This anecdote, during my professional life in a nationalized bank, in the nineties was something
of a unique experience; it is worth a recall.
I was posted to
work in a branch in the somewhat popular town in Haryana State of Northern India which went
by the name of Ambala Cantonment. I say this place was popular because many of the Indians from the Northern part of the country, knew Ambala very well. Ambala was located on the National Highway; on the border
with the Indian state of Punjab and in
proximity to the capital Chandigarh. Due to its geographical location, Ambala was a
prominent place with an Army cantonment.
However, many
Indians, residing South of Vindhyas, including me, had never heard of the place. When I received my posting orders, I looked
up the India Map (after locating a political map from my daughter’s text book) to
ascertain the exact location and enquired from different people on how to get
there by train (Google Maps were still way off).
On my first
day, I was welcomed to the branch with some warmth but there was also a small
measure of disdain. Some of the local
staff, had a nickname for me, a Madrasi.
Anyone hailing from the Southern part of India was a Madrasi,
irrespective of the State they belonged.
Since I was replacing another Madrasi, (a fellow Kannadiga), there was
not much expectations from me, as this outgoing person had a very somber reputation. However, I had made it clear to each and
every one of the staff member (whoever bothered to listen) that I was from
Bangalore, the capital of Karnataka state and my mother tongue happened to be
Kannada; more clearly, I had clarified that I was not a Madrasi. The staff members nodded knowingly, but never bothered
to understand the distinction, or how it affected me. I always remained a Madrasi to them, with a funny
name to boot (King of snakes, was what one staff member slyly remarked).
After the
first few months of my stay, the staff at the branch started pestering me to host
a party of home-prepared Madrasi Idlis and Sambar (I was told that the previous
Madrasi incumbent had hosted the staff to delicious Idlis and Sambar on several
occasions). I placed the matter before
my wife. It was agreed that during the branch year end, when only the Managers and Officers staff would be present at the branch, my wife
would prepare and serve Idlis with Sambar.
The year-end
closing of accounts, is a grueling period for Officers and Managers staff, as the
branch balance sheet has to be drawn as on the last day of the year. The work would entail hours of preparation and
would stretch through the night and get completed only by the dawn of the
subsequent day. Following which, all the
staff involved in the preparation of the balance sheet would be able to reach their
homes only on the subsequent day morning for freshening up.
When the day
of reckoning arrived, my dutiful wife prepared about 80 Idlis, chutney and a
bucketful of steaming Sambar to be served to the branch staff as dinner that
evening. I gallantly took up the task of carrying the bulky steel containers on my Bajaj scooter at around 8 PM to the branch.
The staff members present on the day were waiting eagerly to partake of
the special Madrasi preparation of the soft Idlis and the deliciously aromatic Sambar. One of my colleagues, took up the unenviable task of
serving one and all, with alacrity. As
there were about 20 staff members, I had indicated that each person present could have
up to 4 Idlis per plate and a generous serving of chutney and Sambar.
After
delivery of the food items, I had got busy with some office work that required
concentration; and had totally forgotten about the dinner that evening. After a lapse of some time, when my hunger
pangs started tingling, I checked with the colleague on the status of Idlis and
Sambar. He directed my attention to the steel
containers. I looked into the containers
and saw a pile of Idlis still left over.
There was a huge quantity of chutney too, remaining unconsumed. However, not a single drop of Sambar remained
in the steel container. I casually enquired
with my colleague, what had happened with the huge quantity of Sambar. He guffawed heartily and informed me that all
the staff present had eagerly pounced upon the Sambar container and literally dipped
their cups and tumblers into the container, merrily drinking away the delicious hot
Sambar. Only a few of them had consumed some
Idlis and chutney. It seemed that there
were no takers for Idlis and chutney.
More than 40 Idlis and a huge quantity of chutney had been leftover,
which I took back home crestfallen, to my beleaguered wife. My wife laughingly remarked that she would have prepared and supplied only Sambar, had she known the taste of the staff of my branch; where was the need of taking pains to prepare so many Idlis and chutney. I do not know to this day, if the famous Madrasi
food, prepared so painstakingly by my wife to be served to the staff of my branch, was a success or failure!
