Perfectly Pune
It wouldn’t be fair to use the term “Miss Marathi” and not make a blog post about Pune. Pune, the birthplace of bakarwadi, a stronghold of patriotic Maratha culture, and not to be a traitor to Mumbai, but there is a lot about Pune that I have grown to love. After all, the only places I have been to in India are Mumbai and Pune, that is the entirety of India for me.
Cars and black holes
Every trip to this city would involve being packed into a tiny car, rattling along some random mountain highway. A journey that should take about three-ish hours but because of the massive nuclear bomb craters in the roads and unimaginable traffic, it would take anywhere from four to six hours - bear in mind this was before the Mumbai-Pune highway was properly done up so you can imagine the struggle. The most painful part of this journey is that there was no concept of "services". Over here in the UK, on every motorway every five minutes there is a services stop with restaurants, toilets etc., there is never a point where you will need to use a bathroom without having proper facilities. Long car journeys to Pune were a nightmare when I was little. I have vivid memories of baba/the driver stopping the car at a random "restaurant" (obviously run by the mafia judging by the shadiness) and walking to a small hut thing next to it that read "toilet" only to find a jarring black hole in the floor staring up ready to swallow me. Like a shed from a horror movie scene this toilet had one dying, flickering bulb for light and a smell that would make you pass out if you spent more than three minutes inside. Forget toilet paper, there isn’t even any water in these sheds, just an empty bucket that looked like it may have held some water years ago. Thank god for the Mumbai-Pune highway now and thank god for Starbucks’s toilets.
Padmavati
After miles of broken motorway, black holes and nearly being beaten up by a gang of massive monkeys we make it to a beautiful and peaceful area called Padmavati. Leafy. Clean. Just a really peaceful part of outer-Pune where my aai’s aai or “Punya-chi aaji” used to live.
I have mentioned my Mumbai-chi aaji a few times but Punya-chi aaji was slightly different. We would always stay most of the time at Punya-chi aaji’s stunning house here in Padmavati. A graceful and willowy lady with a long plait and a calming voice, she would welcome us in and tell us to unpack our bags while she finished off frying some fish in the kitchen. I loved that house; she was sort of obsessed with maintaining the garden, so it was full of mango and coconut trees and all kinds of crazy looking tropical flowers.
Unfortunately, this garden was also inhabited by an insane, gigantic dog that aaji used to keep as a “guard dog”. His name was Teenu but we will call him Frankenstein’s monster because every time he came around the corner frothing at the mouth I would scream and run for my life. Apart from the garden and its killer beasts the house itself was airy and cool (somehow without needing an AC) and coming from Mumbai to here it gave me a sense of utter peace.
I spent the first two years of my life being brought up my aai’s parents in this house. Even up until my late teens however, she was convinced I hadn’t grown past four years old; I’m not complaining though, I’d rather latch onto my youth for as long as possible. The trees surrounding the house would be full of lots of bright green parrots chirping away and in the night the bats would come out, it was a truly beautiful place to live. Aaji being CKP was gifted with an ability to cook things that would send me to food heaven but also make my brain explode because of the spice. Birdha, Spicy Masala Fish, her Kheema deserved its own Oscar. She did try to teach me, but I was always more preoccupied with guarding the door to make sure Frankendog didn’t smell the food and decide to run in and bite me.
Sadashiv Peth
1313 Sadashiv Peth, also known as Patwardhan Wada opposite the Bharatnatya Mandir was also basically a Patwardhan HQ headed up by my fierce great grandmother King GiGi. Pune for obvious reasons holds a special place for Kokanastha Brahmins and this address was maintained as a traditional, sacred and old-school community by my family. I visited this place a handful of times and it was pretty much like going to meet somebody from a royal family. King GiGi like many of the Patwardhan aajis was like Marlon Brando’s character Vito Corleone from The Godfather – she commanded respect without having to say anything. She was kind without being overly affectionate but most importantly she was incredibly intelligent and sharp – so naturally I was terrified of her. The only memories I have left of Patwardhan Wada was playing hide and seek with my cousins downstairs by the gate – generally I used to think that this was all of Pune – Padmavati and Sadashiv Peth, because we would barely go anywhere else. Both of these places were full of elderly people so, unsurprisingly, I also thought that Pune didn’t have young people. But I liked it that way, I liked the peace, the quiet, and the respect.
Aundh
Outside of grandparents the other close family members I meet in Pune are my baba’s older brother Ajit kaka and my Varsha kaku along with their lovable bloodhound Homer (who always looks hungover). Ajit kaka used to be in the Indian Airforce so you would expect him to have a death stare, march around all the time and talk in manner of Amrish Puri, but no thankfully Ajit kaka is very approachable and has an actual sense of humour – very un-Patwardhan like but incredibly refreshing. Varsha kaku also thankfully doesn’t have a death stare and has an equal sense of humour, while it’s lovely being in Pune, Aundh is where I feel most comfortable because I can have a glass of wine and a neutral conversation without having to worry about keeping up appearances. My safe space.
Parvati
Until my late teens I had a very limited view of Pune – if Central London is Mumbai then Essex is Pune, so in that sense I loved how different Pune was to Mumbai. It was a pleasant place full of “kuskat” people, which is a perfect mix for somebody with my nature. Pune is also still very traditional in many ways, little things like people and their mannerisms, but especially the way they speak Marathi. It’s a posh Marathi without all the “aarilau jaarilau” Mumbai slangs thrown in.
