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A friend called Vanda

4-MIN READ4-MIN
SCMP Reporter

VANDA Scott can't remember the name of her Indian ayah. This puzzles her, because her memories of that time in the house outside Calcutta remain vivid.

''I can still picture my ayah, but then how could I possibly forget? ''To me, she was my mother. She fed me, dressed me, went with me to the hospital when I became ill. Till I was five, I spoke mostly Tamil, hardly any English.'' She was like Mary in Frances Hodgson Burnett's The Secret Garden: a troubled little girl with very social parents who left the business of child-rearing to the servants.

Only this wasn't the British Raj and there was no catastrophic earthquake. Instead Vanda Scott's airline pilot father moved his family to Karachi, then back to Britain where his daughter later took a degree at the London School of Economics.

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''I became a librarian, but would have preferred to major in psychology and social work. Unfortunately, it was too late to switch because I was half-way through my course,'' she recalls.

It didn't stop her from helping out in soup kitchens for the down-and-outers. Or blind her to the misery she encountered on those West London streets.

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''I definitely became aware of youth loneliness during my student days. You saw it in kids from both privileged and deprived backgrounds.

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