FATHER

Excerpted from Chosen Ground: The Clara Motwani
Saga by Goolbai Gunasekera

Much of Father’s life was lived away from us. His work as Professor of Sociology both in India and the USA meant that his holiday times did not necessarily dovetail with ours. Mother was more inclined to take us wherever he was working, thus ensuring that vacation time was used as gainfully as possible in educationally guided travel.

The minute Father heard we were coming to India, he would acquire every brochure put out by the Tourist Department. He would then write to us telling us what (to him) were exciting ruins, dams, game reserves, palaces, heritage sites and such like destinations we would be visiting that vacation. Our holding agendas were as perfectly timed as a Bach Fugue.

We were expected to read up, and be thoroughly familiar with the background history of wherever Father decreed we would be going. We often wandered off the beaten track and since five-star hotels were not found dotting the Indian countryside at that time as they do today, much of our accommodation was terribly basic.

The result was that India was ‘done’ so well that we were familiar with much of that vast sub-continent, ranging from Kashmir to Kerala, and from Pondicherry to Calcutta. Our holidays were not pleasure trips. They were seriously educational, and I cannot say that we always enjoyed them.

Su, in particular, had a low tolerance of Father’s idiosyncrasies. She did not believe in keeping her thoughts to herself, unlike me, her far less confrontational elder sister.

“I see no reason to be damn uncomfortable just to see where the Buddha was born,” she complained, after one exceptionally dreary overnight stay near Bodh Gaya. It was all that was available. “I’m not a Buddhist.”

Father almost had apoplexy … a condition in which he often found himself when Su was around.

“You have been brought up as a Theosophist and all religions are to be considered worthy of respect, young lady,” he thundered. “One of the world’s greatest religious teachers hails from this place, and she turns up her silly American nose.”

That last remark needs explanation. Su was born in the USA and carried an American passport. Whenever she was being obstreperous (which was very often, in Father’s opinion) he disclaimed any genetic heritage: Su became Mother’s child. On the other hand, the year that Su won both English Literature and Sinhala Literature prizes in Grade Ten he crowed: “That clever, clever child. She gets her flair for languages from me, of course.”

He would then add modestly: “You know I speak, read and write Sindhi, Hindi, Urdu, Farsi and English as well as any native of those areas.” It was true. Father would often read poems to us in Urdu or Farsi, though we understood not a word. “The beauty of sound is enough,” he would say, continuing to bore us mightily.

At the time Father gained his PhD in Sociology, the subject was not being taught in Indian Universities. In embarking on a crusade to get Sociology included in the better Indian colleges, he enlisted his guardian’s help. Jamshed Mehta had a great deal of influence and he used it now to help his former ward. At the end of this chapter I reproduce the letter Jamshed received from Jawaharlal Nehru, just before Nehru became India’s first Prime Minister.

Father was caught up in the work of the Indian National Congress; and, like many academics, he submitted his proposals to the National Committee for Education. It is worth noting how early in the day the future leaders of India begin planning the education of their country.

Nehru kept his word. Sociology was included in the new curricula of many leading Indian Universities. Father was ecstatic. He embarked on a round of lectures intended to popularize the subject, and did his best to get either Su or me to offer sociology for our university degrees. Neither of us was even remotely interested in it. For this we blamed Father. He had an irritating habit of getting both of us to proof-read his books whenever he felt we had a free moment.

Wading through such exciting tomes as India: A Synthesis of Cultures or The Manu Dharmashastra, Su and I were pretty sick bf the whole topic. I read for a History Honours degree in Bombay, while she opted to do the Home Science course at Lady Irwin College in New Delhi.

Father died the year my daughter, Khulsum, started at my old College (Sophia College) in Bombay. All India Radio announced his passing and gave him credit for having brought sociology to India. It was a tribute Father would have appreciated above all others. He did not have the pleasure of knowing that sociology was Khulsum’s chosen field at that time, although she shifted focus when she transferred to the USA.

