Remembering freedom stalwart, feminist activist and educationist extraordinaire, Maniben Nanavati, on her birth anniversary
Maniben Nanavati with Gandhiji and other karyakartas
She walked the talk with quiet tenacity. If freedom and feminism combined as second breath within her, khadi was second skin. She draped the fabric fervently, yet frugally. Convinced that a pair of clothes was enough (she hand-spun these along with bedsheets from roo, cotton, which was then woven into fabric), Maniben Chandulal Nanavati possessed two sets. A couple more of white khaddar sarees were added only because the monsoon damp did not allow drying in time for the next use.
Widely known as Maniba or Khadi Mata (spinning thread for long hours daily, she stitched thousands of garments for underprivileged children whom she also schooled), Maniben hardly stopped at being a freedom patriot. The unassuming sevika went on to remarkably enable the rural poor, particularly women, to earn a living after training in her network of ashramshalas.
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As a young sevika
Born on February 27, 1905, to the family of cloth merchant Chunilal Zaveri in Vijapur, near Ahmedabad, Maniba lost her parents early in life. She and her sister Kantaben were brought up by their kaka, Lallubhai, whose pearl trading enterprise extended to Europe.
Maniba attended primary classes till Std III at Mangrol Jain Girls School in Bombay. In years that considered cultured solely girls who were adept at domestic chores and reading religious scriptures, she too married at 18. The fortunate difference being that her in-laws proved philanthropists and educationists, following the path of simple living and high thinking.
Maniben’s grandson Shachin Nanavati and wife Himadri at Maniben Nanavati Women’s College
Chandulal Nanavati, her husband, was a close associate of Gandhiji, steeped in his precepts and principles. His father, Dr Balabhai Nanavati, was the appointed physician for Maharaja Sayajirao Gaikwad of Baroda. Chandulal’s brother, Manilal Balabhai Nanavati, Deputy Governor of the Reserve Bank of India, co-authored the seminal book, The Indian Rural Problem, with JJ Anjaria.
“My grandfather wished to have his own business. Professionally into coal bunkering—our firm, The Eastern Bunkerers, later became a subsidiary of Scindia Steam Navigation Company—the Nanavatis have been strongly driven by the urge to contribute to society,” says Shachin Nanavati, Maniba’s grandson.
On the retiya spinning wheel
The visionary Chandulal was keen to bequeath an educational trust, a dream Maniba realised in 1954 with the Chandulal Nanavati Vinaymandir in Vile Parle. Three years before this, she assumed founder trusteeship of the Dr Balabhai Nanavati Hospital inaugurated by Jawaharlal Nehru in 1951.
The suburb was a “chhavni”, the camp where plans for freedom shaped. “Stalwarts like Vallabhbhai Patel and Jamnalal Bajaj were regular visitors to our home,” Shachin says. “Vile Parle became Ba’s karmabhoomi. Gandhiji na rang thi rangaay geyla badha—everyone was tinged by Gandhiji’s teachings.”
Granddaughter Abha Matthan and Himadri Nanavati at Khadi Mandir, Vile Parle. Pics/Shadab Khan
Maniba was naturally drawn to the cause, her activities under close and continuous scrutiny of the British. On asking the Mahatma what the best way was to serve the nation, she was advised to crusade for the development of khadi. Inspired, she joined the band of satyagrahi women under Swami Anand’s leadership and pioneered the introduction of spinning in far-flung villages. The Vile Parle Khadi Mandir opened in 1934 is still managed by women, besides which Maniba was honorary secretary of the Maharashtra Khadi and Village Industries Board.
“From pieces of old ties, Ba sewed bandi vests for Adivasi and Dalit children,” recalls Himadri, Shachin’s wife, who details her grandmother-in-law’s typical day. “Waking at 5 in the morning, she would bathe and pray at the Jain temple. After darshan she sat sewing till 11 am. Breaking her fast, she walked to the station, boarded a local to Churchgate and walked to Khadi Bhandar in Fort. Working there till 4 pm, she returned by train again and, staunchly Jain, ate an early dinner. Evening prayers done, she spent at least another hour needling buttons and eyes on outfits stitched in the morning. Our home was always filled with karyakartas, social workers from Bardoli, from Dharampur and places across the country, whom she sheltered and guided.”