Apart from meeting my grandparents, my baba had a knack for finding ways to make me exercise even on holiday. He told me stories about Parvati’s history and the temple on top of the hill – I have never been one to like site seeing, I try to avoid it where possible but I am fascinated by anything to do with my community’s history so I was very keen to see Parvati.
What I didn’t know was baba had a plan to make me jog up what looked like a huge mountain. The first time baba took me to Parvati he said, “wear sports shoes”, so already alarm bells were ringing in my head. This was reinforced by coming to the foot of Parvati and being told to jog. That was the only instruction I got. So I started to “jog” quickly up the stairs. It all started to look very easy until I got to step 30 and started to pant like a buffalo, you see, these aren’t steps they were just roughly cut dents in the rock. One wrong footing and I could have fallen off the side, so I refused to go up any further and threw one of my famous tantrums. I knew I would have to heard stories like “if a Peshwa did it then why can’t you”. I don’t know why this comparison was ever made because it’s very evident that I’m not a muscly six-foot-tall gladiator built for fighting and climbing mountains. This is one of those “you won’t understand now but you will understand twenty years from now” moments because it’s a precious memory I have now – looking at Pune from the top of Parvati (wishing somebody would carry me down) and then being made to run down the steps again because this was supposed to be “fun”.
Sinhagad
History was my least favourite subject in school. Probably because I was made to learn about World War II over and over again; Henry VIII and the rest of the Tudors or something to do with the Aztecs. Personally, I feel that love for history is so subjective to an individual, because it depends if they can relate to it and/or if it’s a part of their heritage I never felt a closeness to the history I learnt in primary or secondary school precisely for this reason. History lessons were nap time.
The history of the Maratha Empire however, is something so fantastic that it’s easy to fall in love with. Before we had crazy action scenes in movies and CGI fighting effects, growing up I was told stories about Shivaji Maharaj, e.g. the way he ripped the crap out of Afzal Khan with his tiger claws, and how he escaped from Agra with his son – stories that genuinely seem like they are from a comic book but are in fact real.
Visiting Sinhagad was one of those experiences that brought one of these incredible stories to life – the story of the recapturing of Sinhagad Fort by Tanhaji Malusare (one of Shivaji Maharaj’s generals) who climbed up that cliff’s vertical drop using a lizard called Yashwanti and launched a guerrilla attack on the Mughals. I was so glad that my baba didn’t say something crazy like “if Tanhaji Malusare could climb up this wall so could you” because I have no intention of using vicious pet reptiles with old school Indian names to climb death-drop mountain ranges or hills. What I will say however is I don’t understand why lunatics have felt the need to desecrate places like Sinhagad. You’ll see for yourself – you’ll be looking at the fort in awe and then on half the wall you will see “Rajeev and Dolly were here” or “I love Sandhya 2004”. It may be worth populating the area with mini Yashwantis to fend off vandals before they cover the whole fort in scribbles.
Shaniwar Wada
It’s incredible to think that I actually did site seeing in a city and enjoyed it, Shaniwar Wada is another piece of evidence backing up the power of the Peshwas and a yet another reminder that while stories of this era sound like they are picked out of the Marvel universe; they are true and they need to be preserved. Two things come to mind when I think of Shaniwar Wada:
1) Kaka mala vachva – The famous words screamed by Narayan Rao who was sabotaged by his certifiably insane stalker aunty who succeeded in having him slaughtered by simply changing “dhara” to “mara”. Thankfully we have spell check on Microsoft Word nowadays. People apparently say they can “hear the ghost of Narayan Rao screaming during Purnima around Shaniwar Wada”. Normally I would dismiss this as a legend invented to scare people but after hearing such incredible stories about the Peshwas I think this one is probably true so if you do plan to visit, make sure you leave the area before it gets dark unless you want to star in a Marathi version of Bhool Bhulaiyaa.
2) Rama Madhav (2014) – Marathi movies typically intimidate me because it takes me ages to keep up with the language let alone the storylines. I can say with total confidence however that this movie is one of the clearest and most engaging historical movies I have seen. Directed by the fabulous Mrinal Kulkarni, this epic tale of Madhavrao and Ramabai made me realise that there is so much more to Shaniwar Wada than just being part of history, it was a focal point of Peshwa rule.
I’m sure people will have watched “Bajirao Mastani”, Hindi cinema’s colossal effort of bringing extra melodrama to history – while it showcases Shaniwar Wada beautifully I would still say Rama Madhav is still the better one out of the two if you’re more into history and less into mein deewani ho gayi midriff-baring heartbreak.
Apart from the deep-rooted culture of Pune there is one thing that I absolutely cannot do without and that is Chitale Bakarwadi. A snack so scrumptious, and so addictive it is physically possible to have about fifty with only one cup of tea. Crunchy swirls of spicy goodness, these bakarwadis are half the reason why I still come to Pune and I couldn’t image life without them. Even now in the lower drawer in my kitchen I have stashes of vacuum packed bakarwadis tactfully hidden away from the rest of the family that I can enjoy with my sugar-laden cups of tea like a true Maharashtrian kaku in the making. That’s kaku not kaki.
Do I have the same love for Pune as I do for Mumbai? Tough one. But the way I see it is that if Mumbai is imperfectly perfect, then Pune is perfectly Pune.
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