Maharaj shows the way

Sarvjit Singh

MAHARAJ, our cook, has been the ruler of our kitchen for over 14 years. And we realise that the ruler too must get a break at times. Yet, when last month he announced he must go back home for 30 days in Orissa, for his wife has so demanded, the same thought crossed the four minds in the family — there will be chaos without Maharaj. The four pairs of eyes exchanged contemplative looks; then as silence from above delivered the day’s sermon, ‘let be’, we left in our destined directions.

Ha! No morning tea in bed to crank up our engines. Then, over a few days, perhaps an early morning dream told me — you are living in the age of self-starting cars, are you vintage already?  No, no… I mumbled, and suddenly saw myself making tea — two cups. 

Tea is Ok, but now who will make stuffed parathas, what the ignorant Englishman calls ‘leavened fried bread’,  spoiling its taste entirely. Little option, we ordered some protein powder for shakes and started visiting the farmers’ market every weekend, for fridge-load of fruit. Parathas had to lay down arms before the Englishman’s breakfast, sad!

‘We have fallen on bad days at the hands of these arrogant new masters!’ so said the sink full of utensils. ‘Now, this I won’t do!’ The next moment I was doing the inevitable with the liquid detergent and a scrubber, drawing solace from Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland — ‘Now at ours they had at the end of the bill, “French, music, and washing — extra”.’ 

Who wills to clean utensils? It hurts the ego, so it surely is at ‘... the end of the bill’, just as learning another language or music, for which you have to be a humble pupil. Taking it as yoga in action, I tried not to let impatience pull my spine this side or that, as if it were mocking me, just to disturb my dhyana.

As month-end of penance approached, a large number of cups, plates, pans and what not, accumulated over ages, had left the space of the kitchen; a bigger fridge had come in, as also a dishwasher. The kitchen had the glow of nirvana, with everyone in the family having switched to the minimal washing required of each, during the day. 

And I recalled why my father always had Abraham Lincoln in black and white on his rack of books, for he had realised where slavery was inhuman, it ruins the grain of the master as well.

As Maharaj returned, wearing his uneffaceable Buddha smile, we told him unanimously — you have worked long enough. Now on, come at 10 am and leave at 1.30 pm, having fixed the lunch; and then rest. Have the weekends to yourself and your family, you will keep getting the same salary.

Virtually illiterate, calm and cheerful, this boy from the East — as if knowing ‘Maharaj’ is one who comes to help those who can’t help themselves — had asked us to address him so, the day he had come to us, though his parents had given him a name.