EULOGY TO A PATTATHI: AN EARTHY PHILOSOPHER

EULOGY TO A PATTATHI: AN EARTHY PHILOSOPHER

If by philosopher we mean one who acts calmly and rationally in the affairs and changes of life, well, I knew one Pattathi closely. She hailed from a remote village in Palghat, born in a family of twelve, and had a fifth grade education. This academic background, I was to learn later, turned out perhaps to be her biggest asset. Having had no formal schooling or training of any sort, her mind remained unstained, fresh as ever, always receptive and ready to soak in all sorts of ideas. This academic background not withstanding, she acquired varied skills through sheer personal efforts and interaction with people. Migrated from Palghat to Mumbai, she soon spoke better Marathi than most of the Maharashtrians did.
Her managerial abilities would have left many a modern day B-school boys astounded. She had this uncanny knack of understanding people. She would say that there existed a ‘special key’ that could open up even the most awkward individual. She was more of an atheist, but a pragmatic woman. We never heard her exchanging gossip or stories about others or even criticising any one. She was possessive but quick to part with her things if only to see the recipient happy. “Overtime, I have come to understand that some gifts are meant to be passed on and not repaid. For the biggest impact, do it for somebody who knows you have nothing to gain”, she would say.
She was at her best when the chips are down. She could produce outstanding results simply by not making excuses. I have often been struck by the coolness and aplomb displayed by her in emergencies. “Appadi ellaamthaan irukkum”, she would say, when situation became irretrievable; when an avalanche of problems blew you off your feet; when hopelessness stared at you and you were on the verge of giving up! “Things will be like that only” could be the nearest translation for these three words. But any further attempt to explain the import of these words or their underlying philosophy would mean writing a thesis on crisis management. Suffice it to say these words serve as a buffer to absorb the initial impact of any crisis and thus prepare you to take control of the situation thereafter. We have all heard the saying “Don’t just stand there –do something” But her philosophy seemed to dictate that in a crisis, the better advice might be “Don’t just do something-stand there!” What it meant was “Take it easy. Look for silver lining. Think what next?” As hard as it may be at the time you are going through it, every crisis presents an opportunity to test your nerves. It is true that we often have little control over ourselves WHEN we are swept by emotions, but we can have some saying, HOW LONG that emotion will last. Over the years, I was to learn that these words “Appadi ellamthaan irukkum” could indeed be the platform any one could use in times of trouble especially in all high pressure fields from fire fighting to corporate crisis. It helps if not to triumph over adversity, at least to push the odds greatly in your favour.
The first ten years of my childhood was spent with my grandparents in the same remote village in Palghat where she hailed from. There was this village school teacher who doubled up as the village post master who taught the children the 3 ‘R’s at a fee of two annas per month. We had the option to pay the fees in kind in the form of vegetables or bushels of rice. The only study material we were required to carry till fifth class was a black slate and a pencil, which we put to good use while fighting with each other. While this teacher struck terror in our minds in the school, the environment at home was just the opposite. My grand mother was an embodiment of love and compassion-a real comforter. As for my grandpa, being the village Vadhyar was too busy catering to the needs of others rather than our own mundane household requirements. I never thought of him as very emotional and he never was, at least not in front of me. I always saw him as that staunch disciplinarian who rarely cracked a smile. Afternoons were spent in imparting Vedic lessons to not-so-eager disciples, who looked at him with awe and respect at the depth of knowledge and insight he had on matters of religious rites and rituals. He spun the finest of Poonals for the consumption of the entire village equipped with just a couple of “Thakkilis” a device which spun thread out of raw cotton. I was his only errand boy. I loved to run across to the next street to buy fresh ‘Snuff’ (powdered preparation of tobacco) for my grandpa- an addiction he felt perhaps had nothing to do with spiritual or scholastic attainments. By the age of ten, thanks to my unbridled freedom I had transformed almost completely into a village urchin. Before things could get out of control I was packed off to my parents at Mumbai, where my father was struggling to make an honest living. Our house a rented chawl, resembled a transit camp-cum-lodge filled with near and distant relatives all from Palghat, with a singular aim of finding a job. But everything seemed to move with clockwork precision-thanks to this lady who I noted reacted differently from all of us even under stress. Her typical reaction to any difficulty was as though she knew all the time that the crisis was coming- except for its timing. As a result even if she yearned to be a little bit under stress, she never was. At worst she would say,”Appadi ellaamthaan irukkum” and carried on. She quietly helped each one of us to deal with all sorts of pressures. More than a dozen men and women of all hue and types had the privilege of her hospitality for months before they could find their own feet.
