Ranchodbhai.............by Kavita Shivdasani

Ranchodbhai….. Renowned as “Boy” an alias which was his inimitable identity right up to the time he withdrew from our services at the grand old age of 75 years. Hailing from a remote village in Gujrat he was little under six feet, upright, lean, tough, dark skinned with tiny twinkling eyes set deep in a face creased with candor and loyalty.

Boy was always immaculately clad in a starched white drill cloth Nehru Jacket with shiny brass buttons, white trousers, gleaming black boots the entire ensemble crowned by a Gandhi ‘topi’.

We inherited Boy and the beautiful rosewood dining room furniture when father who worked for a British firm - with all the trappings of the Raj - was posted in Bombay. The Company provided us a spacious dwelling in an exclusive part of town which just before we moved in had been occupied by a British Director of the firm. The Englishman had especially had local craftsmen to design and carve the banquet room effects but due to high transportation costs regretfully gave up the idea of carting the pieces back to England much to our delight. Neither was he able to coax Boy his Man Friday to accompany him overseas as the latter aged 57 had recently retired from Company service and was not duty bound to oblige.

Father requested Boy to stay on with us in his personal capacity and generally oversee the rest of the household minions. Boy ruled them and us with a rod of iron and clockwork precision. He ensured that Father’s suits and accessories for office were ready on the dot, meals were punctually and tastefully served, laundry and groceries and house cleaning taken care of. In fact mundane aspects of housekeeping were a mystery to Mother thanks to Boy’s omnipresence. Boy in fact even kept meticulous records of telephone calls for Memsahib (mother) and Missy Baba (I).

Mother had a habit of forgetting her cupboard keys and bits of her gold ornaments all over the place. However they never missed Boy’s eagle eye. He would quietly stash it away in his pocket and wait for father to arrive home in the evening. When both my parents were sitting down for tea and discussing the day Boy would materialize with the keys (or jewellery as the case maybe) on a salver and hand them over to Mother much to her discomfiture. Boy’s point being Sahib should know the onerous responsibility he shouldered because of Memsahib’s laxity.

His military strictness softened at meals especially if both my parents were not in. He would cluck and fuss dictating how much I should eat, what I should eat and why I should eat – a habit that drove me berserk. No amount of irritation on my part deterred him. So I decided to repay him in kind, every time he sat down in the kitchen for his meals. He got the point. But just how tough it was for him to keep away was obvious from the fact that I knew he was hovering anxiously in the kitchen doorway by the long shadow his presence cast on the opposite wall.

Any repairs that needed to be done around the house – electrical, carpentry, plumbing – would warrant an immediate telephone call by Boy to the Company’s Administrative Department. Boy would imperiously command the Division Head to send the necessary technician who in turn would arrive post-haste. Mother rather scandalized at such a high-handed demeanor on Boy’s part called up the amused Administration Head to apologize only to be informed by the latter that the entire Company was familiar with and fond of Boy and took absolutely no offense. Boy had been in service with the firm since the age of 12.

On one occasion Raj Talwar the then Chairman of a renowned nationalized bank and a college friend of Father was over for cocktails. Being a teetotaller Raj accepted a chilled fruit juice. After taking a sip he unthinkingly placed the glass on the highly polished peg table only to be promptly admonished by Boy that the glass should never be placed without a coaster as the polish would be stained.

Mother had been recouping from a long hospitalization and had been advised by the Company’s doctor that although she had been sent home she was to continue bed-rest and make sure she took all her medication on time. Boy ensured that the Doctor’s orders were followed diligently.

Since several visitors would drop by to keep Mother company she requested Boy that her bedroom be tidied first. Boy however had his own fixed notions about housekeeping and firmly believed in beginning from the withdrawing room and working inwards. This tug-of-war lasted till one morning Mother (who had been warned by the Doctor not to lose her temper since it was not good for her heart condition) in exasperation flung a full glass of water all over Boy and was of course immediately aghast at the lunacy of her action. Boy who had just served her the water for her medication without missing a beat calmly stated that as his jacket was rather damp he would catch a chill. So he requested permission to change into a dry jacket and then immediately to supervise the cleaning of her room.

After a 4 year stint in Bombay Father was posted to Calcutta and Boy of course formed an essential part of the entourage. One evening about 5 years later Boy was returning home from an evening stroll when a young girl learning driving lost control of the car and knocked him down. Boy was pretty severely injured and although the Company permitted expenses for hospitalization Mother felt he should remain home with us and ensured that our family doctor visited home everyday to check and dress his wounds.

Since he was almost 67 years old (although he insisted he was not a day older that 50) we mutually decided he should be with his family back in Gujrat. His going away took a while to adjust to but the void was never filled.

About two years later we received a call from Boy asking if it was possible for us to arrange a job for him in Bombay since Bombay was closer to his home. He needed the job as there was severe famine in his village. Mother immediately arranged for him to work with a relative. This enterprise was rather short-lived and Boy haughtily resigned from the post. His reason being that his memsahib (Mother) used to allow him to drink milk while my Aunt (much to her chagrin) did not allow him sufficient milk in his tea!

We returned to Bombay and Boy returned from his village to be with us. He served us with incorruptible devotion until he retired at the age of 75 years. (He still insisted he was not a day older than 50)

I remember one afternoon when I was studying for my graduation, Mother had gone visiting and Father was in office I was suddenly overcome with excruciating stomach cramps so unbearable I could not call out for help. Boy who would check in on me every half hour or so happened to arrive on his self-appointed patrol duty to find me writhing in pain. He promptly called the Company doctor and ordered him to visit on the double. He then informed both my parents. The Doctor had already hustled me off to the Hospital before they arrived. It had been an extreme case of appendicitis and Boy’s quick thinking had saved time and my life.

Some years after Boy had returned to his village Father sent him a letter inquiring after Boy’s health and how his family was keeping. Boy’s family comprised of his wife, son and daughter both his children being married and well settled. Father suggested that both Boy and his wife visit us for a while.

A post card reply from Boy read thus:

“Me and wife too old to travel

Sahib, memsahib and Missy Baba come and visit.

Me have ‘pucca’ house and extra room”

by Kavita Shivdasani

("Boy" took over my family around 1967 - they do not make humans like him any more)