Rani and Arjan Ralli
About a benevolent aunt and uncle
It was the late seventies, the era of disco music. The venue was a hotel in Sharjah. The event was for opening a discotheque, a novel rarity in the emirate. Most guests were much older, wealthy Arabs, Europeans and affluent Asians. There were very few youngsters at the party. But, in no time, I noticed two beautiful girls and a young boy, possibly siblings.
I started talking to the girls and the boy, siblings — friendly lot and welcoming. Shibani was the eldest, the next was Reena, and the boy was Rohit. They were cool. Their parents were Arjan and Rani, who had accompanied them to the party.
I addressed the parents as Uncle and Aunty, an accepted norm in addressing elders in Asia. Aunty invited me to sit at their table. They inquired about my well-being and were surprised to find me living alone and working. They were kind. I felt at home with them.
I soon found myself chatting with the sisters and their brother — things to talk about, music and fashion. We clicked. Soon we formed a group and danced to the seventies grooves as the disco under the flickering shiny disco lights. During the formal dinner, I sat at their table. Aunty was generous again and invited me to visit their home, an open-handed gesture.
Invitation to Ralli’s home
On the invitation day, I dressed well and turned up at their home near Al Zahra Square, a walking distance from my apartment. Their family name was Ralli. Everyone made me welcome again. I was treated to a lovely dinner with the Ralli kids. From that day, Aunty addressed me as Denzy, a shortened form she christened me with. I have been called many nicknames, Denny, Dena and Denz, but Denzy was exclusively Aunty’s.
I was fascinated by the Ralli family’s attitude to life. They were intelligent and economically wise. Aunty knew how to create an exciting dinner with novelty and innovation without spending big bucks. Their home, a large apartment, was creatively decorated without breaking the bank. Everything had a place. The furniture and decor carefully selected were placed thoughtfully. The whole family were artistically minded, the way they elegantly dressed and behaved. They spoke eloquently in English. The Rallis was an upper-middle-class family hailing from New Delhi in India.
All these were a novelty to me. I was fresh out of Sri Lanka. I was living with Sri Lankans who were at least two decades older. Their only focus was on making as much money in Sharjah. Here I was, a youngster in my early twenties, in the warm welcome of a typical family with kids around my age. I loved it, particularly the attention from Aunty and Uncle. I was made welcome by the Rallis. I felt part of their family.
I loved visiting the Ralli’s regularly and staying back for dinner with the Ralli kids. Despite our age gap, Rohit became my good friend. Rohit was always on the go, witty with a fearless attitude. Bell bottoms were going out of fashion. We both were the first to ditch bell bottoms and get into straight pants. He and I started roaming the area after I finished work and he, school. Rohit, the adolescent kid, sought adventures in the long hot afternoons and evenings.
We explored our music tastes together, visiting shops selling cassettes and stereos while roaming Sharjah town. Rohit was into electronics and set up a complex sound system with speakers on his ceiling. In the seventies, it was a marvel. His favourite singer was Neil Diamond, and mine was not one but two, Elton John and David Bowie.
Uncle Arjan Ralli was a former airforce captain in the Indian Airforce in charge of an air squadron. He spoke with authority yet with kindness. He had many heroics to his credit, especially during the two wars India fought with Pakistan. He retired early and took up an ex-pat job in Zambia. Rohit was boarded in an exclusive boarding school in Mayo in Rajasthan, India, while the rest of the family lived in Zambia. When the family relocated to Sharjah, Rohit left the boarding school to join them. Rohit attended the Indian High school in Dubai. The Rallis had a pet dog, Hailey, whom Aunty loved dearly. Hailey was the sixth family member, having lived with them in India, Zambia and now in Sharjah.
Aunty often spoke about the sleepless nights during India’s wars with Pakistan when she did not know whether her husband would return home. Uncle led his squadron in air battles. She was worried about what would happen to her three young children if her husband had been shot down mid-air.
It was apparent Uncle and Aunty was in love. Uncle was besotted with his beloved Rani. When he returned home from work, he would openly hug Aunty in front of his kids and me, murmuring sweet words in Hindi into her ear. None of which I could understand because I spoke no Hindi.
Rohit and me
On the ground floor of their apartment building was a table tennis table where Rohit and I played in the afternoons and evenings. We played for hours daily, practising various strokes and improving our game. We then joined the Catholic sports club in Sharjah and played table tennis for the club. We became a formidable pair to beat at the club, becoming the envy of young European and Anglo-Indian kids there.
With my beardless chin and boyish looks, some thought I was still a student. Many boys at the club would stop to ask me which school I attended. I got student discounts for haircuts when I was with Rohit. Pakistani barbers called me a ‘bachcha’, which meant child, while cutting my hair. I did not mind as long as I could get a half-price haircut.
