Many Happy Returns!

Speeding Bombay-ward by train, was greeted on Monday, 03 March, by friend wife with a blithe “Happy Birthday!” Imagine celebrating my 46th(?) birthday in the heart of India with a group of comparative strangers toasting my health. That's one for the book.

Ox carts, loaded donkeys, head-burdened messengers, an occasional camel, feeble trucks and pushcarts jam the streets and make traffic difficult, but our resourceful driver simply smiles and takes it in his stride.

People of Bombay and southern India are of the Caucasian race but very few are white. Colour includes all shades of brown, like a cup of clear coffee to which cream is gradually added. Hair is straight, black or grey, eyes invariably black and piercing. Expressions are rather on the pathetic side.

The Dhobies

T.R.S…
From a low concrete bridge we looked down on an outdoor public laundry on a river bank. Here clothing soaks in long concrete troughs full of water and passes through soapy mixtures to individual washers called dhobies.

The dhobie grasps a piece of clothing and beats it on a slab of stone until it looks white and clean. Definition of dhobie is “a man who tries to break a rock with a shirt.” The combined slamming of wet clothes by washers sounds like machine-gun practice on a target range.

A hanging flower garden planted in earth that has accumulated on top of a field-sized, overhanging cantilever of rock is a horticultural masterpiece. Hedges are trimmed to resemble live animals, and well-tended flower beds create a riot of colour and beauty.

From the air this pattern must resemble a great Gothic window. There is one main intersection which sharply divides Hindus from Mohammedans. On one side are gilded Hindu temples, and on the other are the mosques with typical dome and minarets.

Railways radiating from Bombay are all electrified beyond the city limits and carry commuters by the tens of thousands daily. Freight traffic on railways is comparatively light, and I do not recall having passed a single freight train in all our Indian travels.

No Regrets

T.R.S…
With downright relief and no regrets, we watched the lights of Bombay grow dim in the distance as the Caronia stood out to sea. As we departed, a chilly breeze swept down from the north, and blankets felt good for the first time since our ship passed Cape Hatteras in the north Atlantic.

Our country club set at home would go for one of our fellow passengers, John Pulmo, who is reputed to operate a string of nightclubs in the Philadelphia-Camden section. He is a tall, ruddy, fortyish bachelor chap - an inimitable yarn spinner - knows all the good-time angles, creates hilarity and spontaneous combustion wherever he happens to bounce.

He manages a deadpan expression when others are bursting with laughter, then suddenly lets out a loud guffaw when others are grave. Johnny is beloved by one and all. He likes swimming, dancing, shuffleboard, table tennis, card-playing, checkers, dominoes, and moderate gin-drinking. All hats are off to Johnny!

The “Grande Bal de Masquerade”

T.R.S…
On Saturday evening, 08 March, we had a costume dinner, grand march and dance. The restaurant resembled a New Year's celebration, complete with balloons, paper hats, noisemakers and domino masks. Later in the lounge some sixty passengers in full party spirit paraded in costume and were awarded prizes for design, originality, colour, comedy, etc.

Naturally enough, after eight days in India, the Indian fetish predominated, particularly in feminine costumes. Little 5-year old Wendy Willard, Buffalo, New York, earned and won the grand prize, dressed as a leopard girl, even with a real leopard face for a mask.

Two Brazilian gentlemen dressed to resemble Nehru and teaming up as the “Nehru family” were worthy runners-up. A New York woman doffed her normal finery and made up as a Durban rickshaw boy with all the bangles, ox horns and spearheads those chaps wear.

In fact, all costumes were excellent and the judges were put to it to make awards. I never again expect to attend a more brilliant, colourful and altogether enjoyable event. It was a masterpiece of good, wholesome entertainment and a credit to the cruise management.

Retired at midnight - only to be awakened with a start by a phone call from Lima at 2.30am. (6pm. Lima time) to hear the welcome voice of my son Jack, reporting all well at home, with usual March weather. What a happy day!

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