"Suresh kuthe ahe?"
"Suresh kuthle gele hote?"
Where is Suresh?Where has the bugger gone off to now? Our warden would enter her office with these words.They constituted a morning ritual, and no one strove to answer her.If someone happened to be in the pantry at that moment, the person, just looked up ,mildly alarmed, from whatever one was doing, and continue forthwith.
She was unpopular enough to expect no greetings either. She would proceed to keep her large , full-face helmet on the table, shake her golden mane free, and fish her spectacles from her ample purse. Pulling up her chair, she would put on her glasses and peruse all the various books kept in front of her.
The milk-account book, the bread account book, the egg account book.All with the day's entries duly made by the home-sister."Hmm, hmm,hmm.One hum for each book. Read and slammed shut.
Now her blue eyes would scan the pantry again.
"Suresh kuthe aahe?"
She would ask no one in particular. And no one answered.
Suresh, meanwhile, would have rested his sorry backside on a stainless steel covered three legged metal stool( lend from some bankrupt OPD) folded his cracked heels underneath him,and wrapping his fingers around a large steel tumbler full of hot, syrupy, tea would be regaling a motley crowd of fellow mess-workers with the details of his latest exploits. With the adroitness of a master story teller, he would weave a story, punctuated with violent movements of arms(to the perils of other tea tumbler holding hands),and full throated guffaws.
Tea-session in full swing in a secluded corner of the kitchen, would be interrupted by a bellow from the pantry,"SURESH"
People would scatter, justifiably alarmed.
In her shining golden mane and piercing blue eyes , Warden could look pretty scary.
Muttering curses and expletives under his alcohol-and-tea laced breath, Suresh would materialise at the creaking wire-mesh door, mouthing an innocent(faintly piquant)-"Kai?" what?
"I will tell you what, you good for nothing loafer, there are milk packets to be counted, milk to be boiled, girls are coming down to breakfast, if you do not come down this moment, you are fired."
"Never let a man finish his tea". Suresh would mutter as he sauntered off, wiping his hands on his grimy apron. They all were issued ash coloured uniforms by the mess,but months of wearing them in and around the kitchen, and never once washing them, would convert them into a shade of brown, stinky, and a fly-magnet to boot.
Even now a whiff of stale toddy and a cloud of flies entered the pantry with Suresh as he approached the pantry .
Directly in front of the warden office, stood a light blue fridge, with rusted walls and a handle too grimy to be described. It had a glass front(probably gifted by pepsi/coke companies in a fit of misplaced benevolence),and was packed with umpteen packets of milk. All one litre, all embossed with the words," military farms" in green, all frozen. The sheer numbers threatening to open the fridge, it was locked with a padlock joining two loops of a thick metallic chain .
It was warden's Fort Knox.
The key was handed to Suresh, after much glaring and Suresh proceeded to drag an enormous 'patila'(vessel) to the much dented aluminium table, with as much ruckus as possible. The padlocked chains opened with a loud clang,and few frozen packets rolled off to the floor.Suresh emptied the fridge(Till warden, hawkishly counting, would scream-"Bus'(enough)),expertly slicing the polythene and letting the frozen milk mass fall with a thud.
The noise would be jarring and very disturbing to somnolent breakfasters.But was music to Suresh's ears.
Upon being reprimanded "Suresh tumi kai kartos!! Asa karu naka!!" ,(Reduce the din ) the noise would double. Slash, thud, jangle. Slash,thud, jangle.It would continue, ad-infinitum.
Just when the milk and tea drinkers would have given up all hope of getting a hot beverage on this day,Suresh would plonk a tray laden with steaming hot cups of milk on the dining table. Next , an oversized steel drum full of tea would be hoisted onto the table top followed by a huge basket of washed, wet, gleaming stainless steel cups.
Girls chorused-"Thank you Suresh",and he would blush and wave us off, like some newly elected politician.
Miraculously, all this happened within the impossible span of ten to fifteen minutes.
Suresh was a life-saver, rascal and drunkard, all rolled into one.And indispensable too, as he proved , every day , at almost every meal.
One fine day, Suresh disappeared.All hell broke loose. A cook had to be cajoled into counting and the old Atmaram , who usually was seen trying to do some grass cutting on the outer periphery of the mess- lawn at this hour, was coaxed in , to , do the boiling and serving.
Result, great deal of sploshing of milk, less sugar in tea, and delayed serving.
Even in his perpetually inebriated state, he was sharper and more efficient than his sober counterparts. He had been found sleeping his booze off in some grassy patch, and was sacked.
But this was nothing new for Suresh. He knew they would come looking for him when things heated up , real bad, and he would be reinstated; with full honours.To his throne of the bearer of the girls' mess. Till then, he would bide his time, and keep off toddy-if that was possible.
