Around 2005, I was working as a community pharmacist in Banbury, a small town in Oxfordshire.
It was a normal bustling day with lots of clinical checks on prescriptions, and advice for over the counter medicines.
One afternoon, an English care worker from a local peoples home came in and asked for a prescription for Mr Popat, which she pronounced as Popaat. I spontaneously and politely corrected the care worker that the name should be correctly pronounced as Mr Pop-ut. Fortunately, she was understanding, and pleased that she had finally found somebody who could maybe communicate and find out more about this quiet elderly resident.
She said that Mr Popat , around 75 years, did not understand English, and none of the staff knew his language. He was reclusive and mostly stayed in bed, and had written some words on his wall. He was referred to them by the local Council as he could not manage on his own in the accommodation provided. He was often seen walking as a ‘down and out’ in scruffy clothes and given food by the local Pakistani community. His mobility had got worse due to his diabetes, with ulcers etc, and eventually was provided a room in the Care Home.
She asked whether I would visit Mr Popat, as there was very little information about him and whether he had any relatives. I explained that I was from the same Indian subgroup in Gujarat called Lohanas, and maybe able to help. That evening after closing the pharmacy , I went across to visit Mr Popat.
In his tiny room was a small desk, sink, and Mr Popat was curled up in the bed. My first words with him were Jay Shree Krishna…and he responded immediately with the same words. The next words were ‘Habari Yako’, and he responded with ‘Muzuri Sana’.
The care workers were delighted that he could understand and respond. With those four words, I knew he was an Indian, Gujarati, Lohana, and Hindu originating from East Africa, as he understood Kiswahili. He eyes had brightened and he was delighted that he could reach out. The care workers were all excited and all this quickly went around the home.
The workers and even the local council wanted me to delve more, and I started visiting him more, despite being around 35 miles from where I lived. Very little was known about Mr Popat. He was clearly traumatised and perhaps slow, and gently in our conversations I pieced together that he has brought as a child to Uganda, (around 1940) from India and lived with a Popat family in Jinja. All his life he had worked in the family shop, and had never been married but remembered that he had a sister in India.
In 1972, the president of Uganda, Idi Amin, expelled Asians to leave the Uganda without any possessions, within three months, or they would be forcibly removed or killed. A few did get killed including a cousin of mine. Many thousands of Ugandan Asians decided to exercise their British nationality, on account of having been in Uganda since the colonial days.
On arrival at Heathrow, Mr Popat, according to him, lost his family/employer. The UK government provided families with accommodation in various camps and eventually found them housing. Mr Popat , ended up somewhere in Oxford, and was subsequently Banbury.
So for the next few years I would visit him from time to time, and one Christmas took my children to visit him with some Indian food and sweetmeats (rationed of course as he was diabetic). I kept an eye on his medication and saw various carers looking after him. And I would often get called to translate what he was saying, and he became much more cheerful. On one occasion he said he had not been to an Indian Temple since he had arrived to the UK more than 35 years ago. Neither Oxford or Banbury had a Hindu Temple, so I arranged for him to visit the Hindu Community Centre in Birmingham. He was by then in a wheel chair but was determined to visit the temple.
On another occasion he said he would like to meet or get in contact with his sister in Gujarat, who he had not seen since childhood days. This was difficult call as he could not remember his town, although he said somewhere around Porbander, in Gujarat, India. I knew it would be impossible to find out, as this was many years ago, and would require visiting India and places to find out further information about his family. However, I knew there were Popat families in the UK, mostly around London and Leicester . I made many calls and nobody could remember him. I suppose this was about an event 35 years ago, and most of the fist generation would have passed away by then.
Around 2009, I was told that Mr Popat was ill and had to be admitted to hospital. I visited him and was told he would be out in a few days. Sadly, I got a call one early morning at about 4 am that he would not survive, so I drove the 35 miles to the then Horton Hospital in Banbury. Mr Popat had passed away peacefully. The nurses were very supportive. I set by the bed, said some prayers and after a while started to take my leave, at which stage the nurse in charge asked me what arrangements was I going to make, and that I should take his suitcase.
It was then that it first dawned on me that I was assumed to be his next of kin, and that I would be responsible for his funeral, I phoned some Lohana elders in Birmingham about the matter, not knowing what to do. They said that according to tradition, I would have to find a priest, 5 witnesses one of whom would have to a male with the Sir name Popat! I then called on some Lohana friends and they agreed, and even found someone from Coventry with the Popat Surname.
We arranged a crematorium, did the full Hindu ceremony for Mr Popat, with a priest, and a few weeks later, with some elders, spread his ashes in a flowing river, where my own fathers had been spread. I then distributed his meagre council savings to local causes in Banbury.