Dad's Diary 18 - The Boss

I crossed the threshold, and walked right into a shattered symphony. A symphony was indeed what wafted from Abdul's words and activities. Something had gone horribly wrong.

The one thing that Man Friday Abdul hated about his boss' demeanor was his indifference to improving the quality of home comforts. 

All the officers' quarters were equipped with calling bells fitted in the kitchen and the domestic-help-quarters except this house. He had made several fruitless requests to his boss. It was a matter of prestige that the bell should summon him instead of the officer's holler. It was too demeaning for him.

CREDIT - polyvore.com

In fact Abdul's persistence had led to the requisition of an electric bell from the government store. But, this being a government quarter, an electrical engineer had to oversee its installation by a departmental technician. The notorious 'red tape' had taken its toll; there was no trace of the engineer concerned. Abdul was in an explosive mood. 

In the boss' absence I offered to pay for a private electrician, and face the consequences later. An overjoyed Abdul ran out to make the necessary arrangements. The bell was fixed even before the boss' arrival back home. When he did arrive, 'krirring krirring' heralded his entry.

Next morning we waited in the living room for the cup that cheers, but there was no trace of Abdul with the tea pot. The boss lost his cool and shouted for Abdul to hurry with the tea, but to no avail. Ultimately we located him huddled up in a corner of the kitchen.

“How many times do I have to call you?” the irate boss fumed. And ignition reached the bomb-wick.

“I heard some undesirable noise,” retorted Abdul, “but I did not hear the bell ring,” adding that the bell switch was meant for the boss to push, not to add color to the wall.

“Yes, Sir,” the boss managed to say, somewhat startled. 

BY TAPAS MUKHERJEE

Dad's Diary 17 - The Image

The boss' Man Friday Abdul had an extremely low opinion about  camera wielding visitors who did not take his photograph. There was another class of visitors to his boss' official quarter who “perhaps pretended” to take his photograph for he never received the promised prints. For them he had unmitigated contempt.

In his boss' absence he would tell the new visitors how shameless had the earlier ones been. Even that did not improve his situation when   one day I arrived on the unenviable spot without a camera. That qualified me as a more reliable confidant, and he poured out his heart rending woes laced with the choicest of vituperative.

I hired a camera and volunteered to click. He mused for a while. Did I know how to handle the camera? Did I remember to buy a roll of film?For he was done with “fruitless modeling; poses were indeed important for posterity.” The interrogation over, he deferred the photo session till the next day ostensibly because I was tired.

With the boss' departure for office came the photo session time. Abdul turned up in an ill fitted suit and a tie with lopsided knot which I discreetly pointed out. He seated himself in the boss' chair in the study, and pulled the table close to cover the front of his unzip-able trouser. The right side of his lips hung in the process of working up a pout on his face “to look important.” I took several shots.

Next day as the boss was leaving for the office I was awe struck to see him in the same suit and tie as I saw in the photo session. It was a perfect fit for the boss. Abdul who stood opening the front door looked at me; a sly smile hovering on his entire countenance.

BY TAPAS MUKHERJEE

Dad's Diary 16 - The Coop

Grapevine at home had it that government officers on deputation from other states to this Himalayan hamlet needed domestic help just like him. And Abdul loved to live daringly. So, he set out for a destination thousands of miles away where the services of a 'cook in particular-cum-all else in general' would extract a premium.

There was a foothold in a neighborhood uncle's den who had preceded him. Abdul posed the million dollar question: where was the market? He lost no time in stationing himself there to weigh up prospective employers. His searching eyes riveted onto the man in the chicken stall. He looked very authentic officer type, talking very very authoritatively.

Abdul had hit pay dirt. His inquiries revealed that this officer also lived alone having left his family back home to join his job on deputation. That made two of them in the same boat now.  He followed the officer to his car, and showing great dexterity, opened the door for him. That was three years ago, and neither looked back on the decision.

(courtesy www.mustee.com)

Man Friday Abdul was indispensable to his boss by dint of his hard work laced with an uncanny presence of mind. Abdul's chicken curry of a secret recipe was famous. He was a past master in dodging persistent inquiries about the recipe, even to the extent that he would commandeer the boss' car to travel to markets 15/20 miles away to buy 'special spices and herbs'.

The local grocers could not be relied upon to keep his marketing list a secret. However, his refusal to reveal the  recipe resulted in a steady flow of self-invited friends to the house virtually demanding chicken curry and rice.

The boss also had to guard against Abdul's possible abduction with inducement of higher salary by other officials. It led to the boss soft pedaling him on all other issues.

One day the boss' boss turned up for a chat,  stayed over till late night, and suggestively inquired what was there for dinner. Abdul, who was hovering around the room importantly, informed that chicken curry could be arranged if they agreed to have late dinner. 

(credit - www.ethnicindiancuisine.com)

Abdul went out of the back door, ran down hill to a house where he had noticed the owner was  fattening a chicken in a small coop in the open front yard. He broke open the coop, and decamped with the shrieking chicken at a speed that a minute later the inevitable pursuers had no chance of catching up.

(credit - www.lifeofanarchitect.com)

That night Abdul poured out his heart in cooking the chicken curry. Next day, when the episode came to light, the chicken owner bargained for and received an ample financial compensation to cover his loss.

I arrived there for a couple of days' stay shortly after the incident. There would be chicken curry tomorrow, the  boss informed me at the dinner table. “No, Sir, now,” quipped Abdul cryptically. The boss almost jumped up, chicken and panic having become synonymous for him,“Where did you get the chicken from?” Abdul handed him over the cash memo with a flourish for a chicken bought at the market. The boss heaved a sigh of relief.

Next morning I asked Abdul, “How come the chicken curry was doubly special that night?” He smiled slyly, “Because the chicken was marinated in adventure sauce, Sir, the same as last night's.”

“Last night's?” I asked in amazement. He had “lifted” the replacement chicken from the same coop, and handed his boss an old cash memo, he gleefully confessed. “Don't tell him, he is so chicken hearted!” he whispered.

       

BY TAPAS MUKHERJEE