In August
1972, André received a diplomatic posting from CIDA to Saigon, the then-capital
of Vietnam. The country was still engulfed in conflict, and Canada, as a matter
of policy, avoided sending diplomatic wives or families into war zones. But
André insisted gently, firmly, unwaveringly:
“I will go only if Angel and Éric can
come with me.”
The decision
changed everything.
To accompany
him as a diplomat’s wife, I had to become a Canadian citizen. Though I embraced
the new nationality, I felt a quiet sorrow at renouncing Indian citizenship—a
part of my identity, my heritage, my childhood soil. After completing the long
medical examinations required of all three of us, we stored our furniture,
rented our house, and prepared to leave.
Before flying
to Vietnam, we traveled to India—a journey that would become one of the most
meaningful homecomings of my life.
2. A Homecoming Before the Unknown: India, August 1972
Our first
night in Hyderabad, we stayed with Anasuya, my former student and lifelong
friend. She was warm, attentive, and full of hospitality. Little Éric, however,
suffered a night of mosquito bites and awoke the next morning with a face
swollen by tiny bumps.
From there we
visited my sister Mary in Vangapadu. When Éric needed his diaper changed, André
did it with such natural tenderness that the entire family looked on in wonder.
This simple gesture—a Canadian father changing his child—made everyone see,
in an instant, the goodness of the man I had chosen.
The next day
we travelled to my parents’ village, Reddipalem—the place that shaped me, the
soil that breathed my earliest memories. At the entrance of the village, a music band welcomed us and accompanied us home. The whole village was there. The
welcome was warm, curious, joyful.
3. A Ring Without Words: My Father’s Silent Blessing
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| Mother and Father |
In Reddipalem, something sacred happened.
My father
approached André without ceremony, without speeches, without a single word. He
slowly removed the ring from his own finger and placed it on André’s hand.
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| Bala's father's ring on André's finger |
That gesture carried the weight of generations—acceptance, trust, affection, and a father’s blessing given in pure silence.
André
understood immediately. He returned my father’s look with humility and deep
emotion.
A quiet bond
had been sealed between them—one that would guide and influence our lives for
decades to come.
4. Voices and Bridges: My Family Meets André
My brothers
Lourdhu Marreddy and Raja Reddy understood some English, but most conversations
flowed through my brother-in-law, Marreddy, who translated with warmth and
precision. In those early encounters, two families, two cultures, and two
worlds found common ground through kindness and genuine curiosity.
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| Mary, Bala's sister and Marreddy, her husband |
Anasuya, too, played an important role—supporting us as she had during the years when I prepared to come to Canada. She later visited us for three months, continuing a friendship that has lasted to this day.
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| Anasuya |
After a few
days in Reddipalem, André left for Saigon to find a house and begin his work. I
stayed behind with Éric, waiting five long weeks before joining him.
During that
time André wrote 35 letters, one every day—expressions of longing,
love, and the challenges of beginning life in a foreign land while waiting for
his family.
5. Journeys of Motherhood: Éric in the Village
Éric, only one
year and four months old, grew close to my father and to Showreddy, my nephew.
When he fell ill for a few days, I carried him on my shoulder and walked three
to four kilometers to consult the doctor in Wardhannapet. My brother Raja
bicycled to find herbal medicine. It was a time of vulnerability and affection,
when motherhood, family bonds, and village life intertwined intimately. During
these days, André's daily letters gave me comfort and courage. He was finding a
suitable villa for our two years stay in Vietnam.
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| Reddipalem—Showreddy and Éric |
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| Reddipalem—Éric with his Thathaya |
On October 12, 1972, Éric and I finally flew to Saigon. André was waiting for us at the airport, his face radiant with relief and joy. We were united again.
6. Life in Saigon: A House Under a Mango Tree
In Saigon,
André was responsible for CIDA programs in Vietnam, Laos, and Cambodia. He
travelled often, sometimes through dangerous regions marked by bombings and rockets.
Our home was spacious, near the airport, shaded by a mango tree that Éric adored. We had a driver named Bô, a gentle babysitter named Yan and Chiba, our cook. Life was comfortable in appearance, but the backdrop of war added an undercurrent of tension.
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| Yan (our babysitter) with Éric |
Once, a thief
entered our home while I was alone with Éric. When I confronted him as he came
downstairs holding our radio, he fled. André immediately arranged for 24-hour
security guards.