Many outsiders thought that I was Rohit’s elder brother. It was too complicated to explain our relationship. Me from Sri Lanka, hanging out with a boy and his family from India. We just played along.
Everyone in the family called Rohit “Baba”, a dear term to address a youngster in Asia. His parents and sisters called him Baba. I, too, occasionally called Rohit Baba. It was one way to get his attention instantly. When Rohit struggled with maths in school, a complex subject for a teenager, I taught him the easy art of logarithmic.
I found Shibani, Rohit’s eldest sister, to be the most friendly of the two Ralli sisters. She was kind, beautiful and considerate. She had a lovely way of disagreeing with me sometimes. I wanted to know her more, but I held myself back. Holding back was tricky because Shibani had a sweet way of expressing herself. I had career goals foremost in my mind and was not ready for a serious relationship. I thought a romantic liaison would spoil my close relationship with the Rallis. But, it was a love unexpressed. She will always have a special place in my heart for her kindness.
Ralli family events
The Rallis celebrated their birthdays privately. I was invited to their family events and Diwali celebrations. Aunty and Uncle introduced me to various foods from Northern India and Pakistan during these private family dinners in restaurants.
Once a year, Ralli’s hosted a party at their home for their family friends. The guests included the cream of the Indian expatriate community in Dubai and Sharjah, Consulate Generals, doctors, surgeons, professionals and their spouses. Rani Ralli was the perfect host. She stylishly created food and snacks with the help of her daughters. Arjan was a teetotaller but always had a bar full of liquor for his chosen guests at his home. Everybody was dressed elegantly in suits, sarees and frocks. Rohit and I were the servers, wearing suits and ties. We served liquor and tasty titbits exchanging pleasantries with the guests. Many guests assumed that I was the eldest of Ralli’s children. I did not try to dispute any of it and continued doing my job, serving guests, and feeling proud of the Rallis. At the end of the party, Uncle gave me a beer. It was the first time I drank in his presence.
Contemporary and European clothes were expensive in Dubai and Sharjah. With three teenagers in her family, Aunty had found a practical way to clothe them by ordering clothes from Freemans in England, using mail-order catalogue. Every few months, aunty placed her orders for the entire family. She accurately measured my bust and placed orders for my clothes. She was a genius in mail-order systems, the online shopping equivalent of the day.
Leisure with Rallis
On weekends, Rallis went away on picnics taking me along on these trips. I spent many weekends in various desert resorts on day trips with the Rallis and Hailey, their beloved dog.
Rani was a big fan of Bollywood movies. Most evenings, she watched Hindi movies at home. Rohit and I were the ones who fetched movie cassettes from the video stores for her. She took the entire family to cinemas when new movies starring her favourite actors were screened. I was part of these magical movie nights, followed by a dinner in a local restaurant serving Indian and Pakistani cuisines.
Uncle was a keen photographer; he had a collection of cameras. Many of the photos in this essay are his. He encouraged me to buy an SLR camera when I expressed my interest in photography.
Family Crisis
A mini-family crisis erupted in Ralli’s household. Hailey was lost. Aunty was distressed by her much-loved pet’s disappearance. The entire household was let loose to look out for Hailey. The two boys had a special duty. Rohit and I searched the whole of Sharjah town, looking for Hailey, walking tens of kilometres on every street. There was no luck.
Uncle then put out a paid advertisement in the local newspaper for Hailey with a photograph. They received a tip that Hailey was seen near Shindagah, a suburb in Dubai, some twenty kilometres away. Rohit and I undertook to search for Hailey in Dubai. On the next day, Uncle dropped Rohit and me in Shindagah. Rohit and I combed the entire suburb looking for Hailey the whole day. We spoke with many people if they had seen a lost dog. No luck.
We dared to cross the Shindagah tunnel, the only tunnel under the Dubai creek, in its tiny pedestrian pathway that was rarely in use. But, despite our bravery inside the tunnel, there was no sign of Hailey. Dejected and tired, we returned home when Uncle picked us up in his car in the evening.
Fortunately, Hailey was found a few days later, thanks to a lead from the newspaper advertisement. Aunty was happy again after being reunited with her beloved Hailey. She was in seventh heaven.
Youthful adventures
With trust established between his parents and me, Rohit could get permission to go anywhere if I, Denzy, was accompanying him. I often ended up with Rohit so he could hang out with his friends. He was a natural leader among his friends, fearless in his ways. I often had to step in to stop Rohit from getting into mischief. We were often stopped by Dubai police but managed to evade trouble. Socialising with Rohit’s friends, I became friends with his friends from his co-ed school. I was a regular at their teenage disco parties.
