RE-VISITING AN OLD 'DADA'
Posted: Mon Feb 27, 2012 5:44 pm
RE-VISITING AN OLD 'DADA'
Gone are the days when a 'Dada' in Mumbai inspired both respect and fear. 'Dada' was the guy who set things right. 'Dada' was the one who avenged an old defunct man who got thrown out of his house by his sons or ruffians. Whenever any woman got eve-teased or messed up by her 'sasural' it was the 'Dada' she always turned to. There have been cases when some 'Bhais' went ahead and gang-raped a girl who or whose Mom and Dad sobbed her/ their way to the 'Dada' and the 'bhais' ended up finding that they could never pee standing up again let alone sprinkle their rotten seed around. One such 'Dada' from the Shivaji Park area of Mumbai was Navnath Thakur. He inspired respect and fear from police and other 'Dadas' alike. He also happened to be our family friend, a good friend of my maternal uncles since their childhood. He owned and operated a scooter garage on Veer Savarkar Marg (or Cadell Road those days).
Two days back, on Saturday, I visited Savarkar range for practice after a long break. As usual I rode my Chetak from Thane. After I was done and got down to the parking lot, I kicked and the scooter back-fired. A few more kicks and a few more "shtoosh" and "shtheesh" with a generous sprinkle of loud "phats". The scooter refused to sputter. After 15 minutes of trial and "saaf-safaai" of the innards, the Chetak simply refused to trot. So I walked the noble vehicle down South on the Savarkar Marg looking out for a scooter mechanic. That's when I remembered him and wondered if his garage was still around. I remembered him from the time he sometimes used to visit my parents at our residence at Shaitan Chowki with my uncles. I mused if the "development" had taken its toll. Just then I came across a motley collection of two-wheelers on the footpath with an old frail man sitting guard over them. I asked him if he knew there was a mechanic around and he said he himself was and asked me to get the scooter "up" on the footpath. I obeyed. These days it's rare to find a good scooter mechanic. Something struck me as odd and I asked him politely his name. "Navnath Thakur" - pat came the answer. I tried my best not to show him my surprise or shock for what stood in front of me was an apparition, a mockery or a 'Dada'. Here was the 'Dada' who was held in high esteem by the local political organization fighting for the righteousness as well as likes of "Manya Surve" - the FIRST CASUALTY of Police Commissioner Julio Rebeiro's Operation Elimination in 1980s. Operation Elimination was to be given a bad name as some of the Mumbai Police used it to recruit themselves as hatchet-men for Dawood Ibrahim and Hindi movies were to turn the entire Mumbai Police Force into Monsterland. I introduced myself and saw a spark light up in his eyes. He inquired after my uncles and also about how many of them died and also about my Mom whom he adddressed as "Taai" - Elder Sister. As this conversation started I noticed something was not right.
Navnath could barely stand straight unsupported for over 10 minutes. His speech was incoherent. He seemed to suffer memory lapses every now and then. I remembered that he was notorious to be high on alcohol. He boasted then that he could digest any quantity of alcohol. May be the alcohol finally got around exacting its revenge in form of Alzheimer or Parkinson. But then a sudden spark of what fun he and my uncles had. I politely listened to his story and then redirected his attention to the more pressing issue at hand - my stalled scooter. He opened the cover and asked me for spanners. His hands shook and he appeared to be going through some daze. Next two hours were spent by him unscrewing every screw he saw and screwing and unscrewing the spark-plug and "polishing" off its lead and asking me to keep kicking. For two hours I humored him, losing my hope with every passing minute and with every wasted kick. At one point he asked me to stand aside so that the "other gentleman" could kick. I asked him "which gent" to which he answered "The one that was kicking so nicely till now". My heart sank.
I kept directing his attention to "other" possibilities like some dirt in petrol line or carbeurator issue and he kept saying "I have grown old with the scooters. Ask your uncles. I have repaired their and their friends' scooters". All right I needed a new tact. One part of the mind told me to simply reassemble all that he had disassembled and make off. Hell - I was by now ready to walk the scooter all the way to Thane if I had to - a good distance of just about only 30KM. But then, apart from the four small spanners I did not really have any tool of the trade that I could use. I didn't want to start a confrontation or create a scene. For some inexplicable reason I did not want to cause that man any psychological pain. SO I change the line of talk. While he talked of "good old times", I talked of scooters and gently inserted a suggestion that may be he ought to teach me something about "point". Now "point" was the thing in older Chetaks before the new "ignition" came about. Today you seldom find anyone knowledgeable about the "point". It had struck me that there was a problem with the "point". Well, I finally got the Almighty's point. "Ah! He exclaimed - and set out to work on the point, mumbling all the while. He did raise his head up to nod and smile at passerby senior citizens, especially ladies. Old habits die hard I noticed, with or without dementia. I regretted the point I made about the "point" rather immediately - he had started hammering there without any rhyme or reason or without any clear thought. He then gave up or forgot about it after a while. Now adjusting the point might take a bit of gentle hammering but what he did scared the *beep* outta me.
