D.G. Patel turns 90

Dear dedicated reader,

Saturday, D.G. Patel celebrated his 90th year on this earth. What does D.G. stand for, you ask? I have no idea. This lack of knowledge, however, did not disqualify me from being invited to give a speech at his surprise birthday party.

All I know is that Saturday morning at exactly 10:45 am, a school peon appeared at the door of my classroom, interrupting my teaching, insisting that I accompany him to the temple.
“But – I’m teaching a class…” I protested. In vain. I was whisked out and barely allowed to even stop at the house to drop my books before being marched down to the temple hall. The next thing I know, I’m standing in front of a crowd of 100 men wishing a man I’ve never seen before many happy returns of the day.

The story, of course, does not begin here. It all really began when Mizba and Asba, Daybal’s two adorable daughters, came by our house on Friday as they often do.

“Come,” Mizba told me in Hindi, “Some people are doing some thing at the temple. Want to see?”
Since Melissa and I had nothing better to do, we went. On the short walk to the temple, we acquired the usual entourage of five to nine year olds who hang out in that general area and love to pester us with persistent lines of questioning that include only: What is your name? How are you? and my favorite, phrased as a question: Bye Bye?

The metal shutter that usually closes off the hall where we took our yoga class from the rest of the temple complex was open and as we approached, we could see that there were a number of people inside working on the hall. Watching the preparation for the festivities was all well and good until –

“Come in! Come in!” Sureshbhai, also known as the “President” appeared at our side. “We are preparing for a birthday celebration. D.G. Patel – he will be 90 years old.”

We nodded enthusiastically, as was expected of us, despite not knowing who D.G. Patel is or what his role is in the town.

The English medium school principal was also there and on seeing us, joined the conversation. “Tomorrow!” He exclaimed. “You must come tomorrow and celebrate the birthday with us. At 11:00 am. Okay?”

We nodded and politely accepted the invitation. As we walked away, I turned to Melissa. “Pity invitation?” She nodded and we both laughed.

It was because of this that I found myself being dragged away from my class at 10:40 am. I barely had time to stop in the house and put down my chalk and eraser before being chastised for not going straight to the hall.

When we arrived, the first thing I noticed was the rows upon rows of middle aged Indian men lounging in plastic chairs facing the front of the room that had been impeccably decorated with streamers, balloons, and flowers for the occasion. A large painted banner proclaiming in neat block-letter English “D.G. Patel Turns 90!” had been hung across the front of the hall. Underneath it, a small, unassuming white haired man with a cane and spectacles was sitting.

Melissa and I had stopped at the threshold of the hall. As far as I could see, there were only men here, milling about, talking on their cell phones, slowly drifting to sleep in their chairs, waiting for the event to start. Suddenly, a familiar figure in a green salwar kameez appeared and grabbed my arm.

“Where the hell have you been?” Asked Daybal. She is the only Indian in Kadod who has a competent enough command of the English language to use such expressions with confidence.

I laughed. “We thought we were supposed to be here at 11!” I protested as she led us over to the miniscule women’s section, where four or five other women, some in saris, some in nice salwar kameez were seated. I began to feel as though I had underdressed for the occasion. But then I realized I was sitting in a hall full of men in jeans and business casual. I felt better.

Sureshbhai, clearly flustered, came over to greet us distractedly. “Okay, so, you will say a few words for his birthday?” He asked me.

“A few words?” I repeated quizzically.

“Yes,” he said. “You will address everyone, just give a small speech, one to two minutes.”

My first staff meeting flashed before my eyes. “Uh, yes?” It hadn’t been a question, so I suppose my begrudging agreement was not necessary and anyhow he had already moved on to put out the next fire.

I sat in my seat, turning over in my mind, what would I say? I wouldn’t be able to pick D.G. Patel out of a line up and I was supposed to speak at his birthday party?

I turned to Daybal. “So, who is this D.G. Patel?”

“Oh!” She said, “He’s so rich! His whole family is in USA. He’s got two cars, two houses, two wives…you know.” I couldn’t tell if she was kidding.

At this point, the proceedings started. A spotlight was lit from the back of the hall and Sureshbhai, being videoed by a wedding video crew hired especially for the occasion, began to deliver a speech. Whatever he was saying must have been funny as people were laughing.

After a few moments, he indicated that Melissa and I should stand and come to the microphone. There were an awkward few seconds where I thought about not complying, but the sweet smile on the face of the old man sitting behind the world’s largest birthday cake made me reconsider. Putting one foot in front of the other, I made my way to the mic.

I looked out over the sea of men with cell phones attached to their belts. Already two had gone off just during Sureshbhai’s speech. I took a deep breath and squinted out at the audience, blinded by the spotlight and the light from the wedding video crew, who had just shoved the lens in my face to capture my every unplanned word.

“I guess we’d just like to say Happy Birthday to Mr. Patel and wish him many happy returns of the day on behalf of the Nanubhai Education Foundation,” I said slowly in English.

I could have said “Long live DG Patel, his two houses, two cars and two wives!” for all the audience could understand my English. Everyone clapped and I was given a rose to take to the old man, who smiled happily and confusedly as I presented it to him. The camera crew captured the whole moment in stills and on celluloid.

I feel certain that D.G. Patel will cherish it for many more years to come.

Best,
Cat