Poverty no bar

UNMINDFUL OF the dogday sun, I went to the bank last week to draw my pension. There was no special counter for senior citizens. I collected the token and joined the rather long queue. The customers complained in whispers about delay, inefficiency and lack of courtesy.

Suddenly, someone came to me and said "Sir, the manager is calling you". I followed him to the manager's cabin. The manager in his mid-forties, rose from his seat, held my hand, then touched my feet and asked "Do you remember me, sir? We used to meet at Sharada Cafe on Pycrofts Road".

That was thirty years ago. I travelled back in time. Almost everyday, on my way back home from college, I would go to Sharada Cafe, famous for "degree coffee" as it is called. The day would be incomplete without a coffee at Sharada.

One day, the proprietor who knew everyone of his regular customers said in a loud voice "Varada, sir has come, attend to him".

From behind the shelf in which sweets were displayed, came Varadan, stood by my side and asked me what I would like to have. I at once recognised Varadan as a student in the College where I worked. I ordered coffee and Varadan shouted to the person making coffee, "one degree coffee". I asked him how he happened to be serving in the hotel.

Varadan said, "I lost my father, when young. My mother lives with my younger sister in our village near Kanchipuram. I get a scholarship in the college. We know the hotel proprietor. Except during college hours, I work here. I get food free. I stay here upstairs. That is also free. Coffee is ready, sir, I will bring it in a minute."

"I do remember", I said "How long have you been with the bank"? "After leaving college, sir, I appeared for the bank recruitment examination. Fortunately, I was posted to a rural bank near my village. Two years ago, I was promoted as Manager. It is nearly a month since I was transferred to this branch. My mother is still in the village. My sister is at Bangalore. She is married to a bank employee. I live with my family in the bank quarters in Besant Nagar. It is all due to your blessings. This is my story sir, from Sharada Cafe to the bank". He then called the attender, "Get a strong special coffee. He is my Sir".

Taking the token from me, he went to the cash counter and brought me the money. I was touched by his gesture and as I rose to leave, he said, "Hereafter come straight to my room, sir, you don't have to wait at the counter."

It was seven in the morning. The telephone bell rang. When I took up the receiver, the speaker introduced himself "I am Seshadri, retired Deputy Secretary. I now work in a social service centre. I would like to meet you. May I have your address, please"? I gave him my address and asked out of curiosity which place he belonged to and where he had his education. "I am a B.A. from St. Joseph's College, Tiruchi. I was a water boy at Clive Hostel. Have you heard about water boys sir?"

More than fifty or sixty years ago, poor boys were appointed to serve water at Clive Hostel and were given food and accommodation free. Some of them were exempted from the payment of tuition fee at the Principal's discretion. (It is not known whether the system of water boys prevailed in hostels elsewhere). Many persons who have held distinguished positions were once water boys at Clive's.

In the course of a railway journey, I met Mr. S, a retired auditor in his eighties. The conversation rambled over a variety of subjects. In a reminiscent mood, he said: "Those days schools and colleges were few and far between. They were situated in the city and in a few mofussil towns. Students from other places stayed with relatives or in hostels or hotels. Those who could not afford the hostel or hotel, or had no relatives were given some space in the houses of generous people.

"Many old houses had and still have the pyol (thinnai). It is a slightly raised platformlike structure on one side or on either side of the main door. It is either enclosed or open to the street and serves many purposes.

"Vendors would keep their things - milk, vegetables, etc - on the pyol for sale. Passers-by would find it convenient to rest on it.

"In summer particularly, a thoughtful and charitable housewife would place on the pyol a potful of water with khus khus fibre and put a brass tumbler on the lid (stainless steel and plastic were unknown those days) and earn the blessings of the passers- by.

"The pyol also served as a study for the poor boys. There was sytem called Vara Sappadu (literally, weekly meal). Poor students were fed in different houses by turns.

"They went to particular houses on particular days. It imposed no strain on one family. The system, however, was not rigid. Sometimes, a boy would have his food in the same house for days together.

"But for this system, I would not have had my education and become an auditor. Even now, I am in touch with the members of the family where I had vara sappadu".

But knowledge to their eyes her ample page

Rich with the spoils of time did ne'er unroll;

Chill penury repressed their noble rage

And froze the genial current of the soul.

So wrote Thomas Gray about the rustics whose poverty stood in the way of their education and stifled the development of their inherent talents. But in the case of the persons mentioned above and many more like them, poverty was no bar.

S. JAGADISAN

Send this article to Friends by E-Mail

Section  : Features
Previous : Setting lofty goals
Next     : Madras miscellany