Meet the DESAIS

A copper pod tree is in full bloom opposite Mumbai's oldest mall, off the sea-bound shrine of Haji Ali. Nestled in the thick yellow inflorescence Mr and Mrs Crow zealously work on building their nest cobbled together with wire, glass wool, paper and leaves. They seem to squabble a lot on the design of the dwelling for the family they are soon to start, till Mr Crow arrives with a piece of cheese whisked off from the local sandwich-wala and the cawing turns all lovey-dovey.

Barely a floor above them, in the adjacent building, another squabble is in full swing in the tastefully done Desai home. But this is over a post-lunch game of scrabble. Cousins Mehek, 15 and Shlok, 8 disregard protests from the elders about cheating and complete the word 'UNISON' with some help from their nonagenarian great granddad Kirtanlal Desai who has quietly slipped them with an extra 'S' to notch up a total of 22 in their score. His younger grandson Ankur catches Kirtanlal winking at his son Shlok and cracks up, bending to affectionately squeeze the family patriarch's hand, insisting he try a spoonful of the blackcurrant ice-cream the family is tucking into. Wisening to what's going on, other members mock protest and also start laughing. The children join them in gusto. These are four generations of nine Desais, who live together in a 1,300 sqft, 3-bedroom hall kitchen home.

But isn't this too cramped? "When there is love, you make space. We're all so attached and dependent on each other that it is unthinkable to live without each other," says the family patriarch Kirtanlal who was a wrestler in his time. His elder grand daughter-in-law, Mita is helping her brother-in-law Ankur with second helpings of ice-cream, and asks if he wants some. "It's tough to say no considering I once lived on a wrestler's diet," smiles the 95-year-old.

Mita admits: "Since both my daughter and nephew Shlok, are growing, we now feel the need for more space. But finding a flat large enough for all of us in such a beautiful central Mumbai location is tough. We've been putting it off because the location, space and budget have to all come together. That is anything but easy in Mumbai," says the educator who works with children with special needs.

Wouldn't it then be prudent to shift to smaller, separate dwellings for each nuclear unit in the family? "That would be unthinkable!" interjects younger bahu Bhumika, a faculty at Khalsa college in Matunga, barely nine km away. "I am so used to the banter and fun that it will feel weird to be by myself." She should know considering she was born and raised in an equally large family. "In my maternal home too, there are four generations living together and this is the only way I know to live."

A solid support system

Bhumika never has to worry about being late at work. "I know my son would have been picked up from the school bus, fed and attended to in every possible way," she says and adds, "Whether it's a routine day or a crisis like sickness, the family rallies around and you never feel alone or helpless. This is a godsend, given the hectic lives we all lead. Unlike others who have to depend on caretakers and neighbours here, neither Mita nor I have to worry about anything. Even before we can think of something, mummy and daddy have peremptorily thought of it and come up with ingenious solutions."

A year ago when Bhumika was down with typhoid, her own mother insisted she come home to rest at her maternal home. "For a fortnight, Shlok was here with the family while I recuperated at my mother's. I never felt concerned. He'd call me daily but he never seemed to miss me. I feel this is special because it reduces clingy behaviour and socialises him into the idea of living with the joint family since a very young age. At a time when we are all increasingly living in silos, this is an important value for him to imbibe."

Ankur points out how this cooperation extends to work too. "Ours is a family run business of iron and steel trading. While we all handle various aspects of it, we are able to hold the fort if one of us has to be away."

It wasn't so easy for Mita, the elder bahu. "I came from a small nuclear family and my father had his business in Nathdwara. He would often be away leaving me with my mom. This meant minimum interaction. It was a very quiet household. When I first came here after marriage, I used to wonder how someone or the other is always talking to each other all the time. Down the years, I've become the most talkative in the family," she smiles. The bonding between her and the family improved a lot after her daughter Mehek was born. "She was almost raised by mom-in-law who still dotes on her as the first born grandchild," she says playing with her daughter's hair.

