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Have you ever had a moment when you know, absolutely know, that you are truly happy? Think about it for a moment: we look back and say I was happy then but to know, to realise that this moment in time is perfect. I think that is rare. But, it happened to me when I was quite small. It actually happened twice but the second time I was a little older and and queried the veracity of the feeling.
After we had been in Calcutta for about four years we moved from the flat on Ballygunge Circular Road to a new, very smart one on the seventh floor of the newly built Woodlands Estate in Alipore. There were three tall blocks: Belvedere, Woodlands and Alipore Estates. Opposite them was Woodlands Nursing Home and behind a large army camp, From my verandah I could see over towards the docks and the back of the Burdwan Estate and Palace.
I was quite a solitary child: I had always found the company of my mother, and now my sister who had joined us from England, more than enough. A bonus was time spent with the aunties, Desmond and his menagerie of young rescued Tibetans. And, I always had Joe and Mary. And my books. I devoured books as children today devour Mario and Sonic. There was always I could go to and discover new things and new people. For me the characters were also friends: Anne of Green Gables, What Katy Did and my beloved Little Women.
There were others of course; Rumer Godden and Enid Blyton and until I tried boarding school the Chalet School books. After having tasted the reality they were put away for good. Woodlands gave me the first chance to have friends close by who I could go out into the gardens and play with. Of course it didn't work like that. I was a mummy's girl, modelled pretty party dresses for the Women's Friendly, didn't know how to ride a bike and, most importantly, was terrified of the rope swing that one on from the high branches of a tree and clinging for dear life swung wildly in the air higher that it seemed physically possible to go.
That first year in Alipore was hard. Patsy Singh and Zoe Perks cut me no slack whatsoever and whatever our respective mothers tried I was terrified of them and they held me in extreme contempt. Then I got a bike for Christmas. At first I thought , one of the gang at last, but I still had my training wheels on and couldn't keep up with them as they cycled at speed through the gardens. Mum must have seen this and decided to take some direct action.
One afternoon I came home from school and she was waiting for me with the bike. She had taken the training wheels off and we set off slowly with her holding the bike steady. It seemed easier doing it this way and I was soon pedalling hard and laughing because she was holding on and I was safe. Of course you all know she wasn't and in those minutes I had learned to ride a bike. As I realised that she was some way behind me I did wobble a bit and then the strangest feeling that I've ever known.
The air was still and the gardens full of marigolds and roses and every imaginable colour and scent. There was no-one there but the two of us and it was as if the world stood still. And in that moment, that second, I knew I was totally happy. That there was nothing more that I could want or pursue that would make it better. And, I understood the schadenfreude, the knowledge that this would only last for these few precious seconds and I must feel this with every fibre of my being and remember. I do remember so vividly I can see it now and almost weep with the memory of how perfect it was.
Would I have felt this way growing up elsewhere? I don't know but I think my beloved city cast its charm around me even closer by showing me that such a time was possible. I do think it was a kind f mystical experience that as a child I only understood on the most elemental level.
When this was painted was the second time I had the feeling. My parents had given a curry lunch with rather a lot of very boring people and Desmond. I was sitting on the verandah beside him after lunch and he looked at me and said,"Darling, I want to paint you now before you grow up and loose that innocence." Me painted? By Daddy Des? Of course I was out of the door and in the car before he had a chance to tell Mum where we were going. As it turned out he didn't say anything, just told Joe to tell her I was with him and she should come for tea and collect me.
He was right : this was a pivotal moment turning from childhood towards the adult world, the irony was that as he painted me he was the one who opened my eyes to another way of looking at the world.
And yes, my mother loved the painting.
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