Oh Pune!

 “Isn’t Pune more like a big village than a city?” observed my friend Sachin Sashital while having lunch at Samrat Restaurant where they accepted coupons from our company for payment.  We had quit  our previous jobs, many of us from public sectors and had landed into a multinational company in Pune with over 300% raise in our salaries. It was mid 1990s, the time of economic liberalization when India was transitioning  from the end of Nehru-vian era to the beginning of Manmohan era.

Interestingly, this was paralleled by a feeling of liberation from the lifelessness of Bangalore after being catapulted from suffocation in our professional and family lives. The spirit felt  much like how Waheeda Rehman must have felt in the song from Guide:

 

kaanton se kheench ke yeh aanchal  
tod ke bandhan baandhe payal
koyi na roko dil ki udaan ko
dil woh chala aa..
aaj phir jeene ki tamanna hai

My attempt to paraphrase:

From tiresome bonds I tore apart
Unshackling, I set afloat my heart
Lo and behold, there it flies
Above up in the skies
Let no one stop, may it soar
For I want to live like never before

 

Pune – a big village?

Sachin was right. Pune used to be indeed like a big village in the 90s. Barring  neighbourhoods like Camp, Koragaon Park and MG Road much of the city was inhabited by topi clad paan chewing  Punekars. One only had to go vegetable shopping on Sunday mornings to Mandai market in Shaniwar Peth to get a feel of rustic Pune.  Fresh produce from nearby villages converged at the stalls before making their way into the homes of the lucky Punekars. 

In the old quarters of Pune where  we lived, processions of local gods had right of way over traffic on already congested roads;  and even the local gods  had to wait for buffalo herd crossings, whose rights had to be respected as Punekars insist that the milk be thick and fresh for their chai, basundi and phedhas. (The fat in cow’s milk isn’t fat enough, fyi.  In the 1980s when Chitale dairy reduced the fat  to 9% from 10% the entire city went on a strike which forced the Chitales to rescind.)

Not all Kobras are Punekars, not all Punerkars are Kobras

Much has been said about the “audacious attitude” of Punekars. Before we dig deeper it is important to understand  that the jokes we hear about Punekars are inspired by the behavior of  "Kobras" (bramhins from Konkan region).  They are also known as Chitpavan bramhins distinguishable by their  fair (phoren) complexion and cat eyes. In manners they project an air of superiority and are remarkable for their extreme frugality and bluntness.  A first impression of them will make an outsider feel like an outsider in their midst. We were outsiders and we lived in their midst for three years. 

Yet I glow when I look back at our Pune days,  because there is more to Kobras than their intimidating  selves  and there is more to Punekars than the Kobras.

Our neighbours

We lived at a rental on a cul-de-sac off  Karve Road very close to Alurkar Muisc House (alas, it no longer exists). We were the only non-Marathis among the mostly Kobra community around. I remember our first day as we unlocked the door and walked into our unit in the 3rd floor of a 1950s building, after a twenty hour train journey. We did not know anyone in our chawl. 

However within minutes we heard a knock on the door and there stood a young man holding a large pot  of water. “My mother asked me to give this. You should know that we get drinking water in the tap only in the morning,” he said and left. After about half an hour he came back again, this time  with a flask of tea.  “My mother wants the pot and the flask before tomorrow,” he said curtly and left.  That was our first encounter with our Kobra neighbours – the family of Sohonis.  There was no welcoming bouquet nor warmth in their words. Instead they had  welcomed us with their actions.

There was a small Ganapathy temple on our street that was looked after by our chawl and Tuesday 7 PM  was  arathi time. Families would congregate for about 10-15 minutes and chant “sukha karta dukha harta” clapping their hands while one of them took turns to do arathi.  

Our community chairman Shri Kochak  was the eldest and perhaps the fittest too. He was a picture of old world orthodoxy with his Gandhi cap, an imposing sandalwood tilak, and walking stick that also served as laathi. Kids in our complex would run away and take shelter upon seeing him. 