Mehek, who's preparing for her Class 10 Board exams, pushes her hand away as her hair bun gets undone. "Don't na. Its so hot. I'll have to tie it up again," she complains. But granny Rekha, 66 is at hand. Lovingly, she begins braiding her hair.

As the family looks on, her husband, Shailesh, the singer in the family, breaks into the Mukesh classic looking at her: "Chand si mehbooba ho meri kab aisa maine socha thha /Aur tum bilkul waisi ho jaisa maine socha thha." She tries to scowl and scolds, "Tamey aa lokonee saame shoon karey rahya chho?" but her husband Shailesh goes on, "...na kasme hain, na rasmein hain, na shikwe hain na waadey hain/Ek soorat bholi bhaali hai, do naina seedhe-saadhe hai," leaving her smiling coyly. While the two children look on, all the seven elder Desais join in the refrain: "Aur tum bilkul waisi ho jaisa maine socha thha."

Ties that bind

Bhumika calls her mother-in-law the glue that holds the family together. "She was part of an even larger joint family in the earlier generation and knows how to manage everybody and everything perfectly. There is almost no one in the family who doesn't go to her with problems. She has the perfect, practical solution for everyone. And even if it is something technical or beyond her, just talking to her while she lovingly caresses the anxiety out feels special."

Family matriarch Rekha modestly attributes this to training from her own mother-in-law. "I've learnt it from her. We were 16 in the family then. And while we weren't poor, we were also not so well off. But we had each other for support. I tell the children also not to dwell on the negative. Eventually, everything works out for the better," she says, "By dwelling and articulating the negative repeatedly, all you do is multiply it and sow seeds for unnecessary friction."

The pooling of resources in the kitchen and the often shared wardrobes are an added bonus. "We save considerably as opposed to how much we would have spent on individual homes," says Milind Desai. "That's an added bonus of living in a joint family." Bhumika tells how it helps that an interior designer friend helped them make an additional bedroom in the space. "We have bunk beds in a small room for the children where they study and sleep. Now that Mehek is 15, we realise we'll have to find ways of creating space for her. This will also be true for Shlok when he grows up. For now, we are adjusting while we look out."

The family that eats together...

And it is not like the Desais don't argue. "Like every family, we also have arguments over a lot of small things. Most of them are over food. The young grandchildren and their parents want to always try newer cuisines, my husband and I prefer traditional food while there are dietary restrictions for my father-in-law," Rekha explains in the kitchen. As she empties the dishes and casseroles before the domestic help arrives to do the afternoon dishes, she points out how she wants to ensure everyone has at least one item they like in the menu. "Given the means of the family, my late mother-in-law ran a more tight-fisted kitchen and would've frowned on what she would have called 'unnecessary fuss.' I remember aamras was a staple in this season and we would often run through 4-5 dozens through the day. The younger lot now worries about their diet."

Remembering how beans sabzi needed salt at lunch, she adds some and mixes it up with a ladle before putting it away in the fridge in a smaller container. She draws an analogy from this. "Sometimes, all you need to do is a bit of tweaking to fix the food. Just like any fights or arguments in the family. My word is final. I quieten them and have them go to their respective rooms to calm down. When I have spoken to them individually, I get them to talk to each other in front of me and arrive at a middle ground."

We can't resist asking who has the upper hand in most situations. But even before Rekha can speak, her son, who has come to check if there is more ice-cream left, puts his arms around his mom and says: "Oh it is the women of the house. I can tell when they exchange conspiratorial glances and quick smiles at each other and push all of us men to do their bidding," he laughs. "But honestly, we wouldn't have it any other way."

As I bid goodbye and open the door to leave, the sound of the neighbours' television trails into the passage. The nuclear family are watching a typical saas-bahu drama on the small screen. Something the Desais don't need and wouldn't want to...