After a good two hours or more had been wasted and me asking him to reassemble so that I could bring the scooter "tomorrow", his son arrived; young and well-built and equally arrogant. Right from the start he kept abusing his father around and the old ex-Dada cowered around trying to shield himself from the son's barbs. Then joined us a khaki uniform policeman. This policeman gave me a good gyaan on the importance of Chetak and good they are in Pune and how I should be taking care of this piece and wash it regularly. All along this time the junior kept scowling, abusing his father and my scooter and telling me what a jerk his father was for taking the scooter in. After all why waste time on the scooter when he could work on "Hi-Fi" bikes that are much more user friendly to repair. Plus this scoter was not his "regular" so it was hard for him to determine what the problem was. Now his barbs were directed at me though not directly. The user should know how to repair - his grand sermon. I mused aloud - if the user knew how to repair the two-wheeler, won't the mechanic would go out of business. FInally after a good 5 of my hours were wasted and the junior no closer to the solution than his father, I asked him to tie everything up so I could walk the scooter another 1.5-2.0 KM to my Mom's place and check out there if anyone could handle. I offered to pay the junior "whatever he was worth". I asked him to feel free to charge me for his time and efforts though he could not achieve the results. In fact I asked him to charge me as much as he would for his "Hi-Fi" bike regulars and I would gladly pay though I would have to push the scooter now for over a mile. That did it - I came out the winner in the "Insult Match". "The only reason I decided to touch the scooter was because my father had opened it. It can not be repaired. Repair costs would get you a new scooter." - he said. I looked at the old 'uncle' - he was on verge of tears. May be he remembered the family ties that ran between us, which thankfully did not extend to his son. He looked miserable and out of place and absolutely anachronistic. The hands that once wielded stout sticks and hockey sticks and knives and swords now were suspended limply by the side. The body that once pushed many a hunk aside was now pushed and swept aside by mere words of his son. That is a state no one must get reduced to.
"The only reason I stayed on so long for around 5 hours is due to the fact that I could not tell your father that he could not repair. Irrespective of how he is now there are a few things that need to be accomodated due to family ties. I will try to get it repaired from a mechanic in Shaitan Chowki if he still works around. As a parting shot to the junior, I asked him to work out his wages and let me know by Monday-Tuesday when I shall return from Thane to pick up my repaired scooter from our area mechanic and pay him on the way back.
I then walked my faithful Chetak to my Mom's and left the Chetak for "Anthony" who thankfully still worked with his son and others in the area. Today my Mom called to inform me that the scooter's been repaired and returned. Time taken for the job turn around - 30 minutes. Cost - INR 185 only, including INR 40 for a new point. I have to pick it up tomorrow - and may be say "Hi" to Navnath Thakur's son on the way back to Thane.
Gone are the days when a 'Dada' in Mumbai inspired both respect and fear. 'Dada' was the guy who set things right. 'Dada' was the one who avenged an old defunct man who got thrown out of his house by his sons or ruffians. Whenever any woman got eve-teased or messed up by her 'sasural' it was the 'Dada' she always turned to. There have been cases when some 'Bhais' went ahead and gang-raped a girl who or whose Mom and Dad sobbed her/ their way to the 'Dada' and the 'bhais' ended up finding that they could never pee standing up again let alone sprinkle their rotten seed around. One such 'Dada' from the Shivaji Park area of Mumbai was Navnath Thakur. He inspired respect and fear from police and other 'Dadas' alike. He also happened to be our family friend, a good friend of my maternal uncles since their childhood. He owned and operated a scooter garage on Veer Savarkar Marg (or Cadell Road those days).
Two days back, on Saturday, I visited Savarkar range for practice after a long break. As usual I rode my Chetak from Thane. After I was done and got down to the parking lot, I kicked and the scooter back-fired. A few more kicks and a few more "shtoosh" and "shtheesh" with a generous sprinkle of loud "phats". The scooter refused to sputter. After 15 minutes of trial and "saaf-safaai" of the innards, the Chetak simply refused to trot. So I walked the noble vehicle down South on the Savarkar Marg looking out for a scooter mechanic. That's when I remembered him and wondered if his garage was still around. I remembered him from the time he sometimes used to visit my parents at our residence at Shaitan Chowki with my uncles. I mused if the "development" had taken its toll. Just then I came across a motley collection of two-wheelers on the footpath with an old frail man sitting guard over them. I asked him if he knew there was a mechanic around and he said he himself was and asked me to get the scooter "up" on the footpath. I obeyed. These days it's rare to find a good scooter mechanic. Something struck me as odd and I asked him politely his name. "Navnath Thakur" - pat came the answer. I tried my best not to show him my surprise or shock for what stood in front of me was an apparition, a mockery or a 'Dada'. Here was the 'Dada' who was held in high esteem by the local political organization fighting for the righteousness as well as likes of "Manya Surve" - the FIRST CASUALTY of Police Commissioner Julio Rebeiro's Operation Elimination in 1980s. Operation Elimination was to be given a bad name as some of the Mumbai Police used it to recruit themselves as hatchet-men for Dawood Ibrahim and Hindi movies were to turn the entire Mumbai Police Force into Monsterland. I introduced myself and saw a spark light up in his eyes. He inquired after my uncles and also about how many of them died and also about my Mom whom he adddressed as "Taai" - Elder Sister. As this conversation started I noticed something was not right.
