It was a cloudy afternoon, the breeze had dropped and the trees stood still, waiting for the rain to fall when I received the news that Nivedita Mehta was no more.
It was more than 30 years ago that I had first met Mehta at the Prince of Wales Museum (now the Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Vastu Sangrahalaya).
Her warm and friendly nature, her enthusiasm for her work as the curator of the Alpaiwala Museum and her knowledge of art and archeology drew me to her. Later, when I joined her as a committee member of the Museum Society, I got to know her better.
Mehta was ever ready to help and share her knowledge with all those who approached her. It was thanks to her that I came to learn about Parsi folk songs and garbas sung by Parsi women as they performed their everyday tasks. From her I came to know that Parsi women had composed songs in veneration of the local goddess Rannade. Mehta opened up a whole new field of "social history” for me with her meticulous handwritten compilation of such long-forgotten songs which she generously allowed me to copy so that they could be preserved in the library of The K. R. Cama Oriental Institute. While translating Soonamai Desai’s autobiography I had come across references to Parsi folk songs sung in Navsari. Thanks to Mehta, I was actually able to access them.
Above: Alpaiwala Museum housed in the
Khareghat Memorial Building; top: Nivedita Mehta
It was also because of Mehta that my cousin Cawas Lalkaka and I could find a safe haven for three portraits executed by our uncle, artist Jehangir Lalkaka. We had been anxious about their future as they were portraits of our grandparents, Ardeshir and Pirojbai, as well as one of the Prophet Zarathushtra. We approached Mehta about donating them to the Alpaiwala Museum located in Khareghat Colony on condition that they would always be displayed. Mehta readily promised to do so. (Little did we realize that soon thereafter the Alpaiwala Museum would remain indefinitely shut for renovations.)
My friend and co-translator, Tulsi Vatsal, recalled the time when she was researching on Parsi textiles (garas). Mehta had gone out of her way to help Tulsi by showing her old embroidered garas and discussing the symbolism of the Chinese motifs.
Tulsi and I often visited Mehta in her third-floor home in Godrej Baug after her health deteriorated. It was then that we were struck by the remarkably positive way in which she accepted the reality of her situation. She was always cheerful and welcoming when we visited her. Even when all her movements were curtailed due to multiple strokes and she was confined to a wheelchair, her mind was as sharp and alert as ever and she was interested in reading and discussing the latest books on history, archeology, art and literature. She was always supportive of our translation work and eager to discuss it with us. Never once did she complain about her ill health or rail against her fate, but continued to engage with the world around her right till the very end.
I was overwhelmed by a wave of regret when it dawned on me that I would not see her again. Why had Tulsi and I not visited her more often? Why hadn’t we supplied her with more books to read?
Suddenly, in the midst of these regrets I began to smile. At last her spirit was freed from the prison of her inert body. Why, it must be hovering over all the archeological sites so dear to her!
Mehta had, at last, gained the freedom she so richly deserved. ABAN MUKHERJI
mukherji.aban@gmail.com