A Timeless Gift
A Timeless Gift
Life recently threw a déjà vu moment at the UB City Mall, recently. I strolled into the exclusive Rolex watch showroom to buy a nice gift for my friend, Thomas. Approaching the salesperson, said “Hi, young man, I really want a great piece to gift. Please suggest something very fancy. I have a good fifty thousand budget please.”
He threw a kind and patient look at me, composed himself as an attentive Mr Jeeves; and said in a calm and measured tone, “Sir, our range starts from Rs four Lakhs onwards. I’m afraid I can’t be of assistance here. Would you kindly step into the adjacent multi-brand watch showroom, which hopefully caters to your budget? Sorry, Sir.”
My heart skipped a beat, and I sent him a piercing laser look to check for any hint of mockery on his handsome face. He was genuine and felt sorry for my under judgement. I felt like a bumpkin and was immediately transported to my Taj days of five-star culture a few decades ago, circa 1985.
The Taj Residency was one of the premium hotels in the city, with a whopping room rate of Rs 225 per night! The city’s who’s who frequented this happening place, and their restaurants were prohibitively expensive and eclectic. I was freshly promoted as an outlet manager at the popular Southern Comfort coffee shop, an ultimate food destination brand. I was all suited and booted in black, standing at the restaurant door, trying to greet all my guests merrily.
One day, a middle-aged gentleman in neat casuals approached me with a slightly doubtful smile. He meekly inquired, “Young man, do you serve biscuits?” I replied, “Please come in, Sir. We not only serve biscuits, but we serve to humans also !” He was so perplexed, and even I didn’t know what rubbish I had blurted out. His second question was, “Look, I have just Rs 3. Can I buy a pot of tea and a few biscuits? I have been waiting for a five-star experience for quite some time now, please.”
I burst out laughing and said, rather cheekily, “Sir, our tea is priced at Rs 10 onwards. Maybe your Rs 3 can fetch you a small cookie here, but you could go to Kamadhenu tea stall on the opposite road and enjoy a steaming cup of chaya.” Shocked at my brash behavior, he rushed out, ashamed, his steps quickening across the gleaming polished marble lobby floor.
We monkeyed around and had good fun. How can people be so stupid? But, a few minutes later, it started sinking in. The glee was slowly getting replaced by a wall of guilt and shame. Suddenly I hated myself. Arrows of regret pierced me with their sharp venomous darts. “God kindly forgive me. Promise I won’t repeat this nonsense for the rest of my life.” The regret didn’t dissipate, so I made a peace deal with myself.
The Feast, and the Redemption
How could I make someone happy through a little graceful gesture? I got my answer soon. My Gran sent a telegram that she was visiting her cousin’s daughter soon. The couple was newly married, and he was posted in Bangalore as an apprentice. This was my chance. I knew that this young couple would have no means of visiting a 5-star hotel in the near future, at least for a decade. Why not treat them to a scrumptious lunch and send them an invite with my Gran?
The old lady would also be pleased with my newfound generosity and eagerness to please a struggling couple. So, I made all the plans, applied for a staff discount, and secured approval from my boss. The great day arrived, and so did Gran, in her trademark cotton saree, who was not new to hotels, having frequent business trips to Mumbai. All the Marwari textile wholesale merchants would treat her at posh hotels like Taj, Oberois, etc. The young couple were petrified, though. They walked in gingerly, imbibing the exclusive environment. Gran said, “Venu, I don’t feel hungry. I’ll just have a dosa while these kids can enjoy the elaborate buffet. I will pay for it.”
“No, maa, it’s my treat, and I have a discount to be deducted from my salary,” I said enthusiastically, smiling confidently at my aunt. “Oh, I see. How much is the buffet, and how much is the dosa priced?” she asked. I beamed and replied, “The dosa is Rs. 12, while the full spread buffet is Rs. 20, and it has five non-veg delicacies!”
“Are you crazy? Do you think I would eat a Rs. 12 dosa while I can get it at one-tenth of the rate outside? That, too, penalizing you from your account? No way, son.” She uttered a barrage of wise words for being so reckless with my hard-earned money. My hostess and the captain were squealing merrily under their breath, seeing their boss (poor me) dressed down. “Let’s go,” she declared. I begged her and somehow convinced her. She relented for the young couple’s sake, took her paandan (ornate brass beetle leaf box), and made a Kolkata meeta paan. Her silver spittoon surfaced in case it was needed. She refused to order a dosa.
Uncle was even more of a drama king. I directed him to the buffet and advised him to go gala. Just then, my boss called me in for some discussion. After ten minutes, I went to the happening table to see how the uncle and aunt were gorging. While her plate was laden with all the goodies, his plate had only rice and dal. Oh my God, the KOT bill had already been cut for two full buffets, and this man was playing Mr Shylock, the mighty Shakespearean miser. I asked him politely, “Uncle, you can go fill up with all the veg/NV dishes. Binge, man!”
“No problem. Venu, I only have Anna sambar (lentil rice) when I eat outside. My mom always advises that outside food is untrustworthy, especially at a fancy hotel. God knows what sort of meats are mixed: camel, horse, or monitor lizard! Obviously, they save cost on mutton or chicken.” My aunt giggled and hid her smiles under her pallu.
Gran gave me a “you deserve it” look, but no amount of further persuasion worked on the adamant mule. I watched the 20 rupees vaporise into thin air ! I bade them goodbye with a heavy heart but with a feeling of satisfaction nonetheless. I had given them a star experience; that little deed did make me feel less guilty for a long time.
Fast forward to today! Compared to my horrid younger self, the Rolex salesman seemed like an angel. Despite remembering the Taj incident, I braved the posh Ethos store next door. Mr Samuel, the smartly-dressed sales representative, warmly welcomed me and asked how he could help. His patience and valuable suggestions were impressive as I glanced at several models over the next hour. I must have looked at least 30-plus models, but he remained attentive and showed no irritation.
Finally, he flashed a Fredrick Constant watch with a blue sea dial and an eye-catching visible moving mechanism. It was a beauty, and I fell for it instantly. “Sir, this would be the ideal present for your dear friend, matching in all aspects. It’s indeed double your budget, but pricing should not be an obstacle for a friend. Spend a bit more, but it will be worth its weight in gold,” he said. His words had the desired effect on me, and I readily agreed with his suggestion. However, I explained that I would have to give him the balance the next day. He accepted and, to my surprise, delivered the watch to my office the following day. I was stunned by his promptness and service attitude. My shopping experience was a breeze and turned into a pleasant, once-in-a-lifetime experience.
The best was at the end, though. When my friend saw the gift, he was overjoyed but questioned why I had chosen such an expensive one. “Just a simple one would have sufficed ” he exclaimed. However, his warm words still ring in my ears: “Venu, you have such a nice heart. What you did is worth a million and timeless.”
Venu Rao
2nd March 2023.
