Memoirs of a great soul: Gary Decramar

Gary Decramar, Sandhya and Nasir at High Tea

“Throughout my two weeks in India I was regularly assisted with travel arrangements, hosted at dinner parties and tours of Delhi and surrounding area.  Mr. Nasir Ali Kahn from Sajjan Yadav’s office and Goldi the driver were always a phone call away should I need help or a ride.   Their assistance was invaluable.

Travel to Moradabad, Rampur and Haridwar

Rashmi’s husband and MPA grad Manoj Singh has become the Commissioner for the Moradabad region about 3 hours east of Delhi.  (Rashmi and Manoj were among the first India MPAs.)  He had not been able to attend any Delhi functions so Manoj’s driver and an armed security guard came to Delhi to take us to Moradabad where Manoj is stationed.  After another grueling car ride with horns honking and sirens blasting, Rashmi, her son Shivam, and I got to Manoj’s compound.  A farmsite surrounded by walls.  A leftover from British rule.  A sprawling house, large irrigated vegetable and flower gardens, trees everywhere.  I was greeted with a bouquet of flowers and a big smile. 

Dr. Abhay Singh, Shivam, and Manoj in front of Manoj’s home

We went inside where I was offered a glass of Black Label Johnnie Walker.  Joining Manoj was a young medical doctor Abhay Singh (no relation) who became an fond acquaintance after Abhay had pestered Manoj about gaining information when Manoj was at his previous post.  Abhay and Manoj were meeting to formulate a scheme to eradicate polio in the state of Uttar Pradesh.  I thought we were settling in for the night when Manoj asked me to join him in going to a “mushairah” in Rampur.  This was to be an Urdu cultural festival that was to start around 9 or 10 PM.  So, off we went.  Coming into the town center, I was shown a large sprawling red building and was told this private library housed the largest collection of Arabic writings outside of Persia.  Upon arrival in front of the large community center, we were greeted by local dignitaries. I was decorated with a lovely shawl and large colorful badge when introduced as Manoj’s American guest.  Now most of the time in India I heard only Hindi or Punjabi; little English.  But here this tall gentleman approached me and spoke in English.  He said he had an architecture degree from Princeton.  He asked if I saw the family library on the way to the event.  I could say yes.

The mushairah is a song contest; men get up to a microphone and sing their own composition… lyrics and melody.  It was amazing.  A local police officer topped them all, with each cadence in his tenor voice, there was more and more murmuring of approval from the packed house in the auditorium.  His song became more and more grand.  Great experience in a Muslim culture I did not know existed before.  Then we drove home to eat a very late supper and celebrate.

The next day, off to the banks of the Ganga River for the every sixth year “kumbh”.  We joined a million or more Hindus who gathered for the cleansing of their sins and the celebration of the sun moving into Capricorn.  Manoj arranged for Rashmi’s Hindu priest to surprise her and meet her for the kumbh ceremony.  I too joined in, splashed some of the Ganga river on me, sat beside the river sprinkling flower heads from dahlias, marigolds, and various flower petals into the river as Rajesh Agnihotri, the Hindu priest, chanted the ancient songs associated with this day.  My forehead was marked with vermillion tilak and my wrist tied with red and saffron yarn.  Rashmi went into full submersion in the cold waters of the Ganga three times and came up each time with a smile that matched the setting sun. 

A glorious cultural experience made possible by being in the right place with the right people.  Much like my entire two weeks in India.”