Though unable to finish her schooling, Maniba clearly understood the tremendous influence of education. She did not want women to feel fettered by limitations. “Ba never felt inadequate, but decided to help women who do. She created diverse opportunities and facilities to ensure they weren’t bound to the kitchen,” says Shachin.
“These were extremely practical vocational skills keeping them rooted to their background,” elaborates Maniba’s granddaughter, Abha Matthan. Her mother Arunaben Purohit, Maniba’s daughter, was in Arthur Road prison during the Independence struggle. Whenever the Mahatma declared an andolan or jail bharo, satyagrahis gathered at their home to eat before agitating.
“My grandmother prioritised financial independence, especially for the girl child and doubly so for tribal girls in districts like Dang,” says Matthan. “Ba knew that when a woman has an extra source of revenue, her position in the family equation changes. She can dictate dynamics, driving her family out of orthodoxy, out of prejudice and societal malpractices. I went on several trips to ashramshalas with her. Kids here got a chance to study and pick up profitable skills in a relevant curriculum. Even with cardinal faith in education as a prime mover towards betterment, Ba didn’t create misfits at these residential schools she established across Gujarat. Learning skills for cottage industries like spinning the charkha, sewing, pottery and local crafts, provided them economic upliftment. Married or not, women could confidently fend
for themselves.
“Ba didn’t spout jargon or hollow theories that grate irritatingly on the nerves. She just did (work). That was part of her essential spirituality—not the orthodox, morally superior Jainism you see today which flaunts wealth. Hers was true spiritualism, unswerving faith blending Gandhian ideals. That missionary zeal, seeing education as the most important vehicle of change, is deeply ingrained in all of us.”
Incidentally, Abha’s husband, filmmaker John Matthew Matthan, dedicated Shikhar in 2005 to Maniba, who often spun khadi for him. “Ahead of environmental catchphrases of global warming and deforestation gaining currency, this movie explained Ba’s philosophy. It drew from viewing her as a powerhouse of compassion. She impacted lives completely. Without uttering a preachy word, she embodied the phrase ‘dignity of labour’ and showed there’s no shame in cleaning your plate after meals, despite a retinue of servants, or nursing loved ones through sickness.”
Echoing Matthan’s view, Shachin recalls being taught by example. “Ba was a silent worker, not a talker. She didn’t tell us about being arrested for protesting the salt law while pregnant with her third child. We heard these incidents narrated by my father [mountaineer Jagdish Nanavati] and aunts. She chose to travel the country in three-tiered unreserved train compartments, all the distance to Bihar and Orissa, where she offered flood victims relief and rehabilitation. Oriyas basically being fish eaters, she got mouth blisters subsisting on rice over three months at a stretch.
“In the 1980s, we got a really good and clear idea of her humaneness. I wanted to put up a factory on an acre of land we had in Marol, which was getting encroached on. Fearing that the 200-odd basti inhabitants would also be left homeless by builders, Ba called their representatives. They were stunned when she handed them a gift deed for the plot. Overwhelmed by her gesture, they in turn gratefully and touchingly collected R2 lakh for her to, no doubt, donate to one of the charities she supported.”
Matthan recounts how Maniba readily welcomed John, a Malayali Syrian Christian, to the fold. “Ba was so cool, saying, ‘Hoon church ma jaroor avees tara lagan maatey—I’m definitely coming to your church wedding.’ Neither his religion mattered, nor his non-vegetarianism. Dismissing such man-made divisions, ‘Ishwar ey nathi banaavya’, she believed. Because of her being so broadminded, the rest of the family fell in line. Ba had a great sense of humour and was involved in our lives in a fun, with-it way! She wouldn’t hold herself up in some strict ‘I’m the matriarch and everyone should address me so’ stature. Warm, approachable, available any time, she was fine with the fact that from college we dropped in at Khadi Bhandar in the middle of her workday to give her a kiss and run off for a film.”
Maniba died in 2000 at the age of 95. Four months from now, in June, the Maniben Nanavati Women’s College celebrates its golden jubilee. As Principal, Dr Rajshree Trivedi, observes, “We don’t need to step out in search of a role model for our mission—women’s empowerment. She’s right there in the name of the college, our own Maniba.”
Author-publisher Meher Marfatia writes fortnightly on everything that makes her love Mumbai and adore Bombay. You can reach her at meher.marfatia@mid-day.com/www.meher marfatia.com
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