"Suresh kuthle gele hote?"
Where is Suresh?Where has the bugger gone off to now? Our warden would enter her office with these words.They constituted a morning ritual, and no one strove to answer her.If someone happened to be in the pantry at that moment, the person, just looked up ,mildly alarmed, from whatever one was doing, and continue forthwith.
She was unpopular enough to expect no greetings either. She would proceed to keep her large , full-face helmet on the table, shake her golden mane free, and fish her spectacles from her ample purse. Pulling up her chair, she would put on her glasses and peruse all the various books kept in front of her.
The milk-account book, the bread account book, the egg account book.All with the day's entries duly made by the home-sister."Hmm, hmm,hmm.One hum for each book. Read and slammed shut.
Now her blue eyes would scan the pantry again.
"Suresh kuthe aahe?"
She would ask no one in particular. And no one answered.
Suresh, meanwhile, would have rested his sorry backside on a stainless steel covered three legged metal stool( lend from some bankrupt OPD) folded his cracked heels underneath him,and wrapping his fingers around a large steel tumbler full of hot, syrupy, tea would be regaling a motley crowd of fellow mess-workers with the details of his latest exploits. With the adroitness of a master story teller, he would weave a story, punctuated with violent movements of arms(to the perils of other tea tumbler holding hands),and full throated guffaws.
Tea-session in full swing in a secluded corner of the kitchen, would be interrupted by a bellow from the pantry,"SURESH"
People would scatter, justifiably alarmed.
In her shining golden mane and piercing blue eyes , Warden could look pretty scary.
Muttering curses and expletives under his alcohol-and-tea laced breath, Suresh would materialise at the creaking wire-mesh door, mouthing an innocent(faintly piquant)-"Kai?" what?
"I will tell you what, you good for nothing loafer, there are milk packets to be counted, milk to be boiled, girls are coming down to breakfast, if you do not come down this moment, you are fired."
"Never let a man finish his tea". Suresh would mutter as he sauntered off, wiping his hands on his grimy apron. They all were issued ash coloured uniforms by the mess,but months of wearing them in and around the kitchen, and never once washing them, would convert them into a shade of brown, stinky, and a fly-magnet to boot.
Even now a whiff of stale toddy and a cloud of flies entered the pantry with Suresh as he approached the pantry .
Directly in front of the warden office, stood a light blue fridge, with rusted walls and a handle too grimy to be described. It had a glass front(probably gifted by pepsi/coke companies in a fit of misplaced benevolence),and was packed with umpteen packets of milk. All one litre, all embossed with the words," military farms" in green, all frozen. The sheer numbers threatening to open the fridge, it was locked with a padlock joining two loops of a thick metallic chain .
It was warden's Fort Knox.
The key was handed to Suresh, after much glaring and Suresh proceeded to drag an enormous 'patila'(vessel) to the much dented aluminium table, with as much ruckus as possible. The padlocked chains opened with a loud clang,and few frozen packets rolled off to the floor.Suresh emptied the fridge(Till warden, hawkishly counting, would scream-"Bus'(enough)),expertly slicing the polythene and letting the frozen milk mass fall with a thud.
The noise would be jarring and very disturbing to somnolent breakfasters.But was music to Suresh's ears.
Upon being reprimanded "Suresh tumi kai kartos!! Asa karu naka!!" ,(Reduce the din ) the noise would double. Slash, thud, jangle. Slash,thud, jangle.It would continue, ad-infinitum.
Just when the milk and tea drinkers would have given up all hope of getting a hot beverage on this day,Suresh would plonk a tray laden with steaming hot cups of milk on the dining table. Next , an oversized steel drum full of tea would be hoisted onto the table top followed by a huge basket of washed, wet, gleaming stainless steel cups.
Girls chorused-"Thank you Suresh",and he would blush and wave us off, like some newly elected politician.
Miraculously, all this happened within the impossible span of ten to fifteen minutes.
Suresh was a life-saver, rascal and drunkard, all rolled into one.And indispensable too, as he proved , every day , at almost every meal.
One fine day, Suresh disappeared.All hell broke loose. A cook had to be cajoled into counting and the old Atmaram , who usually was seen trying to do some grass cutting on the outer periphery of the mess- lawn at this hour, was coaxed in , to , do the boiling and serving.
Result, great deal of sploshing of milk, less sugar in tea, and delayed serving.
Even in his perpetually inebriated state, he was sharper and more efficient than his sober counterparts. He had been found sleeping his booze off in some grassy patch, and was sacked.
But this was nothing new for Suresh. He knew they would come looking for him when things heated up , real bad, and he would be reinstated; with full honours.To his throne of the bearer of the girls' mess. Till then, he would bide his time, and keep off toddy-if that was possible.
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