How did this woman, illiterate and penniless, become a millionaire?

From Yavatmal to the dizzy heights of London: Vivek Deshpande recounts the life of Aajibai Banarase

25, Hoop Lane, London. July 29, 1953. A middle-aged, illiterate Maharashtrian woman, clad in a traditional nine-yard saree, with a big kumkum on her forehead, puts her thumb impression on a rent contract paper as her two daughters watch helplessly from a distance. How could she, with not a penny to her name, even think of acquiring a house? But, driven out of home by her step-sons, she’s the last person to listen to such logic. There’s just no stopping her.

Her daughters, though, needn’t have feared. Within the the next three years, she had purchased two more houses, on London’s Woodstock Road and Dollis Road. Another few years down, she acquired 12 buildings, a fleet of cars and entered the bracket of multi-millionaires in Britain who paid ‘supertax.’ Not just that. Whenever they visited England, India’s ‘who’s who’ made it a point to visit her, and her Hoop Lane residence became an important pit stop for those who aspired to be part of the Indian culturati in the UK. When she passed away in 1983, most of the London dailies carried obituaries, hailing her as a ‘prominent Hindu’.

In the new millennium, byte-friendly Indians have struck it big the world over. But success is also Aajibai Banarase’s story, set 50 years ago. Illiterate. Abandoned. Penniless. And a self-made multi-millionaire.

Aajibai, among others, laid the foundation for the coming of age of the Indian diaspora. Ironically enough, where Gururaj Deshpande and Azim Premji hit frequent headlines, no one remembers Aajibai. Today, the only authentic source of information on her is a beautiful compilation of her extraordinary life story, Kahani Londonchya Aajibaichi (The Story Of A Grandmother From London), by well-known Marathi author Sarojini Vaidya.

If all the connotations of the word ‘fantastic’ come into play anywhere, it is in the stranger-than-fiction story of this woman from Choundi, a sleepy village tucked deep in the Yavatmal district of Maharashtra. From the first breath she drew, to her intuition and acumen that made her a hugely successful entrepreneur in England, Aajibai’s story is a truly inspiring, one that warms the heart. With little else but reserves of grit and determination, Aajibai consistently turned adversity into triumph, and by the time she died, had carved a significant niche for herself.

The second daughter of a farmer, Radhabai (her real name) Dahake was married to Tulshiram Dehenkar from Yavatmal at a very early age. She bore him five daughters, but no sons. Her mother-in-law, commonly known in Yavatmal as ‘Fulwali Buddhi’ did not take to this ‘fault’ too well, and Radhabai suffered a lot of ill-treatment at the hands of her husband’s family. Finally, the couple was ostracised from the family.

Aajibai with the Archbishop of Canterbury, Dr Ramsay

Unable to survive this blow, Tulshiram died, leaving Radhabai, then 33, to fend for herself and her five daughters — Shanta, Vatsala, Kausalya, Kala and Kamala. But through the darkness, a light was shining, though it would be a long while before Radhabai was able to reach it. In 1945, the 35-year-old widow was coaxed into marrying Sitarampant Banarase, a man 20 years her senior, who had just returned from London where his two sons, Vitthal and Pandurang, ran flourishing businesses. Tired of poverty and worried about her daughters’ future, Radhabai agreed. Three of her daughters were already married; Kala and Kamala were still too young.

Sitarampant refused to take in Radhabai’s two youngest daughters and in 1947, he forced her leave them behind when they moved to London. The helpless Radhabai had little choice but to accompany her husband to an alien country; the two girls were left in the care of her eldest daughter.

In her husband’s London home, only hostility awaited Radhabai. She was reduced to becoming a house-help at the lodging and boarding facility run by Sitarampant’s daughters-in-law for Indian students and residents. It was here that people started calling her Aajibai, a name that stayed with her for the rest of her life. However, Aajibai has a lot — her entire wealth, in fact — to be thankful for this tough phase in her life.

