Only One Life — Live It (A Biography Chapter 01)
Prague 1960: Birth and Life in a Communist Dictatorship.
Eleven o’clock 23rd of May 1960 a loud and healthy scream is heard in one of the many rooms in the Motol hospital in Prague. A yellow hairy baby is born.
The baby had to have her mother’s blood sucked out of her and pumped full of some stranger’s blood. She was what is called a Rhesus monkey, no, sorry, a Rhesus‑positive baby, whereas her mother’s blood was Rhesus‑negative; that’s why the baby was yellow all over.
So, the baby had to stay in hospital while it’s mother returned home to her much older brother Marek and sister Katerina. That baby was me…so while I am in hospital having a blood transfusion let me introduce you to my family. We all lived in Prague in Czechoslovakia. A Central European (and not Eastern European) country bordering on Austria, Germany, Poland and unfortunately, on the Soviet Union (now Russia) as well. A small, but beautiful country, with one of the loveliest cities as its capital. My mother was of Russian origin; both her parents emigrated from Russia during the time of the Revolution. My mother, however, was born in Prague and has never even visited Russia. But she attended a Russian school and was brought up in the Russian Orthodox religion. Both my sister and brother were taught to speak Russian by my Russian grandfather. Alas, he had died before I was born, and thus I lack that particular education.
My Grandmother was, however, still alive and some of the language and Russian peculiarities were passed on to me from her; but more about that later. My father’s side was more mixed and proved to have more influence later in my life. My father was also born in Prague and brought up in the Roman Catholic faith. Therefore, when my parents married, they underwent three marriage ceremonies. One, and the only one recognized by the state, was the civil marriage; one in a Russian Orthodox Church, and one in a Catholic church. This dual religious descent also provided for rich and interesting celebrations of various festivities. I think my parents chose the best of the two worlds. We observed Czech Christmas and Russian Orthodox Easter.
We children learned about both religions but basically my brother was Russian Orthodox whereas we girls, my sister and I were baptized as Catholics. This arrangement was the result of a gentleman’s agreement between my father and his Russian father‑in‑law: all males would be Russian Orthodox; all females could be christened as Roman Catholics. This particular kind of religious “tolerance” was characterized also by my parents’ wedding: when my mother’s Russian orthodox family and friends (including the priest) found out about the religion of her future husband, they heaved a sigh of relief exclaiming: “Well, better a Catholic than a Jew or an atheist!” Little knowing the path their granddaughter would take — a path leading me back to my father’s roots!
In addition to this religious mixture, my father, a professor of South Indian languages and literature enriched our lives with Indian culture and religions.
My brother was eight years my senior and throughout my early age I looked up to him with great respect. He was my hero, and I was prone, like so many other kids, to enter into competition about whose brother was better. My brother is bigger than yours, more clever, older, wiser, stronger, and so on. I also loved many of his friends and whenever they would come round, I would want to be there as well. My poor brother had on occasions, to put up with his small sister claiming the attention of his friends. My sister was 7 years older than me and by then already seriously involved with her ballet dancing. She would spend much of her time practicing at home and have no time to play with me. We also had to share a room; which probably put some strain on our early relationship.
So, my brother Marek was 8 and my sister, Katerina, 7, when I entered their lives, quite unexpectedly ‑ well, at least not planned. At first my sister was enchanted with her new toy, but as the toy demanded more and more attention the enchantment wore off. My sister keeps telling me that I was a very ugly baby, because I had black hair everywhere apart on my head, so that, apparently, I looked like an ape. I have not seen any evidence of this on the family photographs.
