative positions one could aspire too for an Indian in those colonial days. He did not have any children but raised his nieces and nephews. We never knew him, but our father had his picture hanging on the wall of our flat. The two could not have been more different in looks and in temperament. They both died of the same disease, Diabetes Mellitus. KK in 1962 age 56 and KN in 1954 age 45. The caste Hindu custom of inter marrying, usually first cousins, to protect the family wealth was probably the reason for the pervasiveness of diabetes and early death. As the grandparents did not have a daughter, they had to adopt one to inherit the property. I do not believe anyone of us got to know her. It was reported to us that she married a drunkard who squandered her money, and, in the end, she was left with no property. However, the story given to us by our first cousin who even recalled visits by our father to his home and who was educated by dad’s brother is that the sister, Saraswathy, was actually a cousin who married a lawyer, Venu Pillai (Nair nobility) who died of TB within a year. She remarried a widower and they sold the Thopil House and disappeared. Saraswathy reportedly died in 1962.

Raman thampy married our father’s aunt Ammakutty Amma and they had 5 children , the second daughter was Rajam who married KK but they had no issue. The third child, Kamalam, had 5 children of which Vijayan the oldest has been our Family historian and who still lives in Cochi, Kerala a short distance from Mavelikara. I met Krishnan’s (KK) wife, Rajam, once in 1964 but she was very careful to not contaminate herself ( ne being Christian and non caste ) and so we met in the outer room and my maternal cousin knowing that she would have to destroy the platters of any offering she made to us declined even water although I was craving fluids after the long journey which included a canoe ride and trekking through paddy fields to get to her place in Ennakad. She seemed pleased to see me and had it not been for the caste differences I believe she would have wished to spend more time getting to know me. Rajam had no children of her own and died in 1983.

The ancestral home built of sandalwood was torn down although they could not bring down the kitchen due to its hardy construction and a new modern unattractive house stands in the place. All the original land which had reportedly been gifted to the family by a Royal who was fleeing his enemies and was apparently saved by a son of the family has long gone so we no longer see the pond where they bathed or the place where the grandfather was cremated.

Father, on the other hand, was determined to end the curse of the Royals and their ilk and have numerous children. He was still angry at this mother and vowed to engage in personal battle against orthodox Hinduism and Brahmanical tradition by marrying a dark-skinned non-Hindu who would not play the role of a submissive spouse and in our mother he found the perfect match. They were married on Saturday December 12, 1942 at the Holy Family Church in Nairobi that today has been rebuilt as the Holy Family Basilica of Nairobi.

Kenya was just a new acquisition of the British who had brought in indentured Indian laborers to build the railway then and still known as the Lunatic Express with a very exceptional book written about the exploits of the occupiers and the tribulations of the workers as the took a tortuous route through the wild savannah grasslands and semideserts to build a 350 mile railroad to the newly established capital of Nairobi in the uplands of Kenya Colony at over a mile high and close to the equator. Some 3000 workers died devoured by lions and bitten to death by mosquitoes and other predators .The railway was the only means of communication with the port of Mombasa which in those days was the only way to get out of the country to travel to the rest of the world by steamboat. When our maternal grandmother made the train journey in 1919 her modesty was shocked at seeing so many locals without a stitch of clothing to hide theirs. But thanks to the dukawallahs who came after the RR was built and started a vigorous commerce in little shops scattered all over the territory bringing goods and foods to the colonists and locals alike her blushes soon faded.
As an aside the story of the Indian shopkeepers and their contribution to the development of the economy has been chronicled by a family friend Kersi Rustomji and a link is provided to that book.

The Lewis side of the family were from an old Christian community that were landowners and had donated several cents (100 cents equals 1 acre)to the Church to build the St Joseph’s cathedral next door to the family home in Trivandrum. Our maternal grandfather, Lewis ( Louis) Varkey , was born in 1889 and first came to Kenya in 1911 on SS Konig and arrived in Nairobi on April 9th of the same year. . He went back to Indian and married in 28th November 1918 to Pauline D’Cruz, born July 6th 1897. The family lived in a part of the city reserved for Asians called Ngara. The children took the surname Lewis in keeping with the orthodox Christian tradition of Kerala. There were 4 of them Muriel 20th November 1919 at 10.16 AM in Nairobi, Eric 6th December 1921 at 6.15 PM in Nairobi, Oscar 18th April 1927 at 6.21 Am in Trivandrum, and Sydney 6th December 1935 at 1.45 AM in Eldoret. Eric died premature He was soon followed by his father in 1949. Oscar who had 5 children moved to Indian and died in 2010. Sydney lives in England and has 2 children.

Mother , Muriel Felix, was born on Saturday, November 20th 1919 at 10.16 AM in Nairobi. Her story is told separately but she was quite the feminist being one of the first Indian women to be in the Girl Guides movement being photographed with Lady Baden Powell and also one of the first to drive a car. Interestingly she never succumbed to the habit that so many western trained Indian women had of wearing European clothes and she never gave up the sari even having one for the Girl Guides movement. She resisted pressure to wear western dresses when she went to teach at the local Catholic church school even though at the time, she had been recently widowed and desperately needed a job.

I have some recollections of our father mainly when I was mainly competing for his attention with my older brother Ashok who was his favorite and who he was grooming for greatness. In fact on his deathbed in 1954 he made Ashok promise that he would strive to become the president of India. He would make Ashok recite and memorize famous poems and the one I recall was Mark Anthony’s speech to the Romans on the occasion of Cesar’s death. The only time I recall being with the parents alone was when we shared what was called cream and sugar in the evenings but it was really the skin of boiled milk which I had to gag down just to be with them.

Bhaskaran Thampi, his cousin, said he was flamboyant and a spendthrift with the means to do so as he apparently rose to the highest civilian position in the colonial government that an Asian could aspire to. The death of our father at the young age of 45 in 1954 from a heart attack (there is some conflict of the year of his birth) left us in very dire circumstances. Mother had to raise 7 children on her own, the oldest being 10 and the youngest 6 months old. I don’t believe our father had left any money to help defray expenses. She worked 3 jobs on a regular basis and managed through dint of hard work and self-discipline to put all through school and most through university. To her credit 2 became nurses, 2 doctors, one a businessman, and another a dietitian and one an administrator. Their stories will be told separately.

We lived in the City Council flats in Ngara on Panipat Road in the Asian section of Nairobi. It was an austere 2 bedroom apartment on the second floor with 2 verandahs and the sun pouring in from numerous windows. The grocery store and other dukkas were across the street so it was very convenient to get the shopping done and unfortunately all to easy for mother to tell us to buy muswakis that ordinarily were used for brushing teeth which she however employed to flog us for the numerous transgressions on her list that merited punishment.

The entrance to the flat in Ngara. We lived upstairs, the Deys downstairs

Our downstair neighbor, Aunty Dey, who herself had a larger flock of children was a very gentle and kind hearted Bengali would frequently rush upstairs to stop the beatings when she over heard the screaming. The two women who were of completely different cultural and educational background formed a very close relationship and the families were also very close. Her son Somir and Ashok and I formed a strong bond which sadly ended when one bit the other. Samarendra aka Somir has written a fond tribute to Ashok which is part of his story.

Due to our straightened circumstance and the logistic difficulty of raising 7 children, one sister was taken out of school to care for the youngest child who was only 6 months when mother was left a widow. Later on the 4 girls were sent to a convent school in Thika where they were unsurprisingly unhappy and apparently underfed as on holidays at home they would devour anything that was remotely edible.

Fortunately our grandmother who stayed with us for a while until her paranoia got problematic was a marvelous cook and whipped up huge delicious meals and desserts. She had a monstrous sized Uruli, bronze pan, that she carried with her in her from one house to another along with her foul mouthed talking parrot Kasuku ( more of him later). She eventually returned to India to reclaim her ancestral home that had been occupied by Communists during the rule of the Marxists which won the Kerala election in 1956, the first time in history a communist party won in a democratic vote. It took her more than 20 years to recover her properties and she was able to live in the ancestral home given to her in dowry by her father Francis Lazar Dcruz until her death on 25th October 1982.

Thampy family in 1958 at St Francis Church in Nairobi.

The family started to emerge from poverty and entered into the middle class again in the early 1960s. By this time the nest started emptying out with the oldest, Radha, leaving for the UK in 1962, followed by Ashok to India in 1963, and Kishore to India and then to Spain 1964. Not far behind Leela left for the USA in 1969 to pursue opportunity at the World Bank. Kishore soon followed. Both reside there. Thereafter Aruna and Renuka also left for UK and India respectively followed by the youngest Ramesh who went to India to pursue veterinary studies. Aruna emmigrated to Canada, whle Renuka went to the UK where she married. Ashok and Ramesh returned to Kenya, but the rest did not and even mother retired and went to India to enjoy the sunset years. However, she too returned to Kenya where she died on 5th December 2000 and where she is now buried in a cemetery in Nairobi.

