The Ever-Smiling, Loving ‘Aai-Appa’ - Sudhir Gadgil

At any happy occasion in our home, amidst a crowd of relatives, the moment someone would say, “Tara, it’s your turn to take an ,” my Aai (Mother)—Tara by her maiden name, Shanta after marriage—would instantly recite a witty traditional couplet. The moment anyone asked, “Who’s up for a game of cards?” she would be the first to say, “Let’s play rummy!” This enthusiasm remained undiminished even after she turned sixty. And more often than not, she was the one who would win the game. If someone even mentioned a trip, she was ready to go in a heartbeat, though she never showed much excitement for religious pilgrimages. My father, on the other hand—Appa, or Govind Kashinath—was profoundly religious. He was a man who was always chanting on his prayer beads, immersed in meditation and worship, and who fasted unfailingly every Saturday. He took the lead in all religious matters, from performing the daily at home to conducting my grandfather’s annual death rites. He was a regular visitor to the Bhikardas Maruti temple. Aai, in contrast, found her joy in the social gatherings at Thoserbai’s house near Shanipar, immersed in lively conversation and card games. She was always ready to accompany my grandmother—her mother-in-law, Sonutai—anywhere she wanted to go. In her early years, she always wore a traditional nine-yard () saree, but later in life, she was just as radiant in a five-yard () one. She was originally from Murda, a village near Khed in the Konkan region, but grew up in Girgaon’s Phanaswadi at the home of her uncle. In 1947, she married my father and became a true Punekar for life. She settled beautifully into a bustling joint family with my five paternal aunts, two paternal uncles, and her in-laws, gracefully navigating everyone’s likes and dislikes. She shared a passion with my Appa for watching the latest plays that premiered in Pune. Whenever the topic of his siblings came up, she would fondly say of the youngest uncle, Arun, “Oh, I used to carry him on my hip!” (He is the only one of the uncles still with us). My father was a quiet man with a serious face. In the midst of our cheerful, lively family, Aai would often gently tease him, “It’s alright to smile a little now!” Aai’s bath was always done before seven in the morning. She would style her long hair into a neat braid or a bun. She would murmur the prayer so softly it was barely audible. If my hectic touring schedule allowed me to be home for a meal, she would instruct our cook, “Fry some fenugreek leaves with a sizzling tempering for Sudhir.” When my grandparents sat down to eat together, she would remind the cook, “Roast a for them, won’t you?” or ask, “Do we have any to offer?” She was a master of making all kinds of chutneys and was exceptional at preparing (a savory rice pancake porridge). During the Gauri-Ganpati festival, if we had an excess of , she would transform them into delicious (a sweet, flaky pastry). Everyone in the family took care of one another. My Appa would carefully save the last slivers of jaggery for me in an empty milk packet. “Sudhir loves these,” he would say, collecting the packets just for me. He was particularly fond of (crisp, savoury multigrain fritters). During the Ganpati festival, he would always ask us not to raise the volume, though a playful, silent treatment was a common occurrence. Whenever he went to collect his pension, he would invariably return with a  from Prabha, from Chitale’s, or some . He never ate a single thing alone. For my grandmother, he would bring (a milk pudding). Even in her eighties, Aai would serve her sisters-in-law their morning tea with her own hands. She would tell my wife, Shaila, “You go and help the children with their studies. We can make the and later.” Appa, sitting on the swing and chanting on his prayer beads, would gently admonish my daughter, “Study now, don’t fall asleep.” When my son, Ketan, stood first in his class, Appa would bring home from Chitale’s. He had gifted my granddaughter, Mughda, a five-gram gold bangle. He would meticulously cut out and save news clippings from my articles in the newspaper, taking great pride and joy in showing his friends the photographs of me with famous personalities. His watchful eye was always on his granddaughter, ensuring Mughda was home before seven. Aai’s world was filled with her women’s club and her relatives; Appa’s was filled with God and faith. Appa, my father and the children's grandfather, would always insist, “Be good to everyone. What you give in this life will be returned to you before you die. Your karma always comes back to you. So be good to all, take care of one another, and never abandon your humanity.” It was these values that allowed our joint family to thrive in such a spirit of mutual appreciation and joy. And it is because of them that, even today, I find the greatest pleasure in a life lived within a joint family—laughing, playing, eating delicious food, and watching plays together. - Sudhir Gadgil (This article is the translated version of the original article सतत ‌‘हसतमुख‌’ असणारेप्रेमळ ‌‘आई-अप्पा‌’ written bySudhir Gadgi lpublished in the Sahitya Chaprak Diwali Ank 2025 ) https://youtu.be/j1cGgMd2IcQ