While working, she learned the intricacies of running a lodging and boarding business. At the time, she could hardly have imagined that one day, she would become the most famous name in the business.

Sitarampant died in June 1950. The marriage was never a happy one. Aajibai repeatedly pleaded to see her daughters, a request which caused much discord between the two. But if things were tough before, they now became worse. Her step-sons were intent on sending her back to India. But by now, Aajibai was toying with the idea of running a boarding facility of her own. Kala and Kamala were also brought to London immediately after her husband’s death, with no small help from her step-sons’ wives. For two more years, she helped out at her step-son Pandurang’s boarding business at 174, Golder’s Green residence.

Then, one day, Pandurang gave her the ultimatum: ‘‘I have bought your tickets to India,’’ he told her. Aajibai, instead of giving in, put her foot down. She refused to return to India. It was an unthinkably daring decision for a rural woman from India, one who couldn’t even speak chaste Marathi, to stay back on foreign soil, with no one to bank upon and little money.

But crisis has a way of bringing out the best in people and Aajibai’s tale stands testimony to it. A soothsayer’s prediction that she would one day scale the peak of success was to come true. She went to a well-known house agent and told him that she wanted to buy a home, but could pay only later. Fate favoured her, and the agent agreed, on the condition that she make a six-month payment in advance. This she managed with the help of a few boarders at Pandurang’s guest house. Aajibai moved into 25, Hoop Lane with her daughters and the boarders who had helped her. Overwhelmed at the change, Aajibai humbly bowed her head in prayer, with folded hands and tears in her eyes, before a portrait of Saibaba.

Aajibai’s culinary skills stood her in good stead. Her clientele grew to an unmanageable extent. From 6am to 10pm, sometimes even longer, people thronged the boarding house to taste her dishes. Her affectionate nature and simplicity charmed customers. Money, buildings and cars soon followed.

Aajibai’s meagre knowledge of English didn’t dampen her spirits. She struck the right chord with shopkeepers, who often offered to carry her packs for her. Of course, life was still tough. Curious, often contemptuous, glances became a way of life for her. Sometimes, taking advantage of her illiteracy, the unscrupulous would cheat her. But on realising that she had been tricked, Aajibai wouldn’t hesitate to let out a string of the choicest Hindi abuses. No wonder My Fair Lady was her favourite film. ‘‘I don’t understand it, but I like it because it is the story of a woman like me,’’ she would say.

Aajibai’s clientele grew. Her affectionate nature charmed customers. Money, buildings and cars soon followed.

Aajibai’s Hoop Lane residence became a famous rendezvous for Indians in London. Bored of English food, politicians, diplomats, litterateurs, artists and sportsmen would come to savour her Indian cuisine. Aajibai developed personal contacts with many of them. During Ganapati puja and other religious festivals, 25, Hoop Lane turned into a cultural centre of sorts. From 1960 to 1973, she served as the vice president and president of the Maharashtra Mandal, and was also elected to the presidentship of the India Cultural Centre.

In 1965, Aajibai completed her dream project — a Sai temple at her residence. It was the first Hindu temple in Europe. From the Indian cricket team and Indian High Commissioners in London to the Archbishop of Canterbury, people of eminence visited her house . Indira Gandhi praised her as a ‘self-made woman’. Vijayalaxmi Pandit, Yashwantrao Chavan, famous litterateur Pu La Deshpande and Acharya Atre, the Shankaracharyas of different pithas, Swami Chinmayanand, Swami Prabhupad, Hridaynath Mangeshkar, Bhimsen Joshi, — the list of her admirers and visitors was endless. Fame and fortune only brought out the philanthropist in Aajibai. She had a huge well dug in her native Choundi, which had been parched by drought, and also built a Saibaba temple there. Her family — including daughters, their families and other distant relatives — were brought to London so that they too had a chance at a better life. Only Kausala’s husband refused to send her to London, a fact that always saddened Aajibai.