 

Ramesh: Our Dad, Our Mentor, Our Hero

Our father was a man we looked up to. As we stumbled through life we always knew he would be there to see us through the difficult and simple times.

He was gracious, he was kind, and he was an inspiration to all who knew him. He was also a man we looked up to for his dedication and hard work. He would always emphasize the saying “Nothing good in life comes easy”. His close friend, Peter Joseph, however, fondly remembers dad as “The kind of person clever enough to succeed at anything he put his hands and mind to.” 

As far back as we can remember dad was the man we aspired to be. A day never went by without him looking out for us and being there to offer his guidance and encouragement.

On countless occasions, he would come home from work as a wild life veterinarian, naturally exhausted and sore from all the backbreaking work he was exposed to. Most people by this time would look to eat and relax in the comfort of their living rooms. Dad was far from it, he would rush home, a twinkle in his eye, for on most occasions he had just conjured up a new training method to improve our game or cricket. 

Whether it was using his unique idea of teaching us to be better fielders by whipping a hockey ball at us or teaching us to the value of the hook shot by throwing tennis balls at us or even the importance of ducking to avoid a bouncer by hurling an actual cricket ball at our head, dad was always there with a smile on his face. We fondly remember this by joking that he probably enjoyed it more than he should. This made him the kind of father every young aspiring sportsman would want in their lives.

However tired he was, he would then muster all his energy, put the aching pain of his shoulder behind him and bowl to these two very ordinary kids for hours, never once flinching in pain.

However, that was never the end of it, he would applaud the rare cover drive and shriek in excitement as we struck the pose of a forward defensive cricket stroke. 

When we travelled abroad on cricket tours he would constantly keep in touch to offer advice and console us when we did not perform well. It was these moments we will always cherish and count ourselves lucky for being blessed with such a loving father.

As youngsters we would frequently ask him to tell us stories of his own cricketing exploits whilst studying in India. This always brought a smile to his face. He loved India and he always had a weak spot for his ancestral home, especially when it came to, well …EVERYTHING!  

He would often begin by explaining how he played for his University team and considered himself, rather humorously, a swashbuckling batsman, good fielder and a wily medium pacer who could tweak the odd off-cutter now and then. Naturally, his cricketing talents led him to play for the university hockey and cricket team as well and it was during his time there that he was part of a championship winning team. 

After a few beers and shall we say a large bottle of wine, the true stories of his mischief would come to life. A story not many know is how cheeky he and his merry band of friends could be if one was to rub them the wrong way. Something we found hilarious whilst mum looked at us with unamused incredulity.

A story he told that seemingly always brought a smile to our faces even today, was on one occasion where he and his friends had enjoyed a ‘fairly late night’ and were unable to properly participate in their classes, he would cheekily ask one of the more studious ladies for their notes to which they would justifiably refuse and turn away unimpressed by his efforts to keep up. It was here that he and his friends found a solution to those pesky and irritably leaky ink fountain pens. As the ink dripped from the nibs, the boys would casually wipe and twirl the nibs into the folds of these girls’ hair, careful not to draw their attention of course.  As he told this story, he would toss his head back and laugh at the thought of these girls washing their hair and seeing the large pools of blue ink splatter all over their bathroom floor.

This always brought tears of laughter to our eyes because no matter how many times he told this story, it was always funny.

Dad was the consummate storyteller and could turn an ordinary tale into a comedy of epic proportions. It was something his entire family loved about him and letters from him were always a welcome treat.

As we grew older, so did his efforts to put his family before anything else. He sacrificed his time and money to ensure we went to the best possible schools and attended the finest training facilities. He worked long hours in dangerous locations to ensure that we were never left wanting.    

He also taught us to be kind and respectful towards others and on numerous occasions emphasized the importance of being humble in all our endeavors. A close friend of his, Peter Joseph put it beautifully when he said “Ramesh introduced me to a concept I hadn’t even begun to understand – compassion.”  Indeed, dad was a man who captured the very essence of human compassion in all he did. 

On many occasions he would remind us that material wealth was nothing to pursue. Instead, he firmly believed that true riches lay in family and the pursuit of knowledge. Which is why he valued nothing more than his family and giving us the “gift of education.” 

As our exams neared, and the winter cold begun to stir, at times we would wake from the sound of typing in the wee hours of the morning to see him perched at his desk, his coffee cold from the surrounding temperatures and his desk covered in charts and books. It was then we realized he hadn’t slept a wink but instead had spent the whole night preparing notes and diagrams so that we could understand how the cell worked. He threw himself into anything he did and did so with all his heart!

Dad never asked for anything in return. He would travel the world for work and when he returned his suitcase would be full of gifts for those he loved but rarely things for just himself.

If anyone asked what we remember most of his habits and ways, one thing always comes to mind. Passion. His passion for animals and preserving the wildlife for future generations was something he held dear and often repeated as if it were something he could not let himself forget. On numerous occasions he would drive us out into Lake Nakuru National park in Kenya and spend hours showing us the wonders it had to offer, explaining all the work he was trying to do in order to preserve the lake. 

Upon our return to the park, where we decided to scatter his ashes, the rangers who patrolled the area came forward, pointed to all the office buildings and tourist museums that stood before the park gates and explained that he was responsible for their construction. Dad had spearheaded the work, which resulted in numerous financial grants ensuring the park could be used as a research and learning facility for generations to come. He often hoped it would help them to carry on the work he had started and keep Lake Nakuru as one of Kenya’s’ finest wildlife reserves.

In those days it was never clear to us how much work he put in, but as time went on we realized just how much effort he spent learning, understanding and forging new ways to better the conservation of Kenya’s most fabled lakes and their prodigious wildlife. He would devote countless days in his office, working long into the night to prepare for a presentation that would seek to benefit the future of the park and its wildlife. 

Music was his other passion. A gifted musician who loved playing the guitar and bought us our first instruments, he spent further countless hours teaching us the chords and various tunes. We often recall how he would play various songs and hum along the way, often encouraging us to try and sing along. But in the presence of such a gifted person we found it a daunting task to hum let alone sing full throttle.

We know from his university stories, that he played the congas for the band ‘Deep Reflections’. He often described himself as ‘The dark skinny kid in the back, with the unruly long hair, who would play the congas and on occasion sing if he knew the words.’ 

We would frequently ask why he grew his hair to such lengths and put up with all the abuse from folks of the time, would it not simply be easier to cut it and avoid the judgmental stares? To which he would always retort that he did it because he could and because it drove the old traditionalists to speechless apoplectic fury.

Dad, the rebel!! We loved it! 

But we never used it to spear head our own urge to grow unruly hair. He was “in university and living on his own” he would say. Under his roof untidiness would not be tolerated! Such was his impeccable cleanliness and attention to detail. A quality we strive to culminate even today.

Our dad was a father every child could only hope for and more. 

As his children we can only hope that we make him proud and live lives that he would want us to lead. 

Dad, wherever you are, we are indebted to you for everything you did and thank you for the sacrifices you made for us. It is our hope and dream to become the men that you would want us to be. Know that we will never forget you and will always love you.

We love you dad and may you rest in everlasting peace.

Compilation of Dad’s Achievements:

Education:

1. Bachelor of Science
2. Bachelor of Veterinary Science and Animal Husbandry
3. Post graduate certification in Environmental Toxicology and Ecosystem Health

Professional Positions:

* Veterinary Officer (Narok Government District 1980-1984)

* Programme Officer (Action Aid 1985-1985)

* Head of Material Production Unit (Action Aid,1986-1987)

* Regional Programme Co-ordinator (EK CARE,1987-1988)

* Project Executant (WWF Kenya, 1988-1999)

* Country Programme Director (WWF Kenya, 2000-2001)

* Regional Co-ordinator (Rift valley lakes Programme. WWF, 2001-2001)

* Conservation and Development Consultant (peace and Development Foundation – AFRICA 2001-2003)

* Livelihood and Environmental Consultant  (UNHCR and UNFAO, 2003-2007)

* Quality Assurance and Fund Raising Manager and Head of Communications, (Practical Action- Eastern Africa Regional Office 2007- 2015)

AWARDS RECEIVED

The 1998 WWF Conservation Award for Africa and Madagascar.