When Sharjah city hosted an expo, Rohit and I found part-time work there. It was good fun, hanging out at the expo till late evenings and making some extra money.
Arjan, Rohit’s dad, brought a Nissan GTR sports car from his work and parked it in their garage. Nissan GTR was the ultimate sports car that every boy lusted. While Uncle was having his afternoon nap, Rohit, the fearless lad, was up to his mischief. Nobody could stop Rohit when he set his mind on an adventure. He snatched the car key from his dad’s briefcase. We both got into the Nissan. I sat in the passenger seat while he drove all over the back streets in Sharjah, racing the sports car to its speed limit. Rohit was underage and had no license.
A few years later, Rohit repeated his driving adventures racing on the Dubai-Sharjah freeway and competing with Arabs. He would egg Emiratis on their gas guzzlers to race with him. His car was a tiny Honda Civic with a 1300cc engine, while his rivals had three or four times that horsepower. A Honda Civic had never seen such pressure put on its pedals when Rohit took on his rivals. I held my seat belt tight while pleading with Rohit to slow down. He was a master on the wheels and knew how to manoeuvre a car at his will. His competitors met their match on the road with Rohit. It was the ‘Fast and Furious’ of the 1980s. Real-time.
Design Influences
Back to Rohit’s loving parents, Influenced by Aunty’s love of interior design, I wanted to ape her style. I wanted to buy a good carpet. Aunty encouraged me to buy a handwoven Persian rug. I spent a bit over $1000 to buy one. Although it cost me my one month’s pay then, it was a good investment. It has withstood its time and grown in value. When department stores in Dubai had annual sales, Aunty selected her bargains from them. When sales were on, she picked me up after work from the bank where I worked in her car, an American Dodge. At the sales, she took the time to explain to me the finer points of selecting quality household goods and linen, a habit that has stayed with me ever since.
Around the same time, I was building a new house in Sri Lanka. Aunty's influence inspired many of that house's room layouts and decor. Not to stray from this story, I built my first home in my early twenties. My father and kid brother supervised the construction. But that is a separate story.
Back to the Ralli story, there are many things Rohit and I dared to do in my crazy early twenties. I would rather not describe them here should I shock my readers. It was fun hanging out with Rohit in my carefree days.
Early 80’s and beyond
A few years later, Rohit left for Louisiana to study for his degree and around the same time, I married my girlfriend and settled down in Dubai for family life. Shortly afterwards, Rani and Arjan Ralli relocated to New Delhi in retirement.
Uncle Ralli was the same age as my father, born in the same year.
When my father passed away some twenty-five years later, he was the first to call me from New Delhi. It was so great to hear Uncle’s soothing voice at my distressing hour.
Where are my characters today?
Rohit lives with his wife in Sydney, and we frequently keep in touch. Our friendship is now 44 years and will last a lifetime. Rohit and his wife, Shumita, relocated to Sydney six years after I migrated to Sydney, Australia. I spend weekends in their spiralling bungalow in Sydney. Evenings are spent with a bottle of wine or two, a classic Indian meal, remembering the adventures, daredevil actions and yarns from our carefree days in Sharjah, listening to music from the eighties on his mega music system and watching a Hindi movie on some nights. There is a permanent room in his house for me, marked Denzil’s bedroom in Rohit’s and Shumita’s house. Like Rohit’s mum and dad, he treats me with love and kindness, his elder brother from another mother. He gets up early the next day to make me a hearty warm breakfast, just like his mother did back in the day. Rohit and I have had very different trajectories in our lives since. But it has lasted a long friendship on two continents. But we are joined at the hip as deep buddies, bonded by our youthful experiences when we had no fear. I can still occasionally call Rohit “Baba”, a term that is dear to him and me. I am blessed that he lives not far from me in Sydney.
Rohit’s elder sister, Shibani, who captivated me, now lives in Florida. Rohit’s beloved parents, my Uncle and Aunty, both have passed away. I was fortunate to meet them in Sydney during their frequent visits. I kept in touch with them regularly throughout their lives. I deeply regret not visiting them in New Delhi when they were feeble in their last days. I am indebted to Rani and Arjan Ralli for adopting me as one of their own in my tender youthful days. They were my role models. They had my back.
The Ralli influence in my life stays with me today — Rani Ralli’s home design skills. I took a lot of design cues from her early influences as a youngster. The Persian carpet she helped me to buy is now a family handloom. It is held by one of my children as a tribute to their father’s heritage and his early influences in life in Sharjah from a doting family who held him close.
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