As I mentioned before, the girls were to be brought up in the Catholic tradition, so I was to be christened. Even though I do not remember much of this moment I am told that it was a very special occasion as my baptism was used as a protest against the governmental policy on religion. The priest was a friend of my father and had asked him whether he would mind if my baptism could be public, to show that the church still exists and will go on having influence regardless of state policy. This was a dangerous undertaking; it could have led to the imprisonment of either or both the priest and my father. But in the end, I had a grand christening in one of the most important and famous Prague shrines, the Gothic church of the Holy Virgin (The Tyn Church) near the Old Town Square. The parish priest ‑ my father’s friend ‑ arranged for a solemn and beautiful ceremony, including a red carpet rolled out in front of the church. I was told that there happened to be present a group of East German tourists who watched the whole ceremony (complete with organ music, flowers and many guests of all denominations and persuasions) with great interest and even greater astonishment.
To make sure that I wouldn’t cry on this occasion my main godmother (I have three) tickled me on my bum all through the service.
We lived in a flat in Prague, it was a two-bedroom flat for a family of 6. In this flat lived my maternal grandmother, parents and we three children. My maternal grandmother, grandma Natasha, lived in a curtained-off part of the kitchen. My parents slept in the living-room/fathers study, my brother lived in the dining room, and Katernina and I occupied another room that had no other function. We also had a fairly large hall‑way with a piano in it. My father would often play in the evening, and I would slowly fall asleep to him playing pieces that varied from lullabies to Mozart’s sonatas. I adored it when he played. We also had a bathroom with a real bath in it. Naturally, in a small space like that with a fairly large family a few arguments and disagreements would break out. Many were caused by grandma Natasha’s ideals and philosophies; When my father visited the Oriental Institute in Moscow (as part of his scholarly duties), one of his colleagues presented him with a small statue made of black metal, of the devil. My father placed it upon a cupboard, not to be too offensively visible, and yet hesitating to throw it away out of respect for the donor. The little statue of the poor devil was somewhat obscene in its nudity and leering expression. In amazement and with a mixture of incredulity and superstitious awe we noticed mysterious displacement of the statuette: the devil seemed to dislike our company for every day he turned away regularly to face the wall. After intensive interrogation (especially of the children) it was discovered that the culprit was my deeply religious grandma Natasha who was offended in her sensitivities by the devil’s presence. Similarly, a series of drawings, representing female and male nudes, by Rodin (unfortunately only reproductions!), were regularly removed from the wall to the great consternation of my father.
But my grandma Natasha had the right attitude to life and that’s probably why throughout all the difficulties that came her way she lived to a ripe old age. For example, when she would be enjoying her meal, whatever happened, she would not budge, but just say ‘ya kushayu’ “I am eating”.
Czech life is full of traditions that make a deep impression on many children. We celebrate both St. Nicholas on the 5th‑6th of December, and Christmas, also called infant Jesus (Ježišek) starting on the eve of the 24th and continuing until the feast of the Three Kings on the 6th of January. But the most important of those days is the eve of the 24th of December. In our family, it was the tradition for the children, especially the youngest, not to see the Christmas tree until it was all ready.
The child was led to believe that in the evening, Infant Jesus would come and bring the tree, all decorated, and all the presents that were put under the tree. Then he would ring a little bell to indicate that everything was finished and he was gone, and we could enter. Meanwhile the children would get dressed and generally prepared for the festive evening. It was of course impossible to stay calm, and I am sure that parents and grandmothers had great difficulties in getting us washed and prettily dressed. Then the bell would ring three times, we would open the door to the room where the tree and presents were set out, this in our family was usually mine and Kateřinas room. Slowly, in awe, we would enter the room, and there in all its glory, alight with real candles and sparklers, would stand the majestic Christmas tree, with a golden star on top. The beautiful fragrance of the Christmas tree mixed with the smell of burning sparklers and candles would engulf us. The window through which the Jesus‑child came and went was still open. The colourfully wrapped presents would be prominent under the sparkling tree. Before opening the presents we would eat our festive Christmas dinner. In the Czech tradition we eat only fish on Christmas Eve as it is in fact still a fasting day. We also in general eat carp, and before Christmas all around Prague and all through Czechoslovakia, one can see vendors on the street selling fresh carp, so fresh that they are swimming in deep barrels and tubs full of water. One can go and choose the fish and then decide whether to take it home alive and kill it on the day itself or have it killed there on the spot.
