The
Students union election was a routine activity every year. In the first degree
class, Guniyal from the sociology department, contested for the President’s
post. The Principal called her and requested her to withdraw her name so
Princess Gayatri could unanimously be elected. She explained that it would
benefit the college since the Maharaja, her father, was the Chancellor of the
University. Guniyal had no choice and Gayatri became the President with Amba as
Secretary. We had a busy time, putting programmes together. The following year,
what with our experience, assisting Amba I decided to run for Secretary.
Princess Maya, Gayatri’s cousin who had joined that year, decided to run for
President. It was the most exciting election ever held in any college in
Mysore! Little did we realize that though Guniyal had withdrawn her name, there
was a feeling of hostility simmering in the hearts of the students. It was
independent India
and they were not going to let go of their freedom. They fielded their own
candidates against us. For a fortnight, there was active campaigning, with
students from all the other colleges, including Medical and Engineering,
betting! The walls and corridors of the college were plastered with posters. On
the day of the election, the college looked festive with colourfully dressed
students lined up to cast their vote. The next day, the results were announced.
Maya had only ten votes, from our group. Her opponent had bagged 740 votes! I
lost for having joined forces with Maya. The election result was a statement
made peacefully by the students. No Princess was going to take their rights
away from them. What women can do if they only come together! We have to fight
a common enemy, not each other. Hats off to all those girls who, thirty years
ago, demonstrated their solidarity to make a point. My loss was not as great as
my joy over their victory.
The
little room for Gayatri’s ‘rest’ was our haven. We rarely bunked classes but
when there was free hour, we’d hang out in the room and hog. A maid accompanied
Gayatri to college every day and all she did was snooze in the room. It was her
job to go across to the canteen and fetch food for us to eat. Every month, the
bill was settled by the Palace accountant or whoever. At lunch time, we
assembled at the room again. Food arrived earlier from the Palace in a covered
bullock cart and the table would be laid. It was a full course meal served in
large steel plates. It must be all those cups of ghee I ate which must be
showing around my spreading middle now. Again in the evening, Subbi, the maid,
would get something from the canteen. If it was not for all that marching in
the NCC, I would have been obese. Sometimes, Gayatri would take us to her house
for lunch. She married her cousin, Sardar Ramchchandraj Urs, when we were in
the second year of college. They lived in a beautiful mansion, Lila Vihar
Gayatri
was a sweet tempered, quiet person. Marriage to Ramchandra had mellowed her.
She had a dimpled smile that was at once shy and charming. She found me very
risqué and giggled at my jokes. She had soft, pink feet with gold toe rings.
She continued to be in purda but
would go to some places. It was only after her wedding that she came to my
house with Ramchandra. She could not attend my wedding as she had just then
delivered her first child Leela but she came to my sister Jo’s wedding.
We
kept in touch after college. When she came to Mumbai, she visited me and every
time I came on leave to Bangalore,
we made it a point to meet. She had three daughters and a son. Tragedy struck a
few months after she delivered her son. Veena and I went to see her in the
hospital when she had surgery for breast cancer. She was 28. That was the last
time I saw her, dimples appearing and disappearing behind the bouquet of
flowers. Less than a year later, she died. Ramchandra has been a wonderful
father to the four kids. No one has taken Gayatri’s place in his heart. As I
sat in the hall, watching their second daughter’s wedding, my eyes clouded with
memories of the Princess who was my playmate.
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