MY mother was a staunch, practising Hindu. I would never have remained mentally comfortable if I didn’t give my only child a Hindu name. It would have meant permanently disrespecting my mother. Diwali, like Phagwah, has riveting memories for me.

Whenever I think of Diwali, there are memories of my time with the PPP as a 17-year-old youth and my African friend, Ronald Gordan.  He died last year as a Muslim priest attached to the Ahmadiyya mosque at Brickdam and Winter Place opposite the NIS. The mosque held a three-night service for him, and I gave a three-night eulogy which incorporated our Hindu days together.

Ronald could have become the only African Guyanese to be ordained a Hindu priest. He was very close to it. He knew the ancient Hindu texts like any Hindu pandit. He knew the contents of all Hindu ceremonies. We lived at an ashram on Craig Street, Campbellville. He stayed there because he was imbued with Hindu dharma. I lived at the ashram because it was a source of food that I couldn’t get at home in Wortmanville in South Georgetown.

I have indelible memories of Diwali in my teenage years. Ronald and I never missed the Diwali fairs. These were times when life was idyllic in Guyana. Each year, at the Diwali ground, I would man the Guyana-East German book booth where we offered magazines on East Germany for sale. Two PPP executives were in charge of the booth. They were Members of Parliament, Maccie Hamid and EMG Wilson.

One Diwali fair has left a certain memory in me. It was at Gandhi Youth Cricket Ground. Cheddi Jagan’s daughter, Nadira, was at the fair with her boyfriend, the son of famous private high school owner, Kenneth Persaud, whose school, Kitty Progressive College, was situated at Lamaha and Middleton Streets.

People had surrounded her, wanting to talk to her. Boyo Ramsaroop, Chairman of the Guyana-GDR Friendship Society, went up to Nadira and introduced me and Ronald. She didn’t even look in our direction.

All of us were young, wild people at the time, so though I remember the incident after more than 55 years, I don’t think I will ever hold that against Ms. Jagan. That was the only time I ever saw Nadira Jagan. The ambience of those fairs is gone. Even if Diwali fairs come back, they will never have the social and cultural landscape of those festivities of the late 1960s and early 1970s.

Another Diwali memory has become permanent. We went up to the fair at Zeeburg on the West Coast. Of course, I manned the magazine booth. In those days, the attendants bought magazines out of support for the PPP and the sales were far from slow. We shared a booth with GAWU.

At closing time, I couldn’t find the cash. Normally, you put it in a small carton when people paid.

Up to this day, I do not know if a Diwali reveller stole the money or someone who was in the GAWU booth. Maccie Hamid was not kind. I don’t blame him. Why would he not think it was me, plus he didn’t get along with Ronald who as a PPP youth, always talked back to PPP leaders.

So, Maccie had his suspicion of me and Ronald. It was from Ronald I picked up some of my confrontational propensities, though I think that came with the genetics of the Kissoon family tree. Life is extremely unpredictable. As Ronald and I grew in our 20s, he became the quiet, diplomatic one and my confrontational style increased. We became opposites as we grew older. EMG Wilson, Cheddi Jagan’s favourite, came to my rescue. EMG protégéd me and liked me like a son. He knew that though I was a starving urban youth, I wouldn’t steal the money. He argued with Maccie who was threatening to tell Dr Jagan the next day that we stole the money. EMG let Maccie have it and in a fit of anger, told Maccie he, EMG, would pay back the money.

I don’t know what became of the issue. Maccie did not tell Dr Jagan, and I don’t know if EMG paid back what was missing. The Zeeburg fair was my last Diwali fling. I was in my early 20s, and other political interests were beckoning like Brindley Benn. Three of course were always close, Ronald and Leyland DeCambra.  We liked Brindley extremist lefty-wing politics and gravitated to him. But I liked Brindley’s company for another reason. Brindley had a pastry shop at the southern end of Commerce Street and the shop became a source of food for me. Memories of Diwali will always overflow in my memory bank.

DISCLAIMER: The views and opinions expressed in this column are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the Guyana National Newspapers Limited.