PUBLICATIONS

• C.J Davey, R. J Thampy (1987). Farms Skills Training Package. A series of 400 structured lessons in sustainable agriculture for primary schools in seven agro-ecological zones in Kenya. Action Aid Kenya.
• Barbara Grandin, Ramesh Thampy and John Young (1991). Village Animal Health Care. A community –based approach to livestock development in Kenya. Intermediate Technology Publications, 1991.
• Ramesh Thampy (1996). Kenya Case Study in Human Population, Biodiversity and Protected Areas: Science and Policy Issues.. American Association for the Advancement of Science, Washington DC
• Y Nelson, R.J Thampy (1998). Model for Trace Metal Exposure in Filter-feeding Flamingos at an Alkaline Rift Valley Lake, Kenya. Environmental Toxicology and Chemistry, 17:2302-2309.
• R.J Thampy (1998). The Land We Live On. An environmental education package for primary schools. WWF/ Jomo Kenyatta Foundation
• R.J Thampy (2004) Guidelines for Carrying out Rapid Environmental Assessments in Refugee Operations, UNHCR, Geneva.
• R.J Thampy (2004)Guidelines for Carrying out Participatory Environmental Appraisals in Refugee Operations, UNHCR, Geneva
• R.J Thampy (2004)Guidelines for Developing Consensus based Natural Resource Management Plans in Refugee Operations, UNHCR, Geneva
• R. J Thampy (2011) Droughts need not be as devastating,  Practical Action Blog http://practicalaction.org/blog/author/rameshthampy/

 Details of Selected Consultancies 

• 1990: Veterinary and Animal Production consultant in the evaluation of the Kenya National Dairy Development Programme. Work commissioned by the Netherlands Government. In this consultancy, Dad evaluated the performance, achievements and impacts of the programme on small scale dairy production in 6 Districts in Kenya.
• 1991: Veterinary consultant in the evaluation of the ITDG, Decentralised Animal Health Care Programme in Kenya. Work commissioned by ITDG, UK. In this consultancy, he also reviewed the justification for the programme, assessed its compliance with national legislation and veterinary ethics and evaluated the overall performance of the programme in two pastoral districts and one sedentary farming district in Kenya.
• 2002: Conservation consultant in the development of a conservation programme for the Mau Forest in Kenya. Work commissioned by FOMAWA (Friends of the Mau Watershed), a Kenyan NGO. Carried out a situation analysis of the Mau Forest; identified key environmental and development issues and concerns; assisted FOMAWA formulate its vision and mission, identify its organizational position and formulate its organizational structure;  facilitated the development of  a 5-year strategic plan and constituent project proposals.
• 2002: Co-facilitated the 6th Meeting of African Directors of Veterinary Services in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. Work Commissioned by the African Union. The workshop addressed trans- boundary disease issues, trade issues and the impacts of structural adjustments and globalization on the provision of animal health services in Africa. Also prepared the report of the meeting.
• 2002: Facilitated a workshop involving Kenya Wildlife Service, the French Agency for Development and the International Fund for Animal Welfare to work out a coordinated conservation strategy for Meru National Park and associated protected areas.
• 2002: Co-facilitated and prepared the report for an international workshop on Genetically Modified Organisms funded by Rockefeller Foundation, World Vision and the Catholic Relief Services. The workshop addressed key issues regarding GMOs and their impacts on developing countries.
• 2002: Facilitated and prepared the report for a regional workshop on the Harmonization of Livestock Development Policy in East Africa. Work commissioned by the East African Community Secretariat and the African Union.
• 2002: Designed a community based development and conservation project around South-western Mau Forest. Work commissioned by FOMAWA.
• 2002: Carried out an environmental impact assessment of the Rift Aquaponics Ltd in Naivasha, Kenya. Work commissioned by the International Finance Corporation of the World Bank.
• 2003: Facilitated stakeholder workshops and developed a 3 year project focusing on the promotion of human rights and law enforcement in Puntland, Somalia. Work commissioned by Diakonia-Sweden
• 2003: Prepared report on the theme of Food for Work Vs Cash Transfers as a Drought Relief Strategy in Northern Kenya. Work commissioned by Oxfam GB
• 2003: Developed a 5 –year Strategic Plan (2003-07) for the Kenya Federation of Agricultural Producers (KENFAP). Work commissioned by KENFAP, an umbrella organization representing over 20,000 small scale farmers in Kenya
• 2003: Developed a project proposal for engaging women and youth in Kenya’s Agricultural Development. Work commissioned by KENFAP
• 2003: Developed an advocacy project proposal for strengthening KENFAP’s  organizational positioning to reform Kenya’s agricultural policies.  Work commissioned by KENFAP
• 2003-2004: Assessed the environmental impacts of refugees and relief operations in Kenya, Ethiopia and Uganda and developed a strategic framework and a series of guidelines for promoting sound environmental management in refugee operations. Work commissioned by UNHCR, Geneva.
• 2004: Conducted a Mid-Term Review of the Legal and Human Rights Programme in Puntland Somalia. Work commissioned by Diakonia-Sweden
• 2004-2005: Developed a project proposal for commercializing smallholder dairy production in Vihiga District, Kenya. Work commissioned by Resource Projects-Kenya.
• 2005: Developing a programme for the rehabilitation of returnees, IDPs and vulnerable members of host communities in Ethiopia, Uganda and Southern Sudan. Work commissioned by UNHCR and FAO.

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The brother I hardly knew

There was the shock phone call from his son Vikram in Melbourne Australia “ have you heard of a Thampy who died in Kituii” I called my sister Leela who had not heard but she would make some phone calls to people she knew in the UK, Kenya and elsewhere. Before long it was confirmed. There are only a handful with that family name in Kenya and certainly only one person by that name would have been in Kituii on that date. In fact he had e mailed Leela the same day saying he was on his way home to Nanyuki after having tracked down and visited an old family servant in Kituii . Nasrin, his wife, and some close friends made the perilous journey at night in a run down ambulance to retrieve his body from the morgue and bring it to Nairobi, birth place.

He was felled by a massive coronary that wiped out his life before he turned 62.

Ramesh was the brother I hardly knew.

He was the last of seven children born only six months before our father died suddenly of a massive coronary too before he reached 50. I was 7 years older and considered part of the older quartet of siblings. By the time he was of age to interact with us I had left Kenya for Spain returning only once in 1967 for a brief holiday. Of those years I have only 2 memories and silly ones at that. One when we were reading the headlines on the East African Standard which announced the boycott of South Africa to which Ramesh proudly and excitedly said that he had seen the boy caught on River Road. My older brother and I laughed hilariously but quickly piped down when we realized how hurt he was by our insensitivity and as I would subsequently learn in Psychology his neurological development had not quite reached ours, and used that as a teaching point with medical students.

Spain was not noted in the mid sixties for its Indian cuisine so the first thing I asked for on coming home was for gulab jamums and Ramesh was dispatched to the Dilkush ( or was it the Dilbahar) Hotel and came back home with the full expectation that the treat would be shared. I was not sure whether disappointment or shock reigned supreme when I swallowed each and every one of them. I am not known for memorable profound recollections as was evident when the only thing I could recollect of Thurgood Marshall’s visit to my college in Nairobi was his account of taking milk baths to turn his skin white.

So it is with enormous pleasure and joy as well as ironic sadness that I read the more extensive and beautiful memories that others have of Ramesh which describe him as possessing a grand intellect, a caustic tongue when irked and a brilliant wit when humor and liquor flowed together.

The occasions we got together were not always happy ones as they were short and always to attend to one family event or another whether death or marriage but always laden with stress. There was not the opportunity to get to know one another.

And so now I am finally getting to know him through the narratives of his friends and sons, and his own brilliant accounts of life in India and Kenya, stories that I was never privileged to read while he was still alive.

His cremation in Nairobi at the Hindu shamshan kariokor was attended by so many of his friends, colleagues and neighbors and at such short notice that itself was a testament to the hold he had on others. It yielded yet another mystery; his conversion to Hinduism and his desire to be cremated and his ashes to be immersed in the Indian Ocean “closer to India” after a traditional Hindu ritual. To the haunting chant of Hari Bol Hari Bol, the recitation of ancient Sanskrit verses, the wooden logs were soaked with coconut and other holy oils and the funeral pyre was lit by his sons and his earthly remains were consigned to the flames.

Thanks to his wife Nasrin, his sons, Arvind and Vikram, and his sisters, Aruna and Renuka, his last wishes were fulfilled.

On the banks of the Periyar

The religious ceremony went well.

it was done in the grounds by the Periyar river.

We both had to take a dip in the river which was not too bad, sprinkle water on our head and sit cross legged on the grass in front of a banana leaf.

The priest explained everything to us via Arun who acted as interpreter.

I placed the pot of ashes open on the leaf,the priest lit a few fire lighters around the banana leaf we sprinkled black grains, sandalwood and tulsi leaves then we took it to river and facing east wished Ramesh well on his journey to eternity. Then I threw the pot over my head into the river.

After this we returned to the Puja site on the grass and performed a long ceremony which is captured on the video.
We prayed for Ramesh, for our ancestors fed him and them with rice, ghee, black grains, sandalwood and tulsi leaves several times.

Then we took some of the food that we fed our ancestors with put it on a banana leaf and gave it to the crows but not before we went back to the river and gave the banana leaf tog with the food for Ramesh, said a prayer and with him in our mind wished him well on his journey. The banana leaf and food was sent down the river.

After this we prayed at the temple of Lord Shiva.

Ramesh, God speed our dear brother.