Twice, our car was stolen.
War leaves no corner untouched, even in diplomatic residences.
7. The Street Children: A Moment That Stays Forever
One day while
shopping, André carried Éric on his shoulders. A group of small children
approached us, pretending to beg. While blocking André’s view, they slipped
their hands into his pockets and took his money.
He whispered
urgently to me, “Walk fast!”
Only later did I understand what had happened.
The episode
revealed the desperation of wartime poverty — and left a lasting mark on both
of us.
8. The Buddha from Cambodia and the Friend Who Came Weekly
During a
mission to Cambodia, André brought back a beautiful Buddha statue—serene,
dignified, luminous. It remains in our living room, a reminder of
the cultures we encountered.
Our dearest friend in Saigon was Fr. Louis Robert, S.J., André’s best friend since his Jesuit noviciate who visited every week. His companionship brought warmth, laughter, and spiritual depth into our home.
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| Saigon: Louis Robert and Éric |
9. Éric’s First Words and Songs: A Child of Two Languages
Éric slept
upstairs while we listened to his movements through a small receptor. With a
babysitter nearby, he learned to speak both French and English simultaneously.
Before he even turned two, before even he could talk, could hum melodies
perfectly, without words—a sign of the musical sensitivity he had inherited
from both of us.
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| Saigon: Éric |
10. Holidays and Horizons: A Family on the Move
Between
André’s missions and our longing for family, we travelled often:
- Cambodia and Laos
- Penang, Malaysia
- Singapore
- Taipei
- Thailand
- Greece—where Marc was
conceived
These journeys
opened our world and filled our young family with memories of beaches, markets,
airplane cabins, and quiet evenings in new countries.
11. Expecting Marc: Joy, Fear, and the Road to India
During my
pregnancy, we traveled again to India. In Reddipalem, my sisters initially
thought I had simply gained weight—they were surprised and happy to learn I was
expecting a baby.
The roads to
Vangapadu were bumpy, full of deep pits. My mother held my arm tightly,
whispering, “Hold on, or you may lose the baby.”
Back in
Saigon, André continued travelling for work, even during the last months of my
pregnancy. When he returned from one trip, accompanied by Fr. Louis at the
airport, they both told me gently to take care—I looked ready to give birth.
12. June 6, 1974: The Birth of Marc—Joy After Fear
We chose the
date of the Caesarean: June 6.
Before leaving
for the hospital, fear gripped me.
I hugged Éric tightly, imagining the worst, feeling the fragility of life.
During the
surgery, André waited anxiously with Fr. Louis, who stayed the entire time,
comforting him. When I awoke, André whispered:
“We have a beautiful boy.”
It was a
moment of pure happiness—deep, tender, overwhelming.
Marc’s first
days brought joy to Éric, who kissed and sang to his newborn brother. André slept
at the hospital one night to support me, as he always did—fully present,
fully loving.
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| Éric kissing baby Marc |
13. A Gift of Diamonds: A Husband’s Poetry in Life
Upon returning
home on June 14, André gave me a letter and a gift:
two diamond earrings—one for Éric (“Pedda Babou”) and one for Marc (“Chinna
Babou”). The ring he had already given me symbolized his infinite love.
Years later,
we combined the three diamonds into a pendant shaped like a small “a”—for
André and Angel—a symbol of unity, memory, and love.
14. Memories That Do Not Fade: Joys and Shadows of War
Saigon left us
with unforgettable images:
- Éric eating mangoes from a box
- Yan, our gentle babysitter
- André calming Marc through
sleepless nights
- Children stealing in the
streets
- Stolen cars, rockets in Phnom Penh, Cambodia,
and moments of danger
- Diplomats and their spouses at
receptions
- Shopping with Malaysian friends
- A brief encounter with the wife
of the Vietnamese president
These memories
form a tapestry—vibrant, chaotic, tender, and forever vivid.
15. Toward a New Horizon: The Call to India
After two
intense years in Vietnam, André was offered a promotion to return to CIDA in
Canada. But my heart longed for India—for André to know my culture, my
people, my roots.
So, André,
with his characteristic generosity, sacrificed the promotion.
We left Saigon
and prepared for a new chapter in Delhi—carrying with us two young children,
countless memories, and a love strengthened by trials and adventure.
