Once I went for a wedding with a beautiful handkerchief, determined that I would bring it back safely, but all that I had clutched tightly in my hand was a paper napkin used during the dinner.
Losing hankies is not as bad as losing oneself or one’s child. My daughter was a two-year old when we visited the huge Madurai Meenakshi Temple which has four entrances and at any point of time, lots of people, young, old, sickly, or the fervently religious doing a namaskaram every few feet. I remember holding her strongly by the hand. All of a sudden she tore away and disappeared into the thick crowd. The moment I told my husband with great trepidation about what had happened, he in turn repeated it to the authorities who were with us on our tour of the temple. They swung into action—all the massive doors of the temple were ordered shut. My fertile imagination threw up instances of bizarre kidnapping by childless couples who might be behind it. As suddenly as she disappeared, she reappeared holding the hand of our maid who had just been drifting looking at the wonders of a huge temple, and not keeping pace with us. How the child found her and then us is still a mystery which only the Almighty knows and for which I am ever thankful. Through my loud cries of joy, I heard the order for the temple doors to be reopened again.
But I myself was lost when I was seven or eight. My father was on transfer from Pune (Poona then) to Delhi and we came to Mumbai (then Bombay) to board the train next day. Mother had entrusted me (the youngest) to my father’s care while she had last-minute purchases to make. Soon, I found father enjoying a game of cards with his friends in one of the Bombay Flats. I must have got bored and perhaps lonely, too, and I think I told father that I was going out (which perhaps never got registered in his mind nor that of any of the players). When I came out, I felt free as a bird and enjoyed roaming all by myself. But suddenly there was an overwhelming feeling of insecurity. I didn’t know how to get back. In the meanwhile, panic struck my father who had realised I was missing. Search parties were sent everywhere and mother was informed. More than the worry of searching for and finding me, my father probably feared taunts that he could not look after me and the generalisation about men not being able to do a single job entrusted to them.
By this time, I became truly scared and started crying. I remembered, however, where most South Indians went for their supplies in Matunga (where a lot of them live)—the Cooperative Store. After people enquired why I was crying, when I went there, I knew that help was at hand. My anxious parents also reached there and were relieved to find me safe and sound.
I was very disappointed that instead of a hug and words of endearment, I was scolded for walking off without a word!