Your sistas
Aruna & Renuka

Memories of Ramesh

My friend Ramesh J Thampy passed away on August 7th, 2015. Our friendship lasted all the sixty one years an age that both of us had reached at the time of his passing. It was through our families, parents & siblings who were friends that our lives first got intermingled. As the youngest of our families we shared a positional similarity which meant there was that bond apart from the fact that we were Kenya or East African Asians, as the community was referred to in the early years of emigration to those countries. Our parents or grandparents in Ramesh’s case had reached the shores of Mombasa, Kenya in the 1920’s or 30’s. Our boyhood friendship was defined mainly through the close relationship of our families, evidence of which we have is a photograph of the two of us taken at the age of 4 in what must have been a photo studio. Our families resided in Mombasa at the time, in fact my father had related to me that one of the first Malayalee’s he met when he arrived on the shores of Kenya was Ramesh’s father – Krishna Narayana Thampy. They struck up a friendship, both of them were paying guests of the Cherians one of the pioneer Malayalee families established in Mombasa. My father was witness to the courtship of Ramesh’s father and his mother Muriel Lewis. Theirs was an unusual romance, due to their backgrounds as they belonged to very different communities in Kerala where it was rare for someone to have an alliance much less a romantic one out of their own community. However they married and had seven children – Ramesh lost his father as an infant. His mother, a teacher like my parents, had the huge responsibility of raising these seven children. All of this was related to me by my father when I was in my early 20’s when he frequently reminisced about his days in East Africa.

My parents retired a bit prematurely due to my mother’s illness and we returned to India in 1964. The next time that Ramesh and I met was after a span of 7 years in June 1971 in the hostel of Mar Ivanios College, TVM. This was by sheer chance, for over the years we had grown up in different continents, and had lost touch with each other. Oddly enough, and there are so many instances of this kind of chance reminiscing, in one of the many emails we exchanged with each other during the last 4 years or so, we would recall our room numbers, his was 113 and mine was 123 on the same floor of St.Thomas Hostel. I had heard from one of my hostel mates about a Kenyan student who was on the same floor and as it turned out it was none other than Ramesh Thampy, we connected immediately. My first recollection of meeting Ramesh him sporting a long mane of hair, at least for the time, socially a bit out of place at the time not possessing a working knowledge of Malayalam. In an email Ramesh mentioned that over the years being out of touch with Malayalam & Malayalees had confused the Indian community in Kenya. He humorously recounts of an incident when his two sons were trying to an Indian cricket club in Nairobi and how he had to prove his bonafides which he did with his usual aplomb. However even in those days his ability to strike up an interesting conversation in a slew of subjects was unlimited. We gravitated towards each other and became close as well as to others within the hostel and college who shared some commonality of interests. The coming out of the 70’s be it in music or the desire to experiment with pot rather than alcohol, spouting idealism or touting politics be it national or international was the beginning of an association with several others who either shared or were tilted to this style of living. At our hostel we had a warden, a priest, Fr. George Malancheruvil, a mild mannered man, who became the butt of our jokes and pranks which sometimes would end in just plain rowdy behavior. Supervising a group of college students who were prone to binge drinking and weed smoking would have been a daunting task for anyone, much less a priest of his more docile nature. The only way a figure of authority could instill any kind of decorum to this particular band of hostel inmates would have had to be with a heavy hand, and that was wielded by the Principal at the time, another priest by the name of Fr.Ghevarghese Panicker and wield did he do, the end result of his control was mass expulsion after what was two years of tumultuous living. That sums up the fate of our merry band of ex-hostelers who became lifelong ICH’ers an acronym for Indian Coffee House a venue which was where a lot of our time and attitudes to life was shaped by the many discussions and varying points of view. I also recall trips with Ramesh to visit his grandmother, Polly Lewis who lived in Palayam just behind the Catholic cathedral. The dear lady with some interesting characteristics was as always willing to feed us every time we stopped by the house, such a good heart and a truly interesting soul. Ramesh has written a piece about his grandmother and as always it is a treasure of descriptive writing. Our friendship had reached a point that when his two sisters Leela & Renuka came for a visit to Kerala, they invited me to join them on their tour of Kanyakumari & Madras(Chennai). Good times those especially for financially strapped students. The affection that the Thampy family had for us dated back to days in Kenya but it continued even after and on reflection it is gratifying to think about it.

Those were the years of 1971-73 and the years that Ramesh, more than anyone else influenced my taste in music, and there were others who he was close to – spending hours upon hours of listening to music albeit aided by marijuana and a lot of tobacco, smoked in different forms – cigarettes, beedis, cigars anything which would go up in smoke that would do no visible harm to the smoker. It was then that the likes of Osibisa, Moody Blues, Deep Purple, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin that started to appear on my musical horizon. The explosion of popular Western music jived well with our upbringing, we were a motley group of Indian expatriate progeny or local denizens with an affiliation to Western culture and took to the explosion of rock music of the time. Our primary preoccupation was listening to music on a “turntable” with what would be considered today as a basic sound system, but to me at least, it was my first foray of listening to stereophonic music. And in those years there were those who picked up a guitar and strummed a few chords – one of the emails that Ramesh sent out to the group mentions this, in a trip down memory lane about mutual friend he described as “A cubicle in St Thomas Hostel. A rumpled bed. Glasses perched at the tip of his nose. A weathered guitar with worn frets. A beautiful ballad sung soulfully”. Ramesh’s talent was on display when he and a few friends formed a group called the “Deep Reflections” and even performed in a concert to the utter delight of our band of brothers. It was a glimpse of our time spent in playing, sharing and listening to music those days, a period of being introduced to such a slew of genre’s – which we would try to categorize – ohh this is folk rock, hard rock, acid rock, jazz rock – it just had to be rock music and we would devour it. After the disbanding of the Mar Ivanios hostelers in 1973 , we moved to different places of residence, most of the group roomed up in rental house called Eli House which became another sphere of our existence, apart from ICH, and this was right through 1974.

Ramesh and I roomed up for 6 months in 1975 at the Pearl Lodge in Pattom. Our non-ICH hours were spent in reading, I had discovered D.H.Lawrence, Aldous Huxley even had gone on to the Russian literature Dostoyevsky & Tolstoy mainly because of the British Council Library which was in Trivandrum city not too far away from ICH. Ramesh’s curiosity would get the better of him and he would actually read some of this material but felt that a lot of it was too “long winded” and he would take up his guitar and strum a few chords singing songs and perfecting his technique and then the hours we used spend time listening to music. He had what I would consider a state of the art stereo system and blast away it would. His scientifically inclined mind would absorb much of his academic reading and inspite of the fact that he hardly spent what could be termed as study time, he proceeded to complete his BSc in one of the life sciences, I believe it was Zoology. In 1975 after a brief holiday to visit family in England, he joined what is now called the College of Veterinary and Animal Sciences, Thrissur(Trichur), Kerala where he graduated from in 1979 – the years are approximates since that whole period in my life was one where time was of no consequence to me, or possibly to him either. Again on reflection what must have motivated Ramesh to pursue and complete was his basic curiosity and a passion, what he once mentioned as basically a scientific mind so much so that despite a rather checkered scholastic career, he made good. On one of his breaks from college he joined a course of music study, mainly Hindusthani Classical at the Banaras Hindu University in Varanasi where he was under the tutelage of a maestro whose name escapes me to study the flute, another example of his talent, ability and curiosity to learn, in this case a different school of music from what he had been previously exposed. He came straight from that stint in Varanasi full of enthusiasm to play the flute acknowledging that he had only skimmed the surface in the fine art of being a flautist. It was also during his studying in Trichur that he would visit me and spend time just reading, playing the flute and the guitar – I was in a phase of my life trying to make a living out of farming having inherited some farm land property and an ancestral house in Puramattom, a village in central Kerala. Those were such memorable times, the young budding veterinarian even had some hands on subject matter to deal with as I had livestock – cows and goats and he would try to educate me on how to go about raising livestock, knowledge he imparted to various stake holders right through his professional career. As a result of his visits, I was bestowed with his stereo system, guitar and a whole collection of music that he had stock piled over the years. I have these possessions to this day at my ancestral house in Puramattom. I think he enjoyed his visits there because apart from our friendship he was an avid reader and my house being the base for our family of teacher parents and my siblings all of whom had added to the collection of books that were collected there, he had plenty of books to peruse. His views on religion, politics were iconoclastic to say the least. Later on these would be expressed in the form of numerous emails expression of his take on world events spiced with a wicked sense of humor as one of his siblings aptly called it.

We met again in person on a visit Ramesh made to Washington DC, to attend a conference of the World Wildlife organization. He combined it with a visit of his sister Leela who was living there at the time. The next contact we had was about 5 years ago in 2011 but it was an occasional email until a good friend of ours & former ICH’er, Alias Kurien brought life to the distro list of the former ICH’ers and we began to email each other more often. His emails could be treasure troves of knowledge, wit and his wide reading was again, and did have an influence in my way of thinking. As a Veterinary Scientist he has made some significant studies in the Pink Flamingos especially in the area of Lake Nakuru. The reason I bring this up is not because of my knowledge of the subject or the extent of his work, but because it was evident in his thought process and the way he communicated to others via his writing.

