The Goddess Annapoorani Incarnate!

      Who hasn’t heard of the famous “dabbawalas” of Mumbai? Right from their precision delivery to their invitation to Buckingham palace for Prince Charles’ wedding.

      This system of food delivery started in the 1800s in order to provide hot lunches to many workers who originally migrated to Mumbai from other places in India. They all hailed from different communities and hence their palates were used to different kinds of cuisines. This was the start of this complex but meticulously organised food delivery system and led to the coining of the term “dabbawalas”. A validation of their efficiency comes from this piece of statistics – that the dabbawalas almost never err in their delivery. And if at all, they make one mistake in about 8 million deliveries! This may be disputed but nevertheless it is a very efficient system.

      Patchaiamma. That was her name.

      Flashback time.

      I was doing my MBBS at one of the oldest and most prestigious medical colleges in Madras. I had not wanted to do Medicine but since I had the requisite grades and I wasn’t really averse to the course, I found myself in the hallowed “Red Fort” which was actually the Anatomy department. I was wearing a saree (kept in place by, not one, but twelve safety pins!) for the first time and if not for the reassuring presence of a dozen pins, I’d surely have had a sartorial accident that day.

      Needless to say, I loved my course right from day one and began to love it even more when we started the clinical postings in the hospital. That is when we actually start seeing patients. The process of finding out the diagnosis after taking a history and doing a physical examination was a challenge and my friends and I would love putting together the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle. My professors used to say that the diagnosis is made up of 85% history, 10% examination of the patient and only 5% investigations. In today’s era, it seems to be 95% investigations and a variable component of history and physical examination in the remaining 5%. We would spend a lot of time talking to the patient and then analyse the history to arrive at a few possible diagnoses that were called “differentials”. Then we would examine the patient and present the “case” to our professors. Those were very exciting times and we were besotted with the process of clinical reasoning, diagnosis and management of the patient.

      I was a “day scholar”. I had the luxury of staying at home while my close friends, who were from other cities, stayed in an ancient nurses hostel built during the British era. They had to stay in a dormitory and faced quite a few inconveniences but all of this paled into insignificance as medicine and its mysteries were being revealed to us on a daily basis.

      There was only one problem and that was food or the lack of it.

      I had to leave home at 6 AM everyday in order to reach the hospital on time for the clinical round by the “chief”, as we called our professor. I would leave home on an empty stomach and my friends from the hostel too would not get much to eat in the mess at that time.

      My mother, like all mothers, would not accept the fact that her child left home each day without eating. It actually would have done me a lot of good as I used to be very rotund! But, outpatient case discussions followed by ward rounds would go on till almost 1 PM. Sometimes longer and then we would rush to the theory classes scheduled in the afternoon. My friends and I were perennially hungry!

      Enter Patchaiamma. She was a local lady who used to deliver food to people working in offices close to my college. Amma, with her perseverance, managed to find out about her and Patchaiamma was taken on board as my personal “dabbawali”. This arrangement pleased my mother no end for not only could she prepare the food leisurely but it would reach us “hot off the griddle” so to speak. Patchaiamma was to pick up the tiffin box from my home at around 12 PM everyday so she could get it to us by 12:30 PM or so.

      Patchaiamma turned out to be a diminutive lady of indeterminate age with closely cropped, grey hair. She’d wear a saree that reached her calves. But the most captivating feature was her smile – a smile that would ooze so much of charm and would reach right up to her eyes! Her smile epitomized the person she was – pure, innocent, good, loving, gentle, honest and kind. So much so, one would not even notice her betel juice stained teeth. For me and my friends it was love at first sight. We loved her but also took many liberties with her over the years she was with us.

      This petite lady would reach my home last. She’d already have twenty odd boxes that she would carry in a bamboo basket on her head. She’d arrive puffing and panting as some lady would have delayed her. Amma would be right on time. Patchaiamma would then have to catch the bus. Buses in my area would come once in forty minutes in those days and so my stomach (and as a consequence, those of my friends too) was at the mercy of these very buses! We would all be waiting in the common room eagerly looking out for her. The minute she reached we would grab the box and fall on the food. There were eight of us who’d eat the food amma had prepared. Needless to say, the food would disappear in seconds while the time taken for preparation and transport would amount to hours. All this while, Patchaiamma would watch us with a fond, loving and indulgent smile. She’d look upon us as her children and loved us dearly. Especially me.

      She continued to bring food for us for almost three years. And not once did amma or I see her angry or annoyed. She had this quality of zenness that was there for all to see. The only time this would slip was when she reached our college late and we were already rushing out for our afternoon classes without having eaten. She would plead with us to eat a bite and go but we would never heed her, much to her dismay. She was pained every time we could not eat our lunch. It was almost as if she was the incarnation of Annapoorani, the goddess of food and nourishment. Her work ethic and commitment was amazing. Despite her impoverished state and illiteracy, she was a very dignified person. Very principled and idealistic. A very, very evolved soul!

      Life took me to other cities following my graduation from medical school and I did not see Patchaiamma until much later. Amma would say that she’d drop in from time to time and ask about me. I was busy with my life and did not think of her much.

      Many years later, I came back to Chennai permanently. One fine day the doorbell rang and lo and behold, Patchaiamma stood on the doorstep. Older and frailer but with the same impish smile and the same zen quality. We spoke for long about old times and she left. I pressed some money into her hands (which she took very reluctantly) insisting that she come every month and see me. From her tattered clothes, I could see that she was not faring well monetarily. My heart felt like it would burst. I wanted to do more for her – the hands that had literally fed me. My second mother.

      A few months later she visited again. This time it was apparent that she was unwell. She’d had an accident and had lost a lot of blood. She, who used to walk briskly, now limped painfully. She was not being looked after by her son. This time I told her firmly to allow me to pay her some money on a regular basis. She just smiled wanly. She had been broken by life’s travails. I gave her some money all the while worrying about whether her son would snatch it away from her. As she left, she turned and waved goodbye.

      That was the last time I ever saw her.

      I kicked myself for not finding out where she lived. I kicked myself for not keeping her with me and looking after her. I just kept kicking myself for a dozen odd things I could and should have done for her. I realized that one cannot repay kindness too soon, for you never know how soon will be too late. But alas, she never came back for me to atone for my errors of omission. We definitely had a karmic connection and I was deeply in her debt.

      So the best I could do was write this tribute for my most beloved “dabbawali”. I pray that she is in heaven and happy. Happiness for her would mean delivering “dabbas” of good food to the Gods and great masters and watching them fondly while they eat! I would like to carry this image in my heart and mind always. I also hope and pray that in another lifetime, I can become her personal “dabbawali”!

      I truly believe that Annapoorani Devi incarnated as Patchaiamma.

      My pranams at the lotus feet of Gurudev 🙏