It would have delighted him to know that one of his books was recommended to her class as a reference book: Khulsum very much enjoyed telling her professor that the author, Dr. Motwani, was her grandfather. With her Sri Lankan surname, it was unlikely that any connection would normally have been made. But as I said earlier, life moves in circles and my grand-daughter, Tahire, is now doing a degree- in Sociology at St. Lawrence University in New York. She quotes Father as a reference in her work there. Would that he knew.

As a parent, Father would be considered to have been too remote and uninvolved, if judged by today’s criteria of good parenting. He was distant both physically and emotionally. He probably liked us well enough, but we never felt he really loved us. Su and I would discuss this. As said before, we came to the conclusion that the only person Father ever really loved and communicated with was Mother. With her, he was concerned and caring, although it cannot be said that he was an easy husband.

She understood him. But adding to the distance between Father and his offspring was the earlier mentioned fact that he was (inevitably) on a lecture tour at the time of our birth. Ergo, we never really bonded at any stage. If consulted, Mother would have probably put down his inability to show much affection to a lonely childhood, which was probably the case.

Father was a dedicated member of the Masonic Society. It grieved him greatly when the secrets of Masonic ritual became public. He rarely used his Masonic links to further himself, but just once he was tempted. Macmillan’s in Britain had rejected one of his books for printing, as the quota for serious texts that year had been filled. Father wrote to Mr. Harold Macmillan, then Prime Minister of England. In his letter he included a Masonic phrase. His book was accepted.

When fulfilling a two-year lecturing contract in Kansas at Wichita University, Father spoke glowingly of the fabulous collection of silver donated to the Masonic lodge by older members there. Naturally he was a visiting Mason for the duration of his Kansas stint.

When India gained Independence, Father was offered a diplomatic appointment in the newly formed Foreign Office. It would have meant our moving to South Africa where Sir Benegal Rama Rau was being sent as High Commissioner. Putting an academic like Father into a job requiring tact and charm was not one of Nehru’s better ideas. Seeing someone else’s point of view had never been my sire’s forte: he usually felt he was right about everything.

Father knew his own weakness. He turned down the offer, much to Mother’s relief (and Jamshed’s great disappointment), although her personal charm might have done much to mitigate Father’s belligerency.

In his later years, Father paid fewer visits to the US. He had travelled so much that he once told me he used to have nightmares about missing flights and being left in airports. His lecture tours were almost whistle-stop affairs. Sometimes he was just in time to catch a plane for his next engagement. This was specially so in the USA, when bookings of visiting lecturers tended to run very close together.

Father made a distinguished figure in his kurta coat and Nehru cap: a handsome man who kept his youthful appearance with daily Yoga exercises and (he claimed) his vegetarian diet. Father daily stood on his head with no support whatsoever until the age of seventy-five. I was lost in admiration, while Su would acidly ask why anyone would need to do something so patently silly. Fortunately she never dared say this in Father’s presence.

Father had many well-known men and women of letters among his close friends. One of them was Pearl Buck. We read all her books, and were forbidden to ever allow the autographed copies out of our home library. Others were philosophers and sages, such as Jiddu Krishnamurti and George Santayana. I wish now that I had kept Father’s letters. I do not know what happened to them, for he died in the Theosophical Society in Adyar, Chennai, and I did not ask for his personal effects to be forwarded to me. In fact, it never occurred to me how valuable such letters would have been today.

Ananda Bhawan Allahabad, July 10, 1940

Shri Jamshed Nusserwanjee Machimiani Road,

Karachi.

Dear friend,

I have your letter of July 6th with, the pamphlets “Sociology” by Dr. Motwani. I entirely agree with you that sociology as a subject should be included in the curriculum of Indian Universities. I am forwarding this pamphlets to the Secretary of the General Education Sub-Committee of the National Planning Committee.

Yours sincerely,
Jawaharlal Nehru