Curry House !

If you came out of St. Andrew's church. Straight down past the Christ the King statue. Past the grotto on your right, waving goodbye to Graveyard Lorna, who seemed to live there. Negotiated the crossing of the St. Pauls Road and Hill Road intersection. Did'nt get seduced by the kheema at Yatch Beer bar and restaraunt. The beer you had to steel yourself at little harder against. Then passed Carmel Convent. Then turned left into the walkway that led to the little house behind the big house. Then walked up a flight of wooden stairs. You would find yourself at a door that was always open. Keeping guard over this always open door was a dove. And just over the threshold was a chair. A rocking chair which rocked on vertical springs. Shock absorbers of it's own. A red leather seat. And on it sat U. Carlisle. U standing for Uncle. He and his family lived in this magical home. With a wooden staircase. Bunk beds. A breadfruit tree that started it's life in adjacent Carmel convent and was meandering thru it's mid-life crisis past their window. An African Grey that whistled and shrieked even more than a Redemptorist. And the power behind the rocking chair was A. Aylma. A for Auntie of course. When you have seven children, a parrot, a dove and U Carlisle the logistics of keeping them in food drink and clothes would be a nightmare for most people. BUt not for A. Aylma. Who took the attitude that if nine people were sitting down to dinner one or two more was not going to make any difference. So at a table in the kitchen. [ Me often being a part of the one or two more ] You would'nt be able to eat . Because you'd be laughing so hard. At impersonations , at jokes, at stories. Or you'd be caught up in the intensity of a discussion. About anything. And everything. Or you would be entertained by U. Carlisle as he lit up his post dinner cheerooot. Of stories of his trips around the the world. Long ago. Or his son's Colin's stories.Of around the world. But of just days or hours ago. [ He flew with Air India ] . While Cheryl and Charmaine [ Carlisle's daughters ] stitched. Sticthed every costume for every production,for every play that was put up in Bandra during the eighties and the nineties. Priests would drop by to consult with Carlisle on matters pertaining to the well being of the parish. Zonal committees would come asking for advice. Conrad [ Another son ] 's ex- girlfriends would come by not knowing they were ex. As of today. The parrot would shriek it out, but they never got it. It would have been easier to win Kaun Banga Crore pati than to guess who Conrads flavour of the week was. The labourers were many. But the gatherer was one.
And thru it all the equanamity of A. Aylma. The oil in the gear box of this home.
Other students submitted reports. Reports and assignments that they got done on manual typewriters by the guys at Bandra Station. Mine stood out. Beacuse they'd be done by Cheryl. On her electronic typewriter. In fonts that changed. In justified columns. I never had to worry about content. Not when the packaging was the best.
This open hearted generosity. Of spirit. Of time. It was'nt confined to this home. You could visit Cordie. [ Another daughter, with Cordie being short for Cordelia ] who had married and moved. To Madh Island. And the same open door policy. A branch office of the Bandra HQ.
The house came down for a building to come up. The family moved. U. Carlisle made the big move upwards. The kids all got married. They’ve moved into homes of their own.
The door is closed. That’s what they do in buildings. The landscape is different. The people who walk the streets are different. But A. Aylma is the same. And if you drop by the Curry house you’ll know. Overflowing with Carlisle Curry’s grandchildren. With laughter , with warmth and with love.