Capt Poly and the ‘money bag’

Remembering the man whose long walks stretched from Rashtrapati Bhavan to Tata Steel

I joined Tata Steel in December 1960 and, through my batchmate and dear friend Russi Dastur, became familiar with the Parsi community and made many friends. Among my closest friends was Capt Palamkote (retd.) of the Indian Army.

We worked together for the upcoming School of Hope for the specially abled. He never missed a meeting and was always punctual for functions and meetings. He also worked with me for other organisations focused on the education of underprivileged children, and he was generous in contributing only to such causes.

Many in Tata Steel may not have known about this hidden empathy he had for the downtrodden. They will remember him instead for his walking tirelessly, even when he was over 70 years old. They were also careful to keep a safe distance from him, to avoid his fiery slang and, at times, not-so-decent English words.

Yes, he had no mother tongue as such, but he had his own special tongue—one inherited from his long service in the British Indian Army. I was comfortable with his slang; I used similar words myself in selective company. Two of my siblings were Air Force officers, and perhaps I picked it up from them.

My dear friend “Poly”, as he was affectionately known, joined Tata Steel after the age of 60—an age at which others were retiring. He was employed because of his unique ability to walk endlessly through the steel plant and advise management on better utilisation of scrap. I don’t know how he did it, but despite a small limp caused by an injury during his army service, he would walk tirelessly even in severe summer heat. He had many stories to share, and I recount one of them.

He became the ADC to Babu Rajendra Prasad, the first president of India, in the early 1950s and served until his retirement. He said serving the president was like serving one’s own senior family member. The president was unassuming and kind to all—subordinates and staff alike, irrespective of status or gender.

Once, at around 11 am, the president was in his office going through some papers, while Pandit Nehru, Sardar Patel and other ministers were in a closed-door meeting elsewhere in Rashtrapati Bhavan. Poly was standing on the first-floor balcony, admiring the view of the Moghul Garden, when the telephone rang. A lady asked who was speaking. He replied, “I am Capt Palamkote, ADC to the President.”

Realising from his name that he was a Parsi, she spoke courteously in Gujarati and said, “Please go to Room No 7 and tell Pandit Nehru—money bag.” Poly assumed it was a prank and ignored it. When the call came again, he nervously told the president. Rajendra Prasad said, “Go immediately and convey it to the prime minister.”

Poly knocked on Room No 7 and said, “Sir, Money bag.” Pandit Nehru immediately replied, “The meeting is over. Sardar, you must take your diabetic medicine. Your daughter Maniben has called.” Such was the concern among colleagues.

(Disclaimer: The views expressed above are the author's own. They do not necessarily reflect the views of DH.)