Beep... Beep… 3:45a.m my alarm rang. Getting up at that hour was definitely not my idea of beginning the weekend, but after my telecon, the previous night with the attendant at ST bus depot in Borivali, I knew that if I wanted to take the first bus at five I had to get up early.The telecon with the bus depot attendant and a conversation earlier in the day with a colleague who told me about talking to a postmaster over the phone at the postoffice to get her mail has left me wondering if the service levels of our government bodies had climbed up the ladder or was it just an impact of tele-communications.
I walk out of the building, with a kind of feeling I have had when I have gone to write an exam, where I am all prepared, and I know exactly the kinds of answers I won’t be able to solve. I sort of know what is expected of this journey, a boring long bus ride, meeting my father’s men, who will have nothing but sob stories about current scenario and some praise stories on Dad. Meeting the clueless Sarpanch who will ask me to pay the house tax and apologize for not sending the receipt.
As I ride to the bustop, the roads are empty and dirty with the collected rainwater, sky is pitch dark, and it is drizzling.It is not a very encouraging atmosphere to start a journey especially in the ST bus.The bus arrives in time and it is not very crowded,I get a window seat.As the bus moves towards Dadar,more and more people get in. A slightly elderly lady, dressed in a Mahrashtrian navari sits next to me. She seems to be going to her village.She keeps on fidgeting with her plastic bag full of clothes murmuring something to herself, finally it lands up on the shelf.Surprisingly the ST bus is quite comfortable.
As the sun rises and we hit Panvel,its beautiful outside.I am just fascinated watching the green mountains,the fields, the sky, the lakes under the bridges that I pass, cows bathing in the lakes, the birds chirping. Suddenly Mother Nature had boasted my mood, I am energized and all my depressing and negative thoughts about the trip are being thrown out of the window as we continue to move. To make the trip even more enjoyable I switch on the radio to listen to some music. Guess which song comes ‘ Chala jata hu, from Swades’ now the mood is totally set in, I too feel like Sharukh Khan returning to his village. Nostalgia fills in as I pass through Karnala, amantran at Wadgad Nakka, Shirdon and other places where we would always halt on our way to Nilaj.
Finally, I arrive at Kolad, its about 10 km from Nilaj, the place where the estate is. My father’s work associate lives at Kolad, next to the bus depot. He usually guides me and updates me about what happening so a visit to his house is a must. He lives in a typical Maharashtrian upper-class house. He owns some rice mills, has some construction material business, owns some land, and is well networked with the tehsil and other officials. His house is a typical village bungalow in which rooms are constructed from time to time based on need without any design or architectural element to it.
I wait for the man to come in the gloomy drawing room. He enters and tells me “ You came back to India”.I had visited the place almost a year back before I went to the US.There is nothing wrong in his question but his tone is un- welcoming, I want to get up and tell him, why you thought I would go away and you could just encroach my land.
I decide to get to the point and enquire about what has been happening. He casually remarks that there have been some parties who have been enquiring about buying the place but nothing has worked out so far .This is nothing new, I have heard this on every single trip of mine. There seems to be some development now. Apparently, they are building a dam near the estate; this is good news so the water problem at the estate can be solved by it. He gives me his new telephone no and tells me to inform him 2 days in advance before I come next time so that he can fix a meeting with tatye at the Tehsil to find out exactly about my property records. Unfortunately, it is a second Saturday so government offices are shut so cant visit them today.
Outside his house, I take a ride to the estate in this big rickshaw, which runs in the villages, with a seating for about eight passengers but usually the double sit. For 80 bucks, I get a ride to the estate all by myself. Its not a bad deal at all, since its 10km anyways. I feel like a king in that rickshaw. I start talking to the rickshaw guy and since I am hungry I ask him to stop at Mai Bhavani- a restaurant i have been visiting since I was a kid.
Mai Bhavani is a classy Maharashtrian Dhabba run by an old couple. It also has a temple with it. The Mai Bhavani interiors are changed it just seems like the Indian version of the Crocker Barrels and the country restaurants I have visited and liked in the US. The tables are made of bamboo sticks and painted green in colour and so are the chairs. The dinning area is covered with a bamboo round roof. There are loads of baskets filled with oil, kokam and other ayurvedic stuff on display for sale. On the side, there are three big jars of pickle. Since there is no one in the dinning hall I go in the kitchen a girl comes out I enquire for breakfast.
I invite the rickshaw driver to join me, who is a little shy and insists on not having anything as he has already finished breakfast at home, however settles for some chai. I am treated to some authentic Maharashtrian poha and kothmirvadi with lasun chatni and steaming hot chai. Over chai I chat with the rickshaw driver asking him about the train timings, to working hours of government offices on Saturday to the political champion Sunil A of Rashtravadi party who rules the region and how Shiv sena has lost its power here. When I tell him, I am going to the estate above Nilaj, he tells me that he has been there years ago to see the flower plantation and how amazed he was to see those flowers transported in an AC car.
