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This is an archive article published on February 8, 2007

Bringing up the Brit

Soon the surrogate mothers were left behind

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An accessory of the Raj, the ayah was indispensable to the British planter’s household in Munnar. She ably assisted the memsahib to raise her brood, picking up a smattering of English in the process, which she proudly flaunted. “Darling, don’t pluck the roses,” I once heard one tell her impish ward, “Mummy will be very ‘crass’ with you!”

The children, in turn, learned a little Tamil from the ayah who, despite being no nightingale, was often required to sing her ward to sleep. Asked to sing at a birthday party, a little minx enthusiastically burst into a Tamil ditty learnt from the ayah. The all-women British audience applauded, little realising that the six-liner was sheer ribaldry, not meant for refined ears!

Once a plump ayah waddled past our house pushing a pram with a pink-cheeked infant cooing contentedly. A passing tea-picker took the liberty of fondling the child’s chubby cheeks, making it cry. The ayah was indignant. She roundly berated the woman before wheeling off her precious cargo in a huff. Strolling with the ayah, a tyke wanted to spend a penny, so she dutifully hustled him behind a bush. “But why can’t I pee on the roadside like the others?” he protested observantly.

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Forbidden to use the radio, an ayah slyly tuned in when her employers were away, quickly turning off the set when they returned. The memsahib confronted her. “Did you switch on the radio?” she queried. “No, ma’am,” lied the ayah, feigning innocence. “Then how come it’s warm?” countered memsahib shrewdly. “Have you been sitting on it?”

One night a rampaging tusker attacked a British planter’s bungalow, forcing him to open fire. In the ensuing pandemonium the ayah and his little daughter went missing. The duo was later found cowering under a cot, locked in a tight embrace, with the ayah feverishly fingering her rosary beads!

Not surprisingly, those bonds endured. Now and then a hopeful Munnar-born Brit turns up here “looking for an ayah who brought me up as a child”. The elusive ayah is seldom traced but when she is, the reunion is understandably emotional and joyful.

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