As for Ramesh and his family, we his friends came to know from the little he used to relate to us and what his siblings have told us, he was a private man. Even the fact that he has two sons who had flown the nest sometime ago and are now far from where he lived must have influenced some of his attitudes to family life.
His views on life and death were certainly not ones that follow the beaten path – he was an evolutionist and believed in natural selection as the order of life with a passion but was not one to espouse his feelings with any vehemence, he could never be too self-centered to try to impose his views on others. However, knowing about his reading – Richard Dawkins, Christopher Hitchens, Sam Harris and the fact that he was open to discussion with his friends who shared any kind of intellectual curiosity of this sort. His views of world affairs were another topic which we often emailed each other about, he saw through a lot of the super-power read that as the United States hegemony, and was very critical of how the leadership in the U.S – he would quote the likes of Noam Chomsky liberally to prove his point. In this age of using google, Ramesh rarely resorted to quoting from obscure web based validation, his was more of reading he did cover to cover of books he found interesting. He used his smart phone and computer to listen to music via youtube and that’s about all I know of as his forays into technology. In other emails he would confess to his love of aviation and any of the passenger plane disasters would spark off several emails about the plausible theories that abound. He had a true gift of expression and once in a while he would reminisce in great detail some of the anecdotes of years gone by with such authenticity and craft it’s one of the lingering memories that his group of friends share.

The passing of Ramesh has affected me in so many ways especially since his communication, original to the core has come to a screeching halt. There was also this fond hope of one day being able to unite with him & our merry coterie of friends and reliving the old times, just wishful thinking. Not having his originality I can only quote what Bob Seger, one of singer/songwriters of our times had composed :

Still like that old time rock and roll
The kind of music that soothes the soul
I reminisce about the days of old
With that old time rock and roll.

Ramesh once mentioned in an email that if there is reincarnation he would like to be born again as a superb blues guitarist, well my friend, even if that hope of yours does not materialize exactly as you wished, just hope you get to hear all that music which will soothe your soul and allow you to rest well.

Peter Panicker

A friend remembers

This must be an extremely difficult time for you to bear the sudden loss of your beloved husband and father to your sons. When Peter (Panicker) informed us on our group mail it was so unbelievable that this could happen. Of course, death comes to all of us but this hit like a bolt. So cruel and so early. Such souls as our Ramesh bhai don’t tread this earth any more.

I first met Ramesh bhai when I had moved from St. Xavier’s, Thumba, in 1972, to pursue the BCom program at Mar Ivanios. This is also the first time I met Peter, and the rest of the group. Ramesh bhai immediately came across as a unique, vibrant, jovial, knowledgeable, passionate soul. I would credit him with introducing me to the wonderful world of Clapton, Cream, Led Zep, Cat Stevens and beyond. The endless hours we spent listening to timeless classics on his little turntable were a revelation. I really didn’t find as much joy with a reasonable quality hifi system I put together in England where I had moved in 1976 to purse an ICMA program. In fact I would also credit Ramesh bhai in getting me to be a self-proclaimed audiophile, remembering his nuances and sensibilities to good sound (and it continues to this day in Muscat, Oman, where I now live).

Ramesh bhai came to visit me in Newcastle, England, in late 1976 (or was it early 1977) when he had come to England on a personal visit. We spent some time together and reminisced the great times we had in Trivandrum together and the group. In keeping with our deep interest in the kind of music we listened to, I took him to the local Virgin record store to see what was available. Genesis at the time had released their latest album Wind & Wuthering. I don’t really think he liked it too much but since there was nothing else that was of interest at the time I persuaded him to get it. Despite his vehement protestations I paid for it as I thought this was the least I could do to a dear, dear friend who had come all the way to Newcastle to visit me. This was the only time I saw Ramesh bhai after the TVM sojourn.

A few months ago it was Ramesh bhai who sought me out through the medium of the Net. He sent a mail asking whether I was the same Imtiaz whom he had known. This was like a bolt from the blue and a whoosh of air, just like Ramesh bhai who was a breath of fresh air himself. He inducted me into the group mail and have remained on it ever since. His musings were so alive that I was living the TVM past of 1972-75.

Ramesh bhai’s rantings, wise uttering, his banter and the warm feelings he conveyed will forever be etched in my memories. He was a great soul by any measure and any standard.

I pray to the Almighty to grant Ramesh bhai everlasting peace. May He give you and your sons immense strength to bear this tragic and irreparable loss. Farewell, and sleep well brother Ramesh.

Imtiaz Ahmed Baqui
Muscat, Oman

Ramesh on indian food

Sent October 13th 2013 before he left for India.

Good day brothers

Hope you are all in the pink and have concluded your religious duties on this brilliant Sunday morning. I am almost done with my assignment and postponing the end piece until later. I need that surge of adrenalin to move my buns. Just heard a few tracks of Frank Zappas 1973 album ‘200 Motels’ that was banned in the UK due to its lewd lyrics and uncomplimentary remarks on British cuisine. ” Lord have mercy on the people of England for the food they have to eat”. I think Brit food and the English palate have come a long way since , thanks to the influence of former colonies. A vindaloo ain’t half bad eh mate? Pop round the corner for a chicken tikka masala what? And on this note my thoughts settle on the prospect of sinking my teeth into a crispy rocket roast, layered with coconut – chilli chutney, tangy Punjabi alu chole spooned into my drooling gob with a wedge of ghee smeared parata; sweet guju dhal with methi speckled thepla’s, shiny ladus stacked in pyramids, kulfi in all six flavours of E.coli…. Bhel puri on Juhu beach buzzing with pressure lamps and blue bottle flies. Aaah India. This time next week

Ramesh on mallu speak

Hello Gents and I f I may paraphrase the imitable Maha Raju Devan: Enderella vi-say-sum?
As you guys know my Malayalam never got beyond the pre-natal level of proficiency. I learned a technique from Raphael Joseph that helped me get along. It was the art of strategic slurring and it worked in much the same way that the brain fills up the blind spots in our vision. People who had to endure my Malayalam filled in the missing words.

After nearly 35 years of disuse whatever Malayalam I had has atrophied. A few years ago this limited ability was put to the test when 3 inquisitors from the Kerala Association were sent to my home to verify my claim of being a malayalee. This was a requirement for my sons to play for Kerala in the South Indian Associations Annual Cricket Tournament. Having met my wife (a gujju from Saurashthra) the selection committee were convinced she picked the name “Thampy” out of a hat.

So they came to my home and their initial reaction on meeting me was favourable. I passed the complexion test. On entering my living room they were pleased to see portraits of Malayalee women all over my walls. I had to inform them that the artist was Raja Ravi Varma whom they duly acknowledged was a bonafide Malayalee. The kathakalli masks also made a favourable impression. I was then asked the standard battery of questions- my good naime? ; my farthers naime? ; my naitive place?; my house naime? I passed this part of the test.

Then came the dreaded moment when the inquisitor general asked me about my proficiency in Malayalam. This apparently was the acid test. “Say yelleast won or two werds” he insisted bringing the tips of his five fingers together and extending them outwards like a petals of a flower.

I resisted the temptation to say “nenda amumaa (slur) thenga kolla”. My wife and two sons looked at me expectantly. I searched around my brain but could not find the words to string together a coherent sentence. Enda mone, entha Kashtum!

Then in a moment of inspiration I remembered the famous Yappen Joseph Pannicker line. Putting on my best Chalai/Palayam bazaar accent I blurted:

“Woa, vangle vitu koari evida motta vechi poi”

The inquisitor’s jaws dropped. They gathered themselves, nodded at the spouse and made for the door with a hasty “ thang-u-verimuch”.

The next day the boys got called up and I am happy to report played for Kerala in the next three tournaments all of which Kerala won. They are now the darlings of the community.

Thang-u-verimuch Yappen Joseph Pannicker.

Ramesh On Guantanamer

“Do you remember the link I sent you to the Pete Seeger clip? I wanted you to listen to a song called “Quantanamera”.

It is as old as I am and perhaps a little older too. The lyrics are in Spanish and it has a wonderfully concealed message. I first heard it as a kid and as kids do, learned the words of the first two lines and bits of the rest without understanding a word. It was a song that found voice in my home. We were a family that sang with as little inhibition as we spoke. I recall my mum singing “Sweet Heart of Jesus” as she made the beds. Quantanamera was a tune frequently hummed and whistled too.

All four sisters whistled or tried to. I listened to the translation for the first time and was delighted. The sentiment lived up to the music. One verse struck me : I plant roses in June and in January, a rose for friends who love and care for me, but for those who would tear the life out of me, I do not plant thistles or thorns but a Rosa Blanca.”

Ramesh’s Encounter with Babus at the Indian High Commission

Dear Diary

Today I had to go to the Indian High Commission to get an affidavit endorsed that will allow an appointee in India to act on my behalf in matters related to my grandmother’s property in Palayam.
Jeevan Bharthi building was once fully occupied by the IHC. Today they occupy a couple of floors. The lifts don’t work and the offices are shoddy. The security officer at the entrance relieves you of your bags but does not give you a token to prove you left your possessions in his care. “Trust me” is the word. Well OK. He doesn’t enjoy diplomatic immunity. I will haul his black arse to a police station if my lap top goes missing.

