The Patwardhan Broadcasting Corporation

I come from a large family. My mother is the youngest of nine siblings. She has six sisters, whom I address Mavshi and two brothers whom I addressed mama. (Both the mamas are no more.) The number of my first cousins is around 25. And our kids, the second cousins, are also around the same number. We meet at weddings or other functions. More than 40 of us are on the whatsapp group. The first and second cousins, that is. I have a daughter in law and four sons in law who are also part of this mad group. Barring Pushpamavshi, the other sisters are not on whatsapp but they keep in touch through the good old landline. Their network is and has always been super fast and we call it the Patwardhan Broadcasting Corporation.

My eldest Mavshi, Tai mavshi, is the bureau chief of this PBC who uses the television, newspapers, radio, and landline phone as her main sources of news. News can be about anything, not necessarily the family. If you call her, be ready for a sermon of at least quarter of an hour. The range is unbelievable – from happenings in daily soaps to a birth in the family to the bus service in our village to the status of Ganapati festival. She is 80 +, lives alone since her son died around three years ago and doesn’t move out of the house at all. Yet, she is up to date with everything. The other sisters are her correspondents. One is in Ratnagiri, one in Badlapur near Mumbai and the others in Mumbai. They have to talk to at least one sister every day, no cap on number of calls or the minutes they talk for.

If you are blaming the humble landlines for this, you are wrong. They had the network even before that. They used the Indian Post services to the fullest. My mama in Ganesh Gule, a serene and scenic village in Ratnagiri district, where our ancestral house still stands tall, would write letters to all his siblings as well as his first/second cousins. His letters, mainly postcards, were written in a minute, almost undecipherable scribble, without leaving empty space even for a grain of rice. It was a task for us kids to read the letters as he would also use his own brand of shorthand. (I would use a reading glass to read his letters.) If it was some special occasion, he would write an inland letter. Aai and mavshis used to be thrilled to receive the blue inland letter, as it would contain lot more updates from home. I remember sometimes reading out his letters to Aai, if she was busy. Or even writing a letter dictated by her.

These sisters, who came to Mumbai after marriage or to find a job, are extraordinary. Imagine a young Taimavshi, around 16-17 years old, coming to Mumbai in the 60s. She had left behind a laid back, green coastal village, a lovely house, mango orchards, cattle, and her large family. She came into a one room tenement in Malad, a suburb of Mumbai. Though these tenements had some open space around, and lot of trees, the house was much smaller than what she was used to. All she had for company were some strange neighbours who spoke a strange language and probably, a transistor. I am sure Mama’s letters were precious to her, they must have helped her survive. When I come back from a short trip to Gule, I take time to adjust to the fast life of Mumbai. I can’t imagine how these spirited sisters did that in those days, of no phones, no easy transport methods.

Then followed the other sisters. Most lived in one or two room homes in the suburbs. Aai and Pushpamavshi worked in the municipal corporation, the others were homemakers. The transistor, Akashwani Mumbai B station was their common and constant companion. The radio was their window to the world, in quite a literal sense. Radio programmes about world affairs, social problems, domestic issues, women’s issues made them aware and educated. Of course, there were the melodious Marathi songs – from films as well as the musical dramas to entertain them.

We kids spent most of our summer vacations with the mavshis. Or once in say two-three years, at Ganesh Gule. So we have a connect. Gule memories bind us together. The memories of the long travel. Imagine taking a train to the then Bombay Central from borivali. Then to the ST depot near the railway station. Then wait for the ST to arrive. Then reach Ratnagiri after around 10 hours of tedious journey, braving the ghats. Then another short bus journey to the small boat service. Wait in the black sand for the small boat, what is called Tar – rhyming with sir. Come the boat, enter it with all the luggage and cross over to the other side. Get into another bus. Reach Pavas. A domestic help from mama’s house would be waiting for us there, for god knows how many hours. Then start walking towards Gule. There was a short trek involved in the 5-6 km long journey. From the top of the Ghati, the hillock, we would see the red mangalore tiles of our house and start running towards it. Mami would be waiting for us at the main door, with salt n mustard to ward off all evil that might have set eyes on us during the long journey. Go inside, clean up and drink hot tea, made with fresh milk. Then the women would start chatting and kids would just go amok in the trees, with the cattle, with the dogs, cats, etc.

Gule got electricity when I was around 12-13. Telephones a decade after that. Mobile range another decade after that. So stay in Gule was different for us Mumbai kids, but we enjoyed it thoroughly. Even the vacations spent at the ‘matchbox’ homes of the mavshis were memorable. The uncles, husbands of these mavshis, accommodated all of us happily. It must have been difficult to run the family in the single income, but we kids never faced any problem. Imagine 10 people living in a two room house, with the common toilet on the floor. We were not the ones to complain. I doubt if we even noticed. As long as we were fed on time, we were on our own to play or wander around. Maimavshi lives in Mahim, we spent maximum time with her. Shivaji park and the beach were the main attraction then. And the kulfi near the park. I remember even watching the Wimbledon matches at one of her neighbours’. 20 of us in that house, and nobody would complain.

Slowly, all had a landline telephone. So the siblings had a new method to connect. And that scares us children a bit. Imagine this. I visit maimavshi. As is their genetic problem, I am fed, or offered, at least ten items – liquid or solid. One can’t just say no to food. The mavshis take it quite personally if we don’t eat anything, or if we eat too little. Mind you, too little for them, is too much for us. I chat with her over a thalipeeth, a dhirde, apple, pohe, pickle and a roti, banana cake, tea, kokum sherbet, lemon sherbet, coffee and such. She gives me some packets to be delivered to Aai as well as Prabhamavshi who lives in the next building. I go home, deliver the packets and tell Aai whatever I remember. Next day, I get a reprimand – ‘You didn’t tell me so and so had a son. Mavshi told you, didn’t she?’ See, they cross check with each other.

The first generation is now old. Barring my mother, the mavshis are in their 70s. so they don’t travel much these days, even if they do, they have to be accompanied by someone. Maimavshi last week celebrated her 80^th birthday, five sisters and two mamis were together after a long long time. I doubt if any of them was able to sleep that night because of all the excitement. We, the first cousins, were not invited because then the number crosses 50 and it becomes difficult to manage such a big crowd. However, everyone realized that leaving us out was not a great idea and we are looking forward to Lalitamami’s 80^th birthday celebrations in November. We won’t be left out, hopefully. If we are, I know I won’t be the only one to gatecrash.