I go inside to pay my bill. An old woman who seems to be the owner and chef comes out, I thank her for a good breakfast and tell her I like the way they have redone the place recollecting my earlier visits as a kid. When she learns, that I am Gautam Shah’s daughter, she is stunned and remembers him and tell me in chast Marathi, how papa called him mother, always came here for meals and at times even requested her for a head massage with their special oil.
The Rickshaw guy is ready to take me to the estate but I ask him to drop me at the village, as I want to go to the office. The Rickshaw guy is high-tech with a mobile phone. He gives me his mobile no and tells me I can call him anytime incase I need a drop.
I walk into a village, I look at the school. Years ago, I remember Papa bringing me to the school to distribute gifts to the village kids. It was an annual Diwali ritual. The village is definitely more developed now, less houses with mud more which concrete and some houses with two storeys. As I walk to the Panchayat office, a lady comes to enquire who I am, I tell her I need to meet the Panch and when I tell her I am Gautam shah`s daughter she suddenly shouts calling the Gram siphai saying Gautam sheth`s daughter has come.
Suddenly the people in the surrounding houses come outside, starring at me. Thankfully the Gram Sipahi comes soon and I get into office. He tells me the Panch is not in today and I ask him to show me my house records and get a little annoyed at him for not having changed it to my mothers name yet. He remembers everything about my case. He immediately removes the death certificate I had given him and requests me to write a letter once again. For some strange reason he thinks I am married and asks me “Tumche Mr ale nahi” He urges me to give the change in name letter again and thus dictates to me in Marathi, I haven’t written Marathi in ages, I feel no different from the hundreds of other villagers he must be dictating letters to. I tell him I am coming back next Saturday, he needs to ensure that the name is changed in records and I am given the new receipt.
I walk through the village with people coming out giving me very curious glances. I am not really in a mood to talk to anyone, but I have to since I cant figure out the way. I ask an old lady, she immediately calls for a man to assist me to the plot. In the time that I am waiting for the man to arrive, she enquires how my mother is, and remembers seeing me as a kid. More bodies and eyes stare at me. I realize the power of my father’s name. My escort, a middle aged man in shorts arrives, and takes me to the estate, showing me the new dam that is being built and the straight road that Papa had built upto the estate. As I walk up, I am in heaven. Its amazingly green, On one side there just mountains on the other 3 sides small ponds. It is heaven. I thank the guy for showing me the place and tell him I will sit here for a while so he can leave.
When I look at the house papa has built, a place where he had wanted to live once I had finished graduation it was devastating. The house was like khandar, it had not been in any great shape earlier too, but it had got worst now. The windows and doors had also dissapeared. I wondered why Papa had chosen this plot to build the house one look around and I got the answer. You couldn’t ask for a better view, just beautiful green mountains on all sides and small pond on one side.
The house reminded me of the state of some forts and palaces today, which were flourishing kingdoms at one point of time. This was Papa’s little kingdom, whenever I came with him it was always buzzing with people, even when the house was not built there was a bamboo canopy where we would sit. It was right here, many years ago that the entire village had a festive feast, it was right here that the adivasi workers at the estate showed Papa their gratitude by putting up a special dance performance for us. It was here in the open under the tree that the papa had cooked the most amazing khicdhi on a makeshift brick stove. It was here that 100 kids from my school had come for a nature trail and papa had fondly cooked for them. It was right under this tree, that we had got papas special friend Bochakhaju- the Monkey drunk with a little beer and watched his acrobatics. It was right here that papa had cooked and entertained his countless guests. Today there was not a single soul here, it was silent and beautiful, and all these things were history now.
On various instances I had wondered why on the earth did Papa have to buy land here. As I walked through the estate I got the answer. Probably for the first time, after Papa passed away I realized that I had inherited an asset and not a liability .Its amazing how age and experience can change the way you look at things. I think in my initial visits, I was more occupied thinking about land and looking after it with its complexities as a problem, thus totally ignoring the actual problem and addressing it with solutions and continuing to keep in on the backburner.
On my way back I trekked down the pukka road across the three villages to reach the highway and waved out to one of the big rickshaws on the road to go to Kolad. This was interesting ride with twelve adults and 4 children squeezing in the 8 seater rickshaw. I hoped to see a Volvo coming from Mahableshwar or Goa so that I could make my trip back in the ac. So for 110 ruppes I got a AC ride home in the Volvo. In a couple of hours I was back to hustle bustle and traffic of Mumbai after my short rendezvous with Heaven giving me loads of happiness
An inspiring conversation with a friend, a focused approach, a little bit of age and experience, earned me a trip to Heaven this Saturday.