It doesn’t matter what your business is, you line up for a visa. Sitting at the counter at the end of a long line of “Visa applicants” is your typical babu. Brahmin and anaemic and wearing an expression that says: Namaste, be hereby notified that it is my sacred duty to make this transaction as tedious as possible.

I eventually get to the top of the queue and disclose the nature of my business. He doesn’t seem to be listening but reaches out to snatch the papers out of my hand.

“Your good name Sir?” I answer? I give them all just in case one or two don’t make the grade

“Passport”? I am a citizen of Kenya; I have my national identity card. He flicks his hand dismissively.

“PIO”? Pardon?

ORI? Pardon?

Aap Hindi nahin Janta? What? Oh! No Maharaj, I’m non vegetarian.

He eyes me suspiciously.

“OK” he exhales after running his eyes over the affidavit. “You have to have this signed by a Public Notary”. Yes?

“Then you have to have it signed by an officer of the Judiciary”. Ooh ?

“Then you have to have it signed by an official of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs”. Whaaat?

“Then you come back”. I don’t think you understand me I…..

He holds up his palm for silence.

Who do I have to see in these institutions?

“I daant know”. “Ask somebody”

Oh alright but why do I need all these signatures?

“I daant know”

On my way out I see another anaemic Brahmin trussed up in a worn jacket and daal stained neck tie.

Excuse me, are you an IHC official?

“Yaas” replies the exsanguinated face

I explain. He listens. I get the impression I am talking too fast. I repeat emphasising the key words. Comprehension begins to dawn on him. I see it rising in his eyes like a waterline

He points to the office I just emerged from. I explain. He listens. I end with the question: Is there another way to have a Power of Attorney Affidavit attested so that it holds up in an Indian Court?

“I daant know”.

Is there someone here who might know?

“No No Nobody”

Wouldn’t it be easier for me to take the overnight flight to Mumbai and have it endorsed by a street Vakil? You know a BEE A EL EL BEE?

“I think so” he replies rocking his head in agreement.

Ramesh: Tales from Panipat

In the flats across from us lived two diametrically opposite women. Opposite in physique, temperament, loyalties and religion.

Mrs Sharma better known as “Mama Radio” was an elderly lady, a grandmother, diminutive in appearance, soft spoken and a devout Arya Samajist.

Habiba Butt was a strapping young Pathan girl; hard working, feisty and devoted to her family, her religion and the defence of Pakistan.

They lived next door to each other and when they threw open their kitchen windows they could confront each other almost face to face.

For the most part they tolerated each other across the Line of Control. Tempers however flared during wars, cricket and hockey matches between India and Pakistan.

Mama Radio would needle Habiba by loudly announcing to the neighbourhood a victory for India in a battle, a hockey match or at the fall of a wicket. Habiba, ever alert to such provocation would roll up her sleeves, turn a fiery red and issue a salvo of threats, counter propaganda and assorted insults.
We were kept fully abreast of the surge and retreat of armies on the Indo-Pak border. The number of planes downed by each side. The number of tanks disabled. The number of square inches of territory gained or surrendered.

During these bouts no one appeared at their windows or joined in the fray. We listened in silence and in awe. Mama Radio never left her post at the window but Habiba overcome with fury would often storm out of her house, brandishing a “hockey” and threatening to dislodge Mama Radios dentures.

When things appeared to be getting out of hand one of her brothers would be sent to restrain her and lead her back into the house. Kitchen windows would be flung open to make an announcement and slammed shut to muffle the response.

The rest of the time they were both peaceful. Mama Radio went to the temple, greeted everyone with the salutation “Ran Ram” and dished out sweets to the neighbourhood kids. Habiba made up for the absence of her deceased mother, caring devotedly for her father and raising three strapping brothers and a sister. She never married and Mama Radio passed away while I was in India.

Ramesh: Remembering Kasuku

I am ducking work. A report to write and I have hit a mental block.
Several cups of black coffee have failed to jog my neurons.

When it came to dancing I wonder who influenced who? Did Ngmum influence Kakoo or was it the other way around?

Ng mum performed a characteristic jig when she was happy or listening to a favourite tune. Surprisingly she liked the Rolling Stones. She would often ask me to play an album Radha brought me from England when Sunita was just three. Ngmum and Sunita both danced to “Little Queenie” with Sunita chiming in “C’mon Lil Queenie, lets get with it ”
Kasuku had identical dance steps and choreography . He would bob from side to side, duck his head, take little steps to the left and right, flex a leg back wards and gently flap his unfurled wings. Ngmum did exactly the same.

I asked Ngmum how she acquired Kasuku and this is the story as I remember it:
Its was a cold rainy morning in Nairobi. This was during or shortly after the Mau Mau uprising. The security situation was still very tense. Africans needed special passes to enter Nairobi from the reserves.Some slipped in illegally looking for work as menial labourers, others to create trouble. Asians were particularly wary of Africans.

Ngmum was alone at home when she heard a timid knock at the door. Peering through the window she saw an old man dressed in heavily patched trousers and a kabuti (over coat) and wearing a floppy hat that partially covered his eyes. She interrogated him from behind the closed door ( wewe nani? nataka nini?) . Satisfied he meant no harm she opened the door. The man was drenched to the bone and shiverring with cold in the rain. He looked like he hadn’t eaten for days. Peeping into his kikapu she saw a mass of quivering grey feathers with a tiny curved beak poking out here and there. They were a bunch of African grey fledglings. She bought Kasuku for a price of two shillings more out of pity for the man than from any desire to own a parrot and the rest as they say is history.
My follow up question was how Kakoo learned to talk.Ngmum said she placed her cage by her side while she was cooking and kept up a steady conversation. The other secret she claimed was to feed her green chillis. I looked at her incredulously. ” You mean green chillis get them to talk ?”. “Oh yes” she replied with the air of an expert ” thats why I dont put too much chilli in your food. You already talk too much”.
There were times when Ngmum left me speechless.

Kersi’s painting for the cover of Zamani Sana brought to mind dear old Kasuku. We were fortunate to have such a loquacious parrot. I have come across many African greys since but none that could hold a light to Kakoo. We thought he was male but a few years after Ngmum gave him to Mrs Matriss and left for India, Kakoo laid an egg. I wondered why Ngmum gave her such a unimaginative name. It only just dawned on me that she couldn’t call her “Polly”. That name was already taken 🙂

Ramesh: Visiting Mavelikkara

Visit to Kochi, Mavelikara and Papas Home in Ennakad, 9th November 2013
My first glimpse of Mavelikara was framed in the window of a train on my journey to Ernakulam. I had dozed off and on opening my eyes had a wonderful view of paddy fields fringed by a grove of coconut trees. The paddy was ripening, presenting a rippling sea of green and gold. I could live here forever I thought. Moments later a sign post on a railway platform flashed past. It read MAVELIKKARA.
Arrived in Ernakulum late in the evening and proceeded to the Station Masters Office as agreed. I was met by Vijay Chetan and his son Pradeep who identified me from a photograph taken years ago when I was plumper and had a bit of hair. They drove me home to a warm welcome and a sumptuous meal and provided much encouragement to tell tales from the African bush. Rarely have I enjoyed such an attentive and appreciative audience.

The Thampi Ladies: Priya, Libya and Kanjana, November 8th 2013
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Pradeep, Vijay Chetan and Kanjana at “Sree Vihar”, Kochi. November 8th 2013
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The following day I returned by road to Mavelikara. Up early, I was eager to get started but Vijay Chetan insisted on a hearty breakfast of dossa, idilis and coconut chutney. Then, in characteristic fashion, he called ahead to make sure that every detail of his plan was in place. We were to pick his younger brother Rama Krishnan in Munar and proceed to the home of Bhaskaran Thampi in Mavelikara for lunch and thereafter to Papas home in Enakad. On the way he tried to explain the Thampy genealogy but without pen and paper I was hard pressed to understand the complex linkages: “Now, Rajam the wife of your uncle K.Krishnan Thampi was the daughter of Rama Krishna Thampy who was the elder brother of your grandmother Lakshmi Amma….. understand? “ . Gulp!

We met Rama Krishna as planned but he was unwell and unable to join us on the rest of the journey. In appearance, he reminded me of Ashok or what he would have looked like had he been endowed with a mustache and a double chin.

Rama Krishna and Vijay Chetan, Munar 9th November, 2013

We drove through the paddy fields of Kutanad before arriving at the home of Bhaskaran Thampi around lunch time. I was surprised to learn that Kerala is no longer self-sufficient in rice. We import the grain from Tamilnadu and Karnataka. Paddy cultivation has declined over the years due to land fragmentation, shortage of farm labour and the high cost of farm inputs.

