Tribute to Shakuntala Patade

"How does one define oneself ? Come to think about it, it’s rather confusing.” As Shaku-tai, Shaki, Shakki aunty, Shaks, Shakuntala Patade says this in the short documentary “Desire of the Moth”, you realize how true it is. As with any person, Shaku-tai was perceived differently by different people, but what they experienced in common was her ability to empathize, connect, and relate to anyone who crossed her path.

That was what made her so special and unique. She was a highly intelligent, talented, well-read person, but not all knowledgeable people are compassionate. In today’s scenario, with whatever is happening around the globe, we need compassion more than anything else. And that makes people like Shaku-tai so important.

Her infectious smile, the warmth in her hug, and the two kisses on the cheeks that were full of love. Every time I met her, I looked forward to those three things. Since she left this mortal world, not a day goes by without missing her.

It all started with a group exhibition of paintings at Sudarshan Kala Manch. I took her to be an enthusiastic volunteer, shedding light on the thought process behind the paintings. Draped in a beautiful pure cotton saree, a bright smile on her face, fluent in both English and Marathi. Unlike the other painters, she wasn’t idly distributing brochures while the visitors explored the exhibit on their own—she wandered confidently around the hall, making conversation with those who took an interest in her art. It was only then that I realized the paintings were by her.

I was amazed by her art and her persona. She, too, was happy to meet the young people present. We exchanged contact details, and so began our unconventional friendship.

“Desire of the Moth” was my first short documentary. It was well received, winning accolades at numerous festivals. The Hero of the film was Shaku-tai. People loved her. Young and old, arty and common folk: everyone was taken by the spontaneity with which she narrated her philosophy of life.

The vibrant colours in her paintings, the depictions of grief, hope, survival instinct in her characters, the thoughtfulness of her words, and her mature perspective on the various aspects of her life made the film thoroughly engaging. The granny with the impish smile had much to say throughout the film. Shaku-tai, who looked like any grandma next door, surprised everyone with her non-traditional views.

Not many know that Shaku-tai wasn’t just a good teacher and painter, but a talented poet, as well. An avid reader, she read some of the best English and Marathi literature, which influenced her writing. I wish I had placed greater emphasis on that aspect of her personality in my documentary. At that point, I was too young to understand that—regardless, Shaku-tai will continue to inspire through the film.

As she aged, she never became cynical—her enthusiasm never ceased to amaze me. She became hard of hearing, but that didn’t stop us from having meaningful conversations. The memories of chatting with Shaku-tai, on religion, politics, relationships, and life will always remain fresh.

Shaku-tai had a very positive outlook on life. She would not want any of us to have long faces on the day of her service. She celebrated life, dealt with its ups and downs with a smile. She had her moments of grief and despair, but she never let them kill the child in her. The child that never stopped dreaming, the child that never gave up on good causes, the child that was always curious about what was happening around her, and most importantly, the child who could hear another out without being judgmental.

Shaku-tai, Shakki, Shaki aunty, Shaks and for me, sometimes she was SHK, will always stay in my heart. I will always love her for the way she was, the way she changed my life. She would say, “Don’t worry, Beti (daughter). You are in my prayers”. Today I promise her that she will always be in my prayers.

Let there be no goodbyes, because wherever you are, in whatever form, like the name of one of your paintings: “I am with you always”. Best wishes for your further journey.

Loads of Love,

Amrita

RIP Shakuntala Patade (Dec 7 1931 - May 1 2017)