Niloufer Patkar
“There’s someone at the
gate who’s come to wish you for Christmas, Saheb,” said the bearer.
“All right, send him in,” said my father.
The man walked towards the verandah with a small basket of fruits
in his hands, a floppy cloth bag slung over his shoulder and a wide smile on
his face. Dad recognized him to be a small business contractor; someone
he had given a contract to, which he had done well.
“Saheb, thank you so much for giving me the contract. It has
helped my business grow tremendously!
Merry Christmas, Saheb!” he said, handing over the basket of fruit
to my father.
It was customary for rich business contractors to bring gifts for
the manager of the garden during Christmas, as a token of their gratitude for
the contracts they had been given over the year. These gifts were usually
large baskets of fruits, some chocolates for the baba-logs, and heavily iced
Christmas cakes. (It was a known fact
that some ‘gifts’ were offered in envelopes, but Dad would have none of that!)
He accepted the fruit and other eatables, as refusing them would have
been considered insulting to the giver.
During the Christmas and New Year season, the pantry area would resemble
a fruit market. Some of the fruit and
cakes were distributed among the domestic staff. The rest would be eaten
by us or converted into jams, jellies and marmalades by Mum, which would last
for the year ahead. (Mum’s orange marmalade won many prizes when exhibited in
the Home Produce section of the Flower Shows held in the clubs.)
“Thank you and Merry Christmas to you too!” said Dad, accepting
the basket of fruit. The man hesitated and then delved into the bag and
pulled out a couple of ducks. “For you,
Saheb! I am sorry I could not get you anything else. Please accept this small
gift from me.”
“Really, there’s no need for this,” said Dad, refusing as politely
as he could, not wanting to hurt the man’s feelings. The man persisted
with his offering and refused to go until Dad relented and struck a deal with
him. “I will keep one of the ducks on
condition that you take back the other and enjoy a good Christmas meal with the
family,” said Dad. The man finally agreed, handed over one of the ducks,
put the other back into his bag and left.
Thankfully, the duck never made it to our dinner table as he was
promptly named, and no animal with a name was allowed to be served at the
table.
And that’s how Ducky came to live a long and happy life in the
Kakajan Burra Bungalow!