Bhaskaran Thampi is 83 years old, looks much younger and is in excellent health. He greeted me in his driveway with the words: “Jambo bwana, Karibu nyumbani”. Earlier Vijay Chetan had informed me that he was eager to meet me and speak Kiswahili. We exchanged pleasantries Kenya style. I enquired about his ngombe’s but he owned none. “Pole mzee” I replied in commiseration. In Kenya, a man without cattle (like me) is considered a maskini
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Bhaskaran Thampi and his son Sateesh at his home in Mavelikara, November 9th, 2013
Bhaskaran Thampi served in Kenya with the East African Commission, the forerunner of the East African Community. He was married to Sethu Thampi, the daughter of Papas uncle Rama Krishnan Thampi who served as Post Master in Mombasa. Sethu was born in Kenya and passed away in 1985(?).

The Late Sethu Thampi, Wife of Bhaskaran Thampi and daughter of our grand uncle Rama Krishnan Thampi
Bhaskaran Thampi arrived in Nairobi from Tanzania in 1958 and hence did not meet Papa. He met mum one day as he was driving through Nairobi. Mum and a group of social workers were conducting a shake down in aid of charity. She stopped his car, went over to the driver’s side and made her pitch. While doing this she read his name on the road licensee sticker and within minutes they had established the relationship between our families. Subsequently mum visited Bhaskaran and Sethu a few times but resisted their efforts to get her to join the Asian Association. He remembered mum as a “resilient woman “and praised her for her hard work and dedication to her children.

Of Papa he had this to say “He was a handsome man. He reached the highest position an Asian could attain in the colonial service in Kenya, even over and above Europeans and….. he lived like that”
Among the Asian community of the time it was said that Papa raised us like little aristocrats. Only the best was good enough for us. He earned a handsome salary and was a spendthrift.

As we spoke, Vijay Chetan and Sateesh left to organize lunch. At this point Bhaskaran Thampi leaned across the coffee table and in a conspiratorial whisper enquired “utani kunywa pombe kidogo? “ Ndio, ndio” I replied with alacrity. Have you ever known a Kenyan to refuse a drink? I was not about to let the Nation down.

He poured me a large dollop of strong whisky and continued with his reminiscences of Kenya and the family. Unni Krishnan as Papas elder brother is known was said to be a serious man “of unwavering integrity”. He was also a workaholic. Bhaskaran has fond memories of Kenyan hospitality. “In Kenya “he remarked “When you meet a person, there is a preamble before you get to the main topic of discussion: “Habari ya mama? habari ya watoto? Habari ya shamba etc. In Kerala they demand to know where you are going? What is your business? None of your business I say”.
We sat down to lunch. A typical Kerala meal of rice, sambar, avial and chicken. Sateesh cooked all but the chicken which was purchased from a local hotel.

Before I left Sateesh fished out a framed black and white photograph of a woman and a little girl. The girls name was Padmini Thampi. The woman was her aunt, J. Ammukutty amma, the wife of Rama Krishna Thampi (papa’s uncle). Leela and Radha met Padmini on an earlier visit. In a recent email, Leela recalled her as an elegant and refined Nair woman who spoke impeccable English. Padmini was a brilliant student in school, passing her matriculation with a high first class. She died in 2004 at the age of 80.

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J. Ammu Kuttyamma and Padmini

Satiated and refreshed, we continued on our journey. Bhaskaran and Sateesh accompanied us to the car. Hugging me, Baskaran bid me “Kwaheri ya kuonana”. “Kwaheri” I replied “I will definitely return”

Ashok Krishna Thampy
1946-1993

Lend me Your Ears: Kishore

Ashok would have been batting past 75 had be been still playing to use his beloved cricket terminology. He died prematurely at age 47 on March 3, 1993 while in the recovery room following surgery on his frozen shoulder. The family was never afforded an adequate explanation and his widow, Leela, a physician herself, did not want to press the matter further for reasons that were delicate.

This sudden end brought abrupt closure to a career in business that was beginning to flourish. In fact on the day of his cremation he was expected to meet a group of foreigners who were expected to sign new and  presumably lucrative contracts for his international air delivery business known as Adair.  It also brought an end to his promising involvement in the Kenya Cricket Association administration.

Ashok was the oldest son and the favorite of our father who hoped to groom him for high office in India. He was born on January 19, 1946 and was the third of what would be a  brood of 7 children. The house we lived in was a small municipal flat situated in the Ngara area of Nairobi reserved for the Asian community by the British colonialists.  It was situated at the top of a steep hill that descended into the valley of the Nairobi River then a pleasant stream of sparkling water as it chortled its way to join the larger more brooding and slow flowing  Athi River much further away. In the rainy season the river would over flow its banks but did not cause any flood damage due to the steep rise of the hill from the banks. It did, however, routinely destroy the foot bridge that we use to cross over to the other side and make our way to downtown Nairobi where our school Catholic Primary was located not too far away from the Court House where Papa used to work. We all ( the four oldest)  walked together every  day to school and back.

Since I was born a year and a half later I do not have any memory of his infancy. Radha the oldest recalls that he was a difficult child who had very spiky hair and despite Mummy’s efforts to flatten it by frequent trims it kept getting spikier and spikier.  She does not recall much other than he was about 5 years old he fell from the second floor window but was caught by our neighbor Ashim and miraculously suffered no injuries but Radha apparently did as she was accused of pushing him off the ledge.

As the second son and not the favorite I was very competitive with Ashok which he took in good stride and was even tolerant of my tantrums.  I recall when Papa used to return from work he would call upon Ashok to memorize poetry and one in particular was recited over and over again. I too memorized the famous Shakespearean lines in Julius Cesar of Marc Antony’s speech to the Romans.

Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears
I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their bones;
So let it be with Caesar.
My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar,And I must pause till it come back to me.

Papa had descended from an aristocratic orthodox Hindu family in the erstwhile Princely State of Travancore but had been forced to leave India due to his involvement in the nationalist movement and other peccadillos, but he always was an Indian patriot and hoped to return to India even planning on 1954 to be the year the prodigal son would come  back to the land. It was not to be as he took ill and succumbed on May 30, 1954 but before he died he made Ashok who was the only one able to visit him in the hospital to promise that be would aspire to the presidency of India. That was unrealistic given the circumstance the family was left in after his death at age 44.  Ashok,  however, never forgot this and maintained a keen interest in Indian politics. I remember being very impressed when he told me one day that President Zakir Hussain would not be ‘averse’ to another term in office that being the first time I heard of the man and the word. He was good at words and although not quite  the sesquipedalian would often toss out such ritzy language as the ‘orifice in the carapace’ which he would not bother to explain and left me in ignorant amazement at his prodigious vocabulary. Apparently it ran in the family as the paternal uncle was reputed to memorize dozens of words from the OED every day.

Although we slept in the same bed we did not become emotionally close but he  was very protective. One day when a neighbor boy was bullying me he came to the rescue and was rewarded with a massive bite to his belly. We often went together with Somir ( see his contribution) the downstairs kid who was the same age as Ashok and together we would be up to a lot of mischief. In 1960 when the former Belgian Congo erupted in rebellion and thousands fled many seeking refuge in Kenya we would walk the streets of the commercial section of Nairobi, River Road and Racecourse Road,  where the Indian merchants hawked their wares and tearfully relate to them our sad stories which were received with great sympathy but no monetary contributions. We often banded together with he other Asian boys in our compound as the apartment complex was known and armed with catapults would attack the African boys who were innocently bathing in the then clear and clean waters of the Nairobi River.

Cricket was the favorite game and we would often play by the flat right next to the kitchen of Aunty Dey our downstairs neighbor who also had a large brood of 9 children most much older ( Dilip has added his memories). Aunty Dey was very tolerant of such antics which were very noisy and disruptive to her enjoyment of a peaceful afternoon after all the food was cooked, eaten,  dishes scrubbed with sand washed and put away, and the left overs all spooned into one pot ready to be served as a delicious dish  aptly named ghazia  ( Swahili for turbulent concoction) . Once, however, when I broke her window she scolded me in Swahili which I pretended not to understand and she so she rushed upstairs to my mother  to express her astonishment, not about the broken window but by my newly acquired language impediment,  and from thereon I could no longer talk in the local lingua franca.

Gilli Danda was another game played by the boys in the compound but not one which Ashok or I participated very much.

Ashok was the leader of the gang and I was more of an outsider joining when I felt like it but becoming increasing distressed by their rather violent inclinations. Fortunately this was tempered by his activities in the EASPCA ( East African Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals) which was formed in Kenya by a very nice English lady who welcomed as many Asian boys who were willing to participate in this favorite pastime of the colonial memsahibs. Indians rarely had pets those days and Hindus are not prone to be cruel to animals anyway and Muslims only tortured them during Eid in the rituals of Halal. So we did not have much to do and zeroed in  on Mrs. Pacheco’s treatment of her dog, a large fluffy mixed breed with  a shaggy coat that we thought was not combed often enough. Our threats to file complaints caused much commotion in the compound and many angry visits to Mummy. I think we got bored and dropped the matter. Instead we took to raiding the Guava tree near her house. This seemed to be an acceptable alternative for her and so a truce was declared. It was remarkable how the ladies in the compound tolerated the games played by their sons which could have caused a lot of damage . This was especially so during Diwali when we used to burst fire cracker and compete with one another to make the loudest bang and the most outrageous antics such as exploding empty cans into the air. Equally surprising was that no one died or got maimed.

