Tara Patwardhan, An Immigrant Synonymous with America's Spirit
One
of the ardent readers of the Times and a die hard New Yorker
, Tara Patwardhan,
an american citizen immigrated from India in 1950, and who by all
measures imbibed the spirit of Americanism died on 17th Aug 2010 in
New York.
Unlike
so many thousands of other immigrants, wary of preserving their
identity in the melting pot of the World, TaraPatwardhan,
let herself assimilate in the truly the global spirit of America,
when the buzzword globalization was not even coined.
It
was not easy. She was born in India, in a small town of Hubali, which
is now in the state of Karnataka. The year was 1921 and it was the
time for freedom movement in India, and also of social orthodoxy,
that hardly allowed any girl to nurture and preserve her own
identity. As the customs went in those times, she got married very
early to Ram Patwardhan,
who even had not completed his education. After the basic graduation
in India, Mr Patwardhan decided
to do his further studies in law from the New York University. Even
then, despite stringent immigration laws, New York was enamored by
many who were in search of virtues that promoted liberty and
individual freedom. India got independence from the British Rule in
1947 and Mr Patwardhan took
a job at the Indian consulate in New York, and it was also the
turning point in Tara's
life.
The
journey that began in a ship from India, with a 10 day halt in
London, ended in Perry Street apartment, that the
Patwardhan couple
had to share with actress Jean Pears* and her boyfriend. Later, after
Ms Pears had left, another apartment on the same floor, became the
home for Patwardhans for 50 years. While Mr Patwardhan worked
in the consulate, Tara explored
the city in her own way – learned Greek, Latin, Philosophy,
History in evening classes - everything that was needed to understand
her new life. She walked through the city and in its movement of
people, the rush and hush, the broadways and the subways, she found
her own identity. She learned the way of being global and yet
independent, and in which "The New York Times" accompanied
her just like a true friend. She then accepted a job at the Indian
Consulate.
By
a strange and a coincidental twist of destiny, for a minority of
immigrants in India in search of priest for religious ceremonies,
MrPatwardhan being a
Brahmin and from a priestly class, became a beacon in the alien
culture who also practiced chants and texts of auspicious occasions.
Mr Patwardhan,
realizing the importance and inevitability left the job in consulate
and continued his priestly work. Considering his unique and
reverential importance in the Indian immigrant community, The New
York Times even carried his obituary when he died in 1996.
However,
Ms Tara, having learnt
the New York way, carried on with her own job and sometimes even
enacted a symbolic role of Mother in ceremonies, and traveled across
America. She was extremely fond of people around. Not a single Indian
immigrated to the United States, before 1980, would have perhaps not
known Tara. But her
soul was in New York, the city which not only changed her, but as
life was progressing she also became a part of the change: She
witnessed the civil rights movement, the cold war, the Kennedy
phenomenon and Mafia engulfing New York. It was for this reason when
her husband died, being the only survivor, she was forced by the
relatives to return to her country, which she refused saying, 'How
will I get the New York Times then?'. As much as her love for The
Times, it was the sense of being part of the city where the spirit of
belonging the global movement of people and yet be free, was so much
ingrained in her. She was never lost in the city.
After
her husband's death, she stayed alone in the apartment, but her
solitude never reached the brink of loneliness, for which she often
would thank the city. The September 11 attack was as painful to her
as her own personal loss. But like millions of thousands of other New
Yorkers, she was relieved to see the city revived herself. Her day
would begin late in the morning with the Times, and even a stranger
would be welcome to her small apartment, with cuttings of magazines
and books astray and a taste of food, she was so fond of cooking in
her small kitchen, even in her late 80s. In the antique ambiance of
her apartment, through a small window, a gush of traffic was as
energetic as the subway beating down under her apartment building. A
stranger, without the glitter of the city, would quickly understand
what it is to be like a ordinary New Yorker.
She
was not really the symbol for the wave of indian immigrants in late
90s that
captured the imagination of Silicon Valley software innovation,
but she embodies the essence of globalization and greatness of New
York, just as an ordinary New Yorker and a simple human being who
lived life fully. It
is a message, beyond boundaries, particularly in the times when
immigation is a cursed word in America,
