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It was Laxman who told me the next day of the momentous advent of Dr C as our non-resident boarder (NRB) for the coming month at our Faculty Hostel at IIT KGP. And he narrated our new NRB's wholesome table manners and asked me to come early for next day's breakfast (a thing I used to skip often) and enjoy.
So the next morning, though a weekend, I got up early and waited in our dining hall for the arrival of NRB with bated breath. The hall was full and the tables with milk-white spreadsheets were gleaming with half a dozen china pots of tea and coffee decoctions (liqueurs in the lingo of Rangoon's Nair). And striated glass bowls of sugar and jam and butter here and there.
Laxman brought me his handmade steaming cup of coffee as per our mutual agreement and I started sipping it leisurely.
And then arrived duly Dr C on his rusting pushbike and parked it right at the entrance in the verandah and steamed in. And Laxman approached him rubbing his hands and in all humility asked him to park his pushbike outside since there was a rule that no bikes were allowed into the verandah (and much less into the dining hall).
As expected there was a row and Dr C threatened Laxman disciplinary action with a protest lodged with the Manager, Rajan. By chance Rajan happened just then to be walking into the dining hall and tried to convince Dr C that the rule was good since the verandah was tiny and, if everyone parked their pushbikes there, it would be pellmell. And Dr C grudgingly shifted his vehicle outside but not with abundant grace.
And entered the dining hall and took the vacant chair in the midst of the boisterous weekend crowd and didn't look too happy with the tobacco smoke rings and plebeian epithets flying across. His seemed to have been a sheltered and sedate life unused to the raucousness rampant then in what was expected to be a model teacher's hostel.
He little knew!
Laxman brought the default 4 slices of bread in a plate and kept the tepid juglet of milk by its side and withdrew expectantly into his place behind the counter.
And Dr C attacked his bread slices like a man-eater warming up to his luncheon coolie. He took a slice and bent over his neighbor's head and swiftly pulled the bowls of sugar, jam, and butter to his side. And generously applied to each side of the slice (6 in all) a knife-full of butter and then jam and then topped it by a spoonful of sugar in the midst. And pushed the thing into his waiting jaws bit by bit and munched it with gusto. And repeated the drill with the next slice. And found that his neighbors were rushing to have their leftovers of jam and butter and sugar and so he captured the bowls and tucked them firmly beside his plate.
And soon enough all the bowls were emptied of their contents, but one last slice was left, asking to be tackled, in his plate. And he shouted:
"Bearer!"
And Laxman politely approached him and said:
"Sir! My name is Laxman"
"I don't care if it is Laxman or Raam or Raavan. Bring me a fresh bowl of jam...I am told it is unlimited"
"Yes sir! OK sir!"
And by then the crowd fell silent and watchful and started enjoying the show. After the last slice of limited bread and unlimited jam vanished without trace, Dr C called Laxman again and demanded:
"I don't drink tea or coffee. Bring me a pot of hot milk...it is cheaper than your coffee and tea"
"OK sir!"
And Laxman brought a pot of hot milk and Dr C was glad to find that it had all of 4 cups of stuff in it.
And got up loaded with our week's quota of jam and butter and sugar.
And someone courteously offered Dr C a Charminar for the fun of it, and Dr C was offended beyond speech and walked out and sped on his pushbike (shifted by Laxman far out into the sun).
I was told that his lunches and dinners were no different...Dr C made generous use of everything free and unlimited like dal, sambar, and rasam and asked for repeat refills. And never spoke a word to his neighbors on either side of his dining chair...single-minded upload was his motto, it seemed.
One of those mornings when I was in my usual hurry I found that Laxman was away from his counter, and found an empty cup and a pot of coffee decoction and, to my surprise, a pot of milk too. And I poured the decoction into the cup and added a pinch of sugar and was about to decant milk from the pot when all of a sudden Laxman appeared and rushed to me shouting:
"Wait a minute sir!...Just a minute sir!...I will bring you a juglet of milk"
"What is wrong with this milk in the pot?"
"Nothing sir! But that milk was specially made by the cook for our Jam Babu"
And Laxman winked furiously...