After dinner we would retire to the room with the Christmas tree and have our Christmas cookies, which one starts to bake on St. Nicholas day. The record with the Czech Christmas Mass would be put on to play, and the youngest child would go and sit under the Christmas tree and distribute, slowly, one by one the presents.
After we opened all the presents it would be nearly midnight and warmly wrapped, we would set out to go to the midnight mass. We would go into the crisp night air, the white snowflakes slowly finding their way to the quiet streets of Prague. The church would be all alight, and the bells would be ringing with great joy. People would greet and gather round each other, extolling about their Christmas Eve celebrations, about how good their carp was, the children talked about their presents, and the size of the Christmas tree. The mass would be a joyful one, with usually the Czech Christmas Mass by Jan Jakub Ryba being sung. Incredible as it may seem, children from all differing religions joined in these celebrations.
St Nicholas, celebrated on the evening of the 5th of December, was also an exciting feast, although much less important. In our tradition, St. Nicholas visits each house, accompanied by the devil and an angel. This differs much from countries like Holland where ‘Santa Klaas’ is accompanied by Black Peters, (but that for later chapters). The devil is there to punish bad children or grown‑ups. Direct punishment was a gentle beating with tree twigs. The angel is there to praise the children. When St. Nicholas visits a home, he doesn’t give any presents, just advice and maybe sweets. St. Nicholas, devils, and angels are usually acted out by the family’s friends and neighbours.
Just before going to bed the children hang the biggest and stretchiest sock they have on the window. This will be filled with sweets, fruit and small presents, or rotten potatoes and coal, depending on your behaviour throughout the year. I remember my much older brother once, more as a joke that punishment, getting a piece of coal among his presents in the sock. Although he knew it was my parents who put it there, and he knew it was a joke, he was still upset and offended by it. “I wasn’t naughty” he repeated angrily. I cannot remember ever getting rotten potatoes or coal although I am sure I deserved them on many occasions. This tradition dies off as the children get older and the last Czech St. Nicholas was celebrated in our family when I was about 12. By that time, we were in Holland, I was the only one living still at home, and somehow we adopted more the Dutch traditions as that was the way my friends celebrated this, the most important, feast for young Dutch.
I will, however, never forget the one evening when the doorbell rang, in our flat in Czechoslovakia, and when it was opened, there on the doorstep, stood the most magnificently dressed St. Nicholas with his angel and devil. Tall, handsome, with a deep voice and glowing, glaring eyes. To my amazement and amusement, I learned (much later, of course) that the man in St. Nichola’s disguise was “Comrade” Z. K., instructor of Marxism‑Leninism at the military academy in Prague, an officer in the Czechoslovak army and a long‑time member of the Communist Party! Not allowed to believe or celebrate any religious festivals.
In general my early childhood was happy and carefree, I was too young to be forced to go the Communist celebrations like my sister and brother were. I was unaware about the stress and pressure my father was under to spy for the Communist regime when he went to India on working trips (he was even put in jail to put pressure on him). I was unaware that my mother was not allowed to become a doctor because of her grandfather’s connection to the USA amongst other things. The only thing that I was made aware of — was never to speak outside to anyone about things that were said at home. This was quite a heavy burden to carry as a young 4 to 5 year old.
The early and happy childhood years were interrupted by a journey to America on which my mother and I accompanied my father for his one year Sabbatical at the University of Chicago. My sister and brother had to stay behind as “hostages” of the state, making sure my parents would return. This was the start of my adventurous life, the start of a life that would enrich my knowledge of different peoples, languages, and cultures. That would give me an insatiable taste for travelling and a wish to see most of the world. However, it was also the beginning of a life in which I would yearn for a constant home in one country, stability, continuity, and my extended family.