He was also an active member of the St Johns Ambulance which was dedicated to providing First Aid and was certified in 1960. He had acting skills as well and the Bengalee Overseas Association awarded him a gold medal in 1958 for playing the lead role as the dying boy Amal in Tagore’s play The Post Office (Dhak Ghar). I was cast in a support role but fortunately some kind person gave me a silver medal.

Ashok went to Catholic Primary School until Papa died in 1954. Initially we accompanied Mummy who was a teacher at the St Theresa School but then transferred to the government school, Racecourse  Primary,  as it was much closer to the house, and I believe mother did not want us to be at the mercy of the nuns and priests who were not pleased that she wore a sari to work and not European dress.  As a result of his not so grand performance in the elementary school exams he went to the Technical High School and I went to Eastleigh Secondary School but frankly speaking there did not appear to be much of a difference. Nonetheless we were separated again and never again followed the same path.

After finishing high school Ashok left for India to pursue his studies. We met up  in Madras when he was a student at the Madras Christian College and I was trying to get admission in medical school in India but without success so I left for Spain. I recall the last train ride we took to the airport where the venal Indian officials confiscated the few rupees I had and I left India without a penny but that is for another story another day.

Given our impoverished circumstances as students we did not have much communication over the ensuing years. At the college he started and edited the newsletter The Senator which was acclaimed  Ashok did obtain a degree in Mathematics.

He returned to Kenya  and was initially involved in pedagogy both as a teacher and an administrator. Radha recalls that he went to the Court Building to look for a job and when the clerk heard his name he went rushing to the boss exclaiming “ It’s his son”.   The boss was  Mr. Johnson, who had been Papa’s supervisor. Ashok got the job. He also studied to become a chartered accountant. In the course of events he got involved in the freight industry and eventually set up his own company ADAIR. His obituary in the local cricket newspaper Cover Drive commended him for introducing “ accounting and operational systems considered one of the best in the world”. He was keen participant and promoter of cricket in Kenya and was the Secretary of the Nairobi Provincial Cricket Association for many years until his death. He also started their newsletter  Cover Drive.  I never had a chance to ask him why he left India and the promise he made to Papa.  Of course even then Indian politics was a dirty business which may have deterred him as he was a person of integrity and decency.

For years he had been pursuing Leela Paul the daughter of one of our distant relatives who worked in the Delhi government as a high ranking civil servant.  They had met as teenagers in the  house on 19 Probyn Road an old British colonial bungalow which had become run down and did not have indoor toilet facilities but was large airy and cool in the incandescent heat of the Indian summer.  She graduated from medical school and was practicing in India when they married in Delhi.

They returned to Nairobi where they set up home and shop and prospered.  However they did not have children which was a great source of disappointment for Ashok who instead took to the children of his younger brother Ramesh as if they were his own. When I visited them in 19 they had plans to build a home in Gurgaon India which was at the time a dusty little village but with good prospects which turned out to be very true as it is now the huge high tech suburb of the capital. I contributed to the purchase of the house but they never moved in and I have no idea what happened to it as after his death Leela P as we called her to distinguish from his older sister Leela, distanced herself from the family. They had a beautiful home in a Nairobi suburb and we were comfortably accommodated as I had brought along 2 friends from the USA to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro and the whole trip there was arranged by his friend Habib.   At that time I seemed to have detected some marital tension but  no one spoke of it openly.

We met again at the wedding of younger brother Ramesh to Nasrin in 1987 and stayed with him and Leela P but we were too occupied with the wedding arrangements to talk about anything else. This was most unfortunate as he was the repository of considerable information about the family which is now lost forever.

In 1992 Terry and I caught up with Ashok in India. He had been in Delhi on business and had come down to Kerala to visit Mummy. We tried to convince him to join us on our trip to Kanya Kumari but he chose to take the train back to Delhi a long and arduous journey of 3 days. I never saw him live again.

Ashok was deeply hurt by the premature death of his life long friend Kirit Patel and had provided a home for him when he did not have one. His attitude to life changed. He developed diabetes and then had a stroke while he was at the cricket club but with out telling anybody drove himself home and amazingly recovered. However, he seemed to have developed shoulder rigidity and had a retinal detachment that required surgery. He was considering surgery for the shoulder which I discouraged on the unscientific premise that one should not have elective surgery so soon after  emergency surgery. He chose to go ahead and was operated by a visiting Italian specialist but shortly after going to the recovery room he took his last breath and died.

In a curious test of the times Ashok converted to Hinduism ( Sanatana Dharma as it is known to its devotees) and had substituted his two Christian names, Kenneth Jules,  with Krishna Janardhanan which happened to be the names of the paternal grandfather. He reversed what his father had done when the latter converted to Christianity in 1942 (December 3rd) and changed his name from Krishnan Narayanan to Kenneth Nicholas. In Ashok he fulfilled his promise to return to Bharat Mata if not as President then as part of its earth.

His body was consigned to the flames in a traditional Hindu ceremony at a temple in Nairobi. His ashes were immersed in the Periyar river in Kerala.

Merged Families: Somir Dey

Ashok and me, we’re born 12 days apart on January 1946, not that we are blood related both from merged families, merged by rare coincidence in all areas of human interactions.

Ashok’s family from South India, whilst the Days from North, with independent cultural and social. However it is here in Kenya that the coincidences began with Ashok born 18 01 1946, no 11 Nagara Municipality Housing, I.e

Referred to upstairs, whilst I born in no 14 downstairs on 06 01 1946, our arrival was already of our elder siblings of both families already mergers. Where our mother’s had already established a bonded friendship helping in childcare of each other’s due fact the men were mostly away this circumstance merged  the families and  became one.

Ashok’s mum was our educator, whilst our mum became the social and welfare carer.

Ashok also a Capricornian, with a settled attitude, whilst me a nomad, always craving risk and adventure.

We were as a brother and looked over each other’s shoulders, if it came to any issues.

I do miss him.

He was dedicated and stable unlike me!

Ashok was a very intelligent  and interesting personality. were left with his image predominantly.

Man of few words, funny and moody he was! I have happy and loving memories of him and miss him dearly

More like a Brother: Sidney Lewis

Sorry for being so late in answering your e-mail. I shall write more later but for the moment I shall write a few words about Ashok.

Ashok was the eldest son of my sister Muriel. I was 10 years old when he was born. He was more like a younger brother to me than a nephew. We often played together with him and his other siblings. For a few months when I was about 15 my mother, my brother and myself lived in a flat near my sister’s home. There was a small play ground near the big block of flats where I got Ashok to play a bit of football. He was, however, more interested in cricket. We had a tennis ball and a small bat which we used  to practice batting indoors. When it was his turn to bat I would spin the ball. This was something I had promised not to do but I could not resist the temptation and he quite rightly accused me of being a cheat!

I think Ashok’s favourite subject was Maths and it was no surprise that he qualified as an Accountant. As a young man he was very serious about his work. He had an interest in  baking which surprised me. We would go into Nairobi town centre and buy the necessary ingredients for baking cakes and he would bake some delicious cakes.

When I left Kenya and came to England we lost touch for quite a while. When he got engaged to his future wife Leela they came to visit me and my family in Hull. They both seemed very happy. They got married in India and settled in Kenya where Ashok ran a freight business called Adair Freight. In 1992 my wife, her sister Vinnie and husband Mac and myself wanted to have a holiday in Kenya. Ashok and Leela made all the arrangements. We spent a week or so in a lovely hotel in Bamburi and visited Tsavo National park and stayed at one of the lodges. Ashok picked us up from one of the stations ( I think it was Kibwezi) and took us to Nairobi where we spent the night with them. The following day he took us to see Ramesh and family in Nakuru. It was a brilliant holiday and well organised.

The following year we got the shocking news that he had died while undergoing an operation.

A Friendly Sort of Guy:  Dilip Dey

• Ashok was more close to my Sister late Anjali.
• When he came back to Kenya after his studies he joined our group, namely Kirit Amin, Rohit Patel, Natu Solanki. All have left for their heavenly abode.
• Ashok was more a family member and would spare a  lot of time pacifying my mother who fretted about practically every issue.
• Ashok was a friendly sort of a guy would go out of his way to help those in need.
• When Kirit had no roof he put him up in  hid house, Kirit passed away in Ashoks residence.
• Though I don’t remember him playing cricket. He took up the sport off the field.
• He became an authority on Cricket players  results. scores etc. In fact he became a committee member of Kenya Cricket Association.
• Ashok enjoyed discussing political issues when ever the occasion arose.