Navnath could barely stand straight unsupported for over 10 minutes. His speech was incoherent. He seemed to suffer memory lapses every now and then. I remembered that he was notorious to be high on alcohol. He boasted then that he could digest any quantity of alcohol. May be the alcohol finally got around exacting its revenge in form of Alzheimer or Parkinson. But then a sudden spark of what fun he and my uncles had. I politely listened to his story and then redirected his attention to the more pressing issue at hand - my stalled scooter. He opened the cover and asked me for spanners. His hands shook and he appeared to be going through some daze. Next two hours were spent by him unscrewing every screw he saw and screwing and unscrewing the spark-plug and "polishing" off its lead and asking me to keep kicking. For two hours I humored him, losing my hope with every passing minute and with every wasted kick. At one point he asked me to stand aside so that the "other gentleman" could kick. I asked him "which gent" to which he answered "The one that was kicking so nicely till now". My heart sank.
I kept directing his attention to "other" possibilities like some dirt in petrol line or carbeurator issue and he kept saying "I have grown old with the scooters. Ask your uncles. I have repaired their and their friends' scooters". All right I needed a new tact. One part of the mind told me to simply reassemble all that he had disassembled and make off. Hell - I was by now ready to walk the scooter all the way to Thane if I had to - a good distance of just about only 30KM. But then, apart from the four small spanners I did not really have any tool of the trade that I could use. I didn't want to start a confrontation or create a scene. For some inexplicable reason I did not want to cause that man any psychological pain. SO I change the line of talk. While he talked of "good old times", I talked of scooters and gently inserted a suggestion that may be he ought to teach me something about "point". Now "point" was the thing in older Chetaks before the new "ignition" came about. Today you seldom find anyone knowledgeable about the "point". It had struck me that there was a problem with the "point". Well, I finally got the Almighty's point. "Ah! He exclaimed - and set out to work on the point, mumbling all the while. He did raise his head up to nod and smile at passerby senior citizens, especially ladies. Old habits die hard I noticed, with or without dementia. I regretted the point I made about the "point" rather immediately - he had started hammering there without any rhyme or reason or without any clear thought. He then gave up or forgot about it after a while. Now adjusting the point might take a bit of gentle hammering but what he did scared the *beep* outta me.
After a good two hours or more had been wasted and me asking him to reassemble so that I could bring the scooter "tomorrow", his son arrived; young and well-built and equally arrogant. Right from the start he kept abusing his father around and the old ex-Dada cowered around trying to shield himself from the son's barbs. Then joined us a khaki uniform policeman. This policeman gave me a good gyaan on the importance of Chetak and good they are in Pune and how I should be taking care of this piece and wash it regularly. All along this time the junior kept scowling, abusing his father and my scooter and telling me what a jerk his father was for taking the scooter in. After all why waste time on the scooter when he could work on "Hi-Fi" bikes that are much more user friendly to repair. Plus this scoter was not his "regular" so it was hard for him to determine what the problem was. Now his barbs were directed at me though not directly. The user should know how to repair - his grand sermon. I mused aloud - if the user knew how to repair the two-wheeler, won't the mechanic would go out of business. FInally after a good 5 of my hours were wasted and the junior no closer to the solution than his father, I asked him to tie everything up so I could walk the scooter another 1.5-2.0 KM to my Mom's place and check out there if anyone could handle. I offered to pay the junior "whatever he was worth". I asked him to feel free to charge me for his time and efforts though he could not achieve the results. In fact I asked him to charge me as much as he would for his "Hi-Fi" bike regulars and I would gladly pay though I would have to push the scooter now for over a mile. That did it - I came out the winner in the "Insult Match". "The only reason I decided to touch the scooter was because my father had opened it. It can not be repaired. Repair costs would get you a new scooter." - he said. I looked at the old 'uncle' - he was on verge of tears. May be he remembered the family ties that ran between us, which thankfully did not extend to his son. He looked miserable and out of place and absolutely anachronistic. The hands that once wielded stout sticks and hockey sticks and knives and swords now were suspended limply by the side. The body that once pushed many a hunk aside was now pushed and swept aside by mere words of his son. That is a state no one must get reduced to.
"The only reason I stayed on so long for around 5 hours is due to the fact that I could not tell your father that he could not repair. Irrespective of how he is now there are a few things that need to be accomodated due to family ties. I will try to get it repaired from a mechanic in Shaitan Chowki if he still works around. As a parting shot to the junior, I asked him to work out his wages and let me know by Monday-Tuesday when I shall return from Thane to pick up my repaired scooter from our area mechanic and pay him on the way back.
I then walked my faithful Chetak to my Mom's and left the Chetak for "Anthony" who thankfully still worked with his son and others in the area. Today my Mom called to inform me that the scooter's been repaired and returned. Time taken for the job turn around - 30 minutes. Cost - INR 185 only, including INR 40 for a new point. I have to pick it up tomorrow - and may be say "Hi" to Navnath Thakur's son on the way back to Thane.