On our first Tuesday he invited us to the arathi and  told us in no uncertain terms that attendance is compulsory, otherwise Ganapatahy would be angry.  We weren’t sure about Ganapathy but we didn’t want to anger Shri Kochak and so we took part in the ceremony, and eventually fell in love with the ritual  of community coming together under the spell of Ganapathy bappa. On our first Tuesday while distributing the prasaad (pheda) Kochak  said, “Galagali, I will let you know when would be your turn to get phedas”.  

Within a few weeks I had learnt to sing the Ganapathi anthem by heart. I did not then realize that I had gotten a  lifelong  visa that would enable me to fit in with  Marathi communities elsewhere.

Malathi Bai

Unlike the difficult maid servants of Bangalore, the baayee-s of  Pune were more dependable. Remarkable among the lot was the elderly Malathi Bai.  Quintessentially Puneri in  her 9 yard saree and thick round kumkum, she was gracious, extraordinarily fair in complexion and reminded one of Hindi screen-mother Durga Khote.  She quickly developed  good chemistry with my wife and spoke with her only in Marathi, and my wife would communicate back in a mix of Kannada, broken Hindi and sign language.  She would say, “your wife is like my daughter” to which I would quip, “that makes you my mother-in-law, wouldn’t  it?” My wife picked up a good deal of Marathi, thanks to Malathi Bai.

Twin sister?

It was Diwali time. My family was already in Bangalore and I was to join them soon. That morning while I was packing for my trip I was surprised to hear Malathi Bai still in the kitchen not cleaning but cooking; surprised because cooking wasn’t a part of her job description.  A few minutes later she had readied my lunch box and said, “railway food is bad, take this for your journey. ”  Even as I started looking for my wallet to give her a tip, she was gone.  A few hours later in the afternoon as I savored  her delicious  chapattis and aloo bhaji in Udyan express, I felt I  was the most fortunate  person in the whole compartment. 

Puneri  aam admi

It was only our first week in Pune. As we got flowers from a street vendor near Sambhaji Park the vendor realized she did not have sufficient change. She gave me back the Rs 50 note and I reluctantly proceeded to return the flowers. She refused and told us to keep them. “You can pay me tomorrow,” she said.  As I hesitated, surprised at her readily trusting someone whom she had never seen before, she replied “It is fine, I know you will not run away” and gently touching  the chin of our 3 year son she asked  “I am sure  this बाळ  will want to come back to the park again tomorrow”

Auto-rikshaw walas

Auto-rikshaw drivers tendered exact change and  would  let you know in advance if it is necessary to take a longer route due to bad road conditions. In which other city have you seen them assemble near chowks, hoist flags and sing   jana-gana-mana in the middle of Aug 14-15 nights?  

This is  Dhyaneshwar Digambar Medekar whom I chanced upon in 2015. He has been driving auto-rikshaw for 47  years  and is proud of his English speaking skills. I recorded bits of our conversation which concludes with some advice for me!

  Click here to listen

Rendezvous with Gopal Godse

Yes, Gopal Godse,  brother of Mahatma Gandhi’s assassin and a fellow conspirator used to live in Pune. My b-i-l,  is a hard core RSS sympathizer and  meeting Gopal Godse was his life time ambition. In the pretext of seeing us he came all the way from Coimbatore to Pune.  He assumed that I was well connected in Pune and would be able to facilitate a meeting with his idol. 

Lo and behold ,  I did manage to find a connection at work who was related to Gopal Godse, a Chitpavan bramhin. On the appointed day and at the appointed hour I drove my b-i-l on my Hero Honda in neighborhood of  Mehendale Garage. His home wasn’t difficult to find as everybody around seem to know his place.  

The door was opened by a servant who walked us into the hall. As we waited for him we looked around at the portraits and calendars of  his Spartan home.  There was a group picture of all the conspirators that was beginning to arrest my attention when a hale and healthy septuagenarian walked in looking at us questioningly.  Oddly enough I did not think much about him and with my mind pre-occupied with matters related to relocation to US, I did not process the fact that I was in presence of someone whose  brother was  Gandhi’s killer. After mentioning my colleague’s name his manner seemed to ease. I did the introductions but  was in a rush  to leave as I had to get back to work.  I can’t say I regret not having stayed back. 

