When 15-year-old Mahado Havajee Bachche left Vawajavane village in Khed taluka in the 1890s and went to Mumbai, his thoughts were only for himself — he had to eke out a livelihood. But as he left home, the teenager unwittingly left footprints — so deep and distinct that for several years after him, youngsters only had to step in to be part of a profession that still holds the country and much of the world spell-bound. Mahado Havajee was the first dabbawalla of Mumbai, the man who established that famed community that has earned accolades from personalities no less than Prince Charles and Richard Branson — names even the impoverished and illiterate villagers of Vawajavane have learned to haltingly pronounce over the years. And even as they call themselves the ‘Dabbawalla Village’, the pride emanates not just from the fact that the pioneer hailed from their soil, but also because at least one person from every household in the village is a dabbawalla. “My son carts dabbas from Andheri to Ghatkopar. I have seven daughters and a son. What would we have done if he didn’t have this option of becoming a dabbawalla,’’ asks 60-year-old Sitabai Ramu Bachche as she cradles her grandson. The rain-splashed Vawajavane — about 60 km from Pune, yet cut off from the world thanks to some treacherous roads — is one of the many villages that make up the picturesque Khed taluka. Khed along with two other talukas, Maval and Mulshi, are home to nearly 90 per cent of the 5,000 dabbawallas in Mumbai today. “Traditionally, dabbawallas are hired only from these talukas; they rarely take anyone from Mumbai. The reasons are not entirely emotional. It’s also because people here are strong and hardy,’’ says Namdeo Bachche Patil, a farmer from Kadus village in Khed. While Patil’s father was a dabbawalla in Mumbai for some years, Patil took to agriculture. Kadus is also where Raghunath Medge, president of the Nutan Mumbai Tiffin Box Suppliers Charity Trust, has his home and thus, occupies a place of pride in the taluka. The dabbawalla tradition has even spawned a new set of alternative careers. A few youngsters from these villages have moved to nearby Chakan and set up a tiffin service for the Maharashtra Industrial Development Corporation (MIDC). “With this, they have cashed in on their entrepreneurship as well as carried on with the tradition,’’ smiles Patil. A fitting tribute perhaps to the ingenuity and enterprise of Mahado Havajee — the man who never went to school, but devised a system that earned a Six Sigma quality certification endorsed by Forbes magazine. And yes, almost everybody here has heard of Six Sigma. However, despite the obvious pride and fame that the dabbawallas have brought to these villages, the profession is slowly losing the charm among youngsters. Education has a role to play here — Kadus has a school and a college. “These days, only the uneducated ones become dabbawallas. After all, it’s not a well-paying job nor does it have the same status as an office job,’’ says Santosh Damole, a contractor. Patil, the dabbawalla-turned-farmer who opted out of his father’s profession, doesn’t regret his decision. “I went to school, was educated and saw no reason why I should struggle as a dabbawalla.” Patil’s two sons now look after his flourishing milk business – they own 20 buffaloes - and their nascent floriculture venture. So though there are people like Murlidhar Pandurang Netgi, who after being a dabbawalla for 30 years has now sent his son to take his place, such instances are rare. “When I became a dabbawalla, I earned Rs 30 a day. By the time I retired, I got Rs 90. Now my son gets about Rs 6,000 a month, which is much more than what I had ever earned. But youngsters these days have bigger ambitions,” says Netgi. It’s not something Raghunath Medge is worried about. “Those who are educated will obviously not want to become dabbawallas. But how many of them do well anyway? What about the vast majority of youngsters who fail to clear their Class X? Who will give them jobs,’’ asks Megde.
