Memories of Mindil

Some of you may be perplexed at my waxing eloquent about my visit to the Northern Territory and then proceeding to describe my stay in Sydney. For those who know me, this strange behaviour is nothing new. However, in my defence, I would like to say that I was trying (perhaps unsuccessfully) to build up some kind of suspense. This whole effort is based on the presumption that there are actually some weird people out there who read my pieces and can connect the threads.

The reunion of old schoolmates began in Darwin with their arrival in batches on the same day. Fortunately for our good-natured (and long-suffering) hosts, the airport is very conveniently located. So, several trips were made to and fro followed by great cries of welcome and inspection of physical signs of ageing such as expanded waistlines and thinning hair. This time round, the women were accompanied by husbands so the perusal was short-lived as the bemused men stood there quietly, wondering what they had let themselves in for.

Soon, the women were deep in conversation as they caught up with the years. The host's mother had been their English teacher in high school so it was decided to pay her a visit.

One among us had just had a book published so she took a copy along to present to her former teacher. She thought long and hard as she wrote inside, mindful of spelling and grammar. Their mentor had aged gracefully, as forthright as they come.

As we sat and discussed the dim past, mention was made of a certain Miss Gilbert who was notorious for being a stickler for good handwriting. The author/friend quickly pointed out that she was one of those taught by this lady, implying perhaps that her handwriting was up there among the best.

The English teacher looked again at the inscription in the book given to her and commented that the experience didn't seem to have done her any good. The professor of psychology weathered this criticism rather well, even going so far as to laugh at this put-down. No matter how far you've come, there's nothing like hard truth from a figure of authority in your youth to put you in your place and make you feel like a child again.

Riot of colour

That evening we visited one of the many beaches in the place - Mindil. It was like being back home in India as it was a riot of colour, with familiar sights and smells. We learnt that this was the celebration of India Day, an annual event. What was even more impressive was the large number of Aussies who turned up, seemingly fascinated by this feast for the senses.

The daughters of our host and her sister were taking part in some folk dances and looked lovely in their bright costumes and jewellery. Loads of photographs were taken of these precious moments. There was the thrill of walking by the stalls selling everything from souvenirs of Darwin to Indian clothes and trinkets. The aroma of diverse cuisines wafted through the air and whetted appetites. The conviviality was infectious, with smiling faces all around.

Much later our group made our way to a secluded part of the beach, far away from the madding crowd. It wasn't unusual for people to pack chairs and folding tables in the trunks of their car. So, these were carried along and soon we were seated in comfort. The cold breeze blowing made some of us regret not having dressed more warmly. But soon the magic of the place with the lapping waves not far away made us feel at peace with ourselves and the rest of the world. Truly a day to remember.

Two weeks hence the place would again be teeming with people as they celebrated the 30th anniversary of the formation of the Northern Territory.

In case you're wondering what happened to the details of the landscape and the sightseeing, I would like to reassure you there is much to look forward to. However, the constraints of space prevent me from continuing my ramble. More next week.