The Hindu Business Line : Economic gloom settles on the Patils

Balchandra Patil is 85 years old. Draupadi, his wife, is 83. Their 40-year-old son, Nachiket is a US citizen and works as a merchant banker in New York. The Patils stay alone in an apartment in Dahisar and are the best friends of my daughter and two grand-daughters, Shreya and Chiyu.

At any time of the day or night, one can find the two grand daughters at the home of the Patils to run the place down. They do what makes them happy including scribbling graffiti on the white walls, leaving Dakhi, my daughter, a little guilty. One is now familiar with the Patils.

Balchandra Patil was born in Parel and his old chawl was pulled down recently to accommodate a 22-storey housing society. He started as a typist after passing Class 10 in a private company textile with offices in Dadar and then went up the ranks to retire as some office manager while Draupadi managed the home.

By the conventional measure of today’s world, they will qualify as anonymous humans who never aspired to be go-getters using electronic and gossip networks. The first time one entered their home, one was surprised by the absence of gods and goddesses on the walls or in the kitchen. One kept to oneself the observation. That day Draupadi served one a glass of home-made kokum which she had purchased from her regular vendor based in Panvel.

We got into speaking in Hindi and then switched over to English. “My parents were Communists while Draupadi’s were Lohia (Ram Manohar) Socialists. Though they were not card holders, they knew most, if not all the big names in the Communist movement in Maharashtra. Comrades from Kerala, Bihar and Bengal used to knock the doors at odd hours and my parents did not object.

“One was in school and sometimes sat in the long talk sessions over cups of tea and bidis without understanding anything. My parents did not bother me as one migrated from class to class and took a job as a typist after passing Class 10. My uncle was a Congressman (not of the Manmohan genre) but that did not matter. Those days the Communists and Congressmen were friends at the personal level, while the Comrades threatened class war publicly. They could not think of cheating anyone like the affectionate Ahilyabhai Rangnekar. Just talk, it has all proved to be,” Balchandra Patil told this writer.

After marriage, they settled in Parel and Draupadi taught free the poor children of the textile mill workers in the area. One can always spot Balchandra Patil at home in a coloured pyjama and a T-shirt while Draupadi prefers cottons. Shreya enjoys the company of Draupadi and her fairy tales. When she gets bored of story telling, Shreya gets Balchandra Patil to switch on the TV to see Pogo or colours the walls.

Newspapers are compulsory for the couple in the mornings and they are in the know of events happening around them. Shamlal in the Times of India and Govind Talwalkar in the Maharashtra Times in the 70s and 80s continue to be the pet columnists of the Patils.

Sleep is short and when books tire, they listen to tapes on an old cassette recorder. Meera bhajans of MS, Ustad Amir Khan, abhangs of Sant Tukkaram by Bhimsen Joshi, they listen to again and again. “If I do not want to die, it is because I will never be able to listen to such music in Heaven or Hell,” Draupadi told us as she switched on a Aamir Khan tape.

A few days ahead of Deepavali, one visited them in the late afternoon when their son called from New York to say that his India trip stood cancelled as the US economy was uncertain. “He wants to hold his job and not take any risk. So, we will not see our son this year,” informed Balchandra to his wife. They do not have a computer or a mobile. The son calls up on the MTNL landline.

“One was expecting this. The papers are full of monetary packages and now the Finance Minister P. Chidambaram is also scripting a strategy to convert public money into private pelf. When the economy is on the up the rich benefit, when it is down they again benefit. I do not think it will be possible to soft edge private initiative with a social conscience. The saint will never share the table with a non-saint nor gods break wada pav with humans,” chuckled the 85-year-old while one sipped tea. The couple chew over snatches of the strenuous debates at their homes long.

In the 50s and 60s, newspapers (unlike today) discussed the Soviet economic planning system and matched it with the US way of private initiative. Mostly it was a Nehru-Rajaji of the Swatantra Party face off with the Communists being the staple in Kerala and West Bengal. Dear reader, you may wonder whether anything has changed. Their parents read a lot and the habit is being kept by the couple. They rarely step out. When they fall ill, my daughter takes them to an equally aged doctor in Dahisar who perhaps has not heard of cephalosporins and antibiotics.

The Patils are diabetic and a nurse comes daily to inject insulin. One went to wish them a happy Deepavali when my grand-daughters took over giving us little time to chat. In recent days, bhaiyas of north India fill up newspaper columns and the Patils are concerned as some of their best friends (now dead) were from north India. “For too long, life has held still for the bhaiyas of north India. I am not saying in our times, Bombay saw Ramraj. No. But then the city had only Mumbaikars – you, me and everybody. They were alone and together. There was nothing called Marathi manoos, who presently stands self-defined,” Patil said in a low undertone.

He was low and Draupadi did not bother to console him. The Patils remind me of the aged Communist relative of Kurup one met in Pandalam in Kerala and many others when this writer was young in Bombay. The poet Ezra Pound has said: “When I carefully consider the curious habit of dogs/I am compelled to conclude/That man is the superior animal./ When I consider the curious habit of man/I confess, my friend, I am puzzled.” Patils are also puzzled.

P. Devarajan

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