Sunday Nuggets from my Dad..:) (Part 59)

Son, hope you remember the popular reference of William Shakespeare’s famous play Romeo and Juliet – What’s in a name? A rose by any other name would smell as sweet. Let me share an amusing tale related to it that happened during my college days.

During those days, to a certain extent, on a tacit note yet at times ostensibly manifested based on the circumstances, the weightage to your name was given by your family name. While the corridors of my alma mater still echoed on the merit and was mostly averse to the background of its students, the silent whispers that would sometimes scream aloud with deafening decibels happened once a while.

I used to stay in the college hostel and unlike hostels of other colleges in the vicinity; we used to boast about one thing, our hostel mess. Clean utensils, hygienic way of preparation and delectable cuisines completed the wish list for us. So much so, that the underlying statement used to be that one would end up increasing his body weight due to over eating by the end of the term. And the most awaited day of the week used to be Sunday which we used to term as ‘Special Sunday’ as we used to get sweets along with our meals. While our hostel warden, a mid-aged person who was a professor for one of the languages and had taken the charge a year back used to take the credit of it, the real credit was earned by the canteen incharge whom we used to call as ‘Maharaj’, an old man who had earned his respect and admiration from us by the virtue of his dedication towards his duty. While he himself was not aware about his age, he would boast about how our current principal of the college would sneak into the kitchen at odd hours and he would prepare special meals for him. For us, it seemed like a cue to us as we would do the same and in reciprocation, he would do the same too.                   

 “Maharaj, is there anything special today? Why are you distributing laddoos on a weekday?” asked the college warden as his eyes gazed on the calendar hung on the wall.

“Guruji, the wedding of my daughter has been fixed.” said the elated father as he offered the plate filled with laddoos along with the one page wedding card to the warden.

“Excellent! I will eat two laddoos and not one.” said the warden as he joined in the jubilation.

As we all joined the celebration, more due to the immediate temptation raised by the aroma of the delicious and savory laddoos, something eerie happened. The professor who had gobbled the first laddoo and had almost put an encore kept the half-eaten laddoo on the plate as his eyes stared at the wedding card that he held in his hand.

“Maharaj, is this your card? What is your name?” inquired the warden as everyone looked towards him oblivious to the reason for such a question.

“Saheb, is there some mistake in the card? I can barely read and write. Please tell me if something needs to be corrected.” replied the old man as he looked lost perhaps in the calculation to reprint the cards to amend the error.

“Maharaj, what is your name?” screamed the warden as he asked a question that did not make any relevance to us and yet, we all waited with a bated breath for the subsequent moment to unfurl itself.

As Maharaj answered to the question that still baffled all, the answer to it unraveled the conundrum that acted upon for the last few moments. The old man who was rated highly for his skills came from modest origins in terms of the caste segregation. Hence, it was of no surprise that our warden, a man who would brag about his skill set and his birth origins that came from a high caste in the same breath, was quite troubled and uncomfortable to see the credentials of the cook that he was so fond of. Many a times, he had asked the cook to prepare a special meal for his family, of higher origins, that used to visit him on a frequent note, a sin that he had to seek penance for.

While few eyebrows were raised amidst us too, most of us remained unflustered by the sudden and unexpected revelation of an identity that did not had much concernment for us. For the next few weeks, few of our hostel mates including the warden skipped the meals, the rest continued.

And then one day, the rest arrived too. Perhaps, the good sense prevailed. Perhaps, the magic of Maharaj overpowered the staunch adversaries. It was not a Sunday and yet the sweetness was there. Maharaj, still oblivious to the change, was focused as usual in his work. After all, he was Maharaj, a name earned not by origins but by merit.

Son, it is good to take pride in one’ origins but it is better if the same reverence is maintained for others too. One does not have a control on one’s origins but one can earn the credentials by one’s merit. After all, it is fair to assume that Juliet would have still loved Romeo even if the family name would have been different.

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