I was in and out in two minutes  but my b-i-l  had a most agreeable time with Godse. Later in the evening he gave us an animated account of the two  hour meeting he had had with his idol keeping us awake until midnight.  

 

K L Saigal punyatithi

 

On a week day morning in “Today’s Engagements” section of  Times of India’s Pune Plus edition, I saw an interesting  event commemorating K L Saigal’s death anniversary. After coming back from work we quickly rushed to the venue which was in one of the alleys of old quarters of Pune. I climbed the stairs with increasing  curiosity wondering about the connection between Saigal’s memory and this old  building. 

Expecting to find a dozen or so balding heads reminiscing about good old days over vada-pav and chai,  I was surprised to find a large group of youth with a few senior citizens squatted silently on the floor. Their attention was on two men who were seated over a pedestal on either side of a turn-table gramophone. One was the master of ceremony (MC) and I was to learn that the other in his advanced years was an invited guest from Bollywood who had worked with Saigal.  It was a listening session of Saigal’s rare collections interspersed by comments by the Bollywood guest. He would say a few words about the song and more interestingly, an anecdote about his personal interaction with swargiya Kundal Lal Saigal. 

It is pity I cannot recall what songs were played on the turntable and what stories about Saigal were told, but I do remember being enthralled in the moment. 

After a few minutes, our son, three years old then (the only kid in the hall!) started becoming restless. We tried to quieten him with a shh.. but to no avail. He started beating my chest with his little fists suggesting that he had had enough.  The  Saigal fans too had had enough of us and they didn't  disguise their displeasure as they shot cold glances at us.  The MC on the chair asked us  to leave the hall immediately. We walked out respectfully, taking no offence.

Vitthala temple – the devotion that bonds

During our recent trip to Pune we encountered a curious group of pilgrims clad in whites at the Vitthala temple near Lakshmi Road. They were on their way to join the vari to Pandharpur and were devotedly chanting abhangs.  Sitting next to them I realized these were the very songs we sing at our monthly satsang with Paramesh and Priya-behen. Without my knowledge I started lending chorus to the group. They were thrilled to have me too  in their midst! I was moved by their devotion and also envied their ability to be with one another taking time off from the demands of their gruhastashram.

Food scene: 

 

The Mithaiwale of  Chitale Bandhu

We lived barely a kilometer away from Deccan Gymkhana – the home of  Pune’s food Gods.

Chitalale’s bhakar vada is world famous, however their basundi is known only to locals as it has to be eaten the same day. We had to carry our own container and there was always a long queue. No crowd in front of the basundi outlet meant you would be greeted with the board “basundi sampli” (basundi out of stock).  

Asha Dining Hall, Janseva, Sarvodaya were some of the historic  boarding halls that have existed since independence days where delicious Maratha style food is (still?) served. Waiters were brusque but service was always quick.  Some of the restaurants charged severe penalties  if they saw food being wasted. Janaseva used to open all days in the week but closed on Aug 15 and Jan 26.

Thinking about Amruthatulya’s tea, “my heart with pleasure fills” just like poet William Wordsworth’s  heart “dances with daffodils”. 

These tea stalls are owned and operated by UP bhaiyyas and have been charming students, office goers, auto-walas, dabba-walas, dukan-walas, IT-walas who stop by these joints to rejuvenate themselves with the elixir.    

And  for those unfamiliar with the drink, legend has it that Lord Krishna served Amruthatulya to the Pandavas on all eighteen days of the Mahabharatha war.

Friends and family:

New town, new job, new friendships! I shall spare the details as I don’t want this piece to get too personal. Suffice to say that many of our new friends then are old friends now. They made us feel Pune our new home,  and my grandfather's home in nearby Bijapur kept me buoyed from my roots.

So what is it about Pune?

My ISRO friend Prabhu asked me the other day if I would see myself settling down in India. I told him the only place I ever imagine going back to is Pune.  

Why this Romance for Pune? Why not Bangalore, Tirupati or Timbuktu? 

I do not have a logical explanation.  All I know is, as soon as I step out of Lohegaon Airport and breathe the air, I feel like a tuning fork that has found its resonance.