There was this particular incident which turned me inside out. It was in the late forties. The nation was passing through difficult times economically. Communal riots were common. Ration had been introduced. Long queues were common sights for kerosene, sugar and food grains. Rice being a rarity, we had to make good with Cholam. Our small rented house in the chawl was already bursting at its seams, when a couple with their new born baby girl dropped in from Karachi lock, stock and barrel, because the bread winner had sought from his employer The Grindlays Bank a transfer to Mumbai from Karachi. This meant stretching our meagre resources and facilities further. I was too young to even voice any opinion, but all the same I decided to lodge a mild protest. “Appadi ellaamthaan irukkum”, she shot back those three words. “It is important to give encouragement for family and friends, because their happiness and yours are inseparable”, she added. The impact on my young mind was instant. From then on I learnt that calm acceptance of even the most difficult situation is what life was all about. Those three words became the underlying philosophy of my life.
My forced migration from Palghat to Mumbai and the schooling years in SIES that followed was to become nightmare for me. I knew to read and write; but only in Malayalam. Nothing else. Here in Mumbai I was expected to pick up subjects in class six taught wholly in English. I made such a fool of myself that I became the butt of every joke providing free entertainment to the class. But then SHE came to my rescue. She took care not to belittle me for falling behind in class. On the other hand I was praised and prodded.
“Keep at it. You can top in the school”, she said.
“Me?’. I asked.
“Why not?” she dared. “Try and you can do it”
At that time I looked at her in disbelief. How could she know the choking fear I felt each morning? Night after night I would struggle with language and Maths problems only to discover I had them all wrong. On our first major exam I just scraped through in Maths (thanks to Muthuswami Iyer), with single digit marks in all other subjects. That evening I confronted her.
“I don’t belong with other students”, I said.
“So? What do you want?” she asked.
“I don’t want to fail’, I mumbled.
“You won’t. And I won’t let you quit as long as you are willing to do your best”, she commanded.
For the first time I was being asked to probe the limits of my potential. She was demanding excellence from me, and I decided to give it a try. And I never looked back. She made me top in the school. Principal Paramewsara Iyer was pleased. She succeeded in pushing me through Xavier’s College, IIT Kharagpur and helped me to become a professional soldier- all out of a rustic village bumpkin.
I have during my spare time tried to understand what life was all about. I read quite a few books on philosophy and religion. I tried to understand God and man, good and evil, virtue and vice, cleanliness and filth, heaven and hell, but never understood a thing. Over the years I have come to know that nothing we earn, none of the things that we accumulate belongs to us. I learnt to handle the rarest of rare resources as wisely as possible and to use what little money we had for the good of the greatest number. It is amazing how much work a well-knit family can get done when every one is working together and being of service to people who really need the help.
So when I got a call from Mumbai saying “She” was sinking, I took the first available flight to be at her side. But it was too late. She died of cardiac arrest. There were telephonic condolences pouring in from Singapore, Muscat, USA, and several parts of India-all confiding that her sacrifices defied reciprocation. I wept till there were no tears left in my eyes. Then I heard her voice:”Appadi ellaamthaan irukkum”. I knew she would not approve of my emotional out burst.
I know this for sure because this Pattathi was my mother!