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It was Laxman who told me the next day of the momentous advent of Dr C as our non-resident boarder (NRB) for the coming month at our Faculty Hostel at IIT KGP. And he narrated our new NRB's wholesome table manners and asked me to come early for next day's breakfast (a thing I used to skip often) and enjoy.
So the next morning, though a weekend, I got up early and waited in our dining hall for the arrival of NRB with bated breath. The hall was full and the tables with milk-white spreadsheets were gleaming with half a dozen china pots of tea and coffee decoctions (liqueurs in the lingo of Rangoon's Nair). And striated glass bowls of sugar and jam and butter here and there.
Laxman brought me his handmade steaming cup of coffee as per our mutual agreement and I started sipping it leisurely.
And then arrived duly Dr C on his rusting pushbike and parked it right at the entrance in the verandah and steamed in. And Laxman approached him rubbing his hands and in all humility asked him to park his pushbike outside since there was a rule that no bikes were allowed into the verandah (and much less into the dining hall).
As expected there was a row and Dr C threatened Laxman disciplinary action with a protest lodged with the Manager, Rajan. By chance Rajan happened just then to be walking into the dining hall and tried to convince Dr C that the rule was good since the verandah was tiny and, if everyone parked their pushbikes there, it would be pellmell. And Dr C grudgingly shifted his vehicle outside but not with abundant grace.
And entered the dining hall and took the vacant chair in the midst of the boisterous weekend crowd and didn't look too happy with the tobacco smoke rings and plebeian epithets flying across. His seemed to have been a sheltered and sedate life unused to the raucousness rampant then in what was expected to be a model teacher's hostel.
He little knew!
Laxman brought the default 4 slices of bread in a plate and kept the tepid juglet of milk by its side and withdrew expectantly into his place behind the counter.
And Dr C attacked his bread slices like a man-eater warming up to his luncheon coolie. He took a slice and bent over his neighbor's head and swiftly pulled the bowls of sugar, jam, and butter to his side. And generously applied to each side of the slice (6 in all) a knife-full of butter and then jam and then topped it by a spoonful of sugar in the midst. And pushed the thing into his waiting jaws bit by bit and munched it with gusto. And repeated the drill with the next slice. And found that his neighbors were rushing to have their leftovers of jam and butter and sugar and so he captured the bowls and tucked them firmly beside his plate.
And soon enough all the bowls were emptied of their contents, but one last slice was left, asking to be tackled, in his plate. And he shouted:
"Bearer!"
And Laxman politely approached him and said:
"Sir! My name is Laxman"
"I don't care if it is Laxman or Raam or Raavan. Bring me a fresh bowl of jam...I am told it is unlimited"
"Yes sir! OK sir!"
And by then the crowd fell silent and watchful and started enjoying the show. After the last slice of limited bread and unlimited jam vanished without trace, Dr C called Laxman again and demanded:
"I don't drink tea or coffee. Bring me a pot of hot milk...it is cheaper than your coffee and tea"
"OK sir!"
And Laxman brought a pot of hot milk and Dr C was glad to find that it had all of 4 cups of stuff in it.
And got up loaded with our week's quota of jam and butter and sugar.
And someone courteously offered Dr C a Charminar for the fun of it, and Dr C was offended beyond speech and walked out and sped on his pushbike (shifted by Laxman far out into the sun).
I was told that his lunches and dinners were no different...Dr C made generous use of everything free and unlimited like dal, sambar, and rasam and asked for repeat refills. And never spoke a word to his neighbors on either side of his dining chair...single-minded upload was his motto, it seemed.
One of those mornings when I was in my usual hurry I found that Laxman was away from his counter, and found an empty cup and a pot of coffee decoction and, to my surprise, a pot of milk too. And I poured the decoction into the cup and added a pinch of sugar and was about to decant milk from the pot when all of a sudden Laxman appeared and rushed to me shouting:
"Wait a minute sir!...Just a minute sir!...I will bring you a juglet of milk"
"What is wrong with this milk in the pot?"
"Nothing sir! But that milk was specially made by the cook for our Jam Babu"
And Laxman winked furiously...
...Posted by Ishani
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