LEGENDARY MR ABDULLAH

Legends, though incredible, have a way of surviving. Here, in India, legends are created overnight. One such legend is the Gentleman of Chowringhee, Kolkata (Calcutta). His name is The Statesman. Legend has it that the newspaper was established by Company Bahadur to mollify ruffled Indian sentiments around Mutiny - or India's first war of Independence in 1857. Take your choice. Whatever you choose, I have no quarrel.
Since it was the creation of the British Government of the day, whatever The Statesman said in its columns was accepted then as the Gospel. According to legends, many a haughty and mighty fell by the wayside due to its news and comments. A legend says that Warren Hastings was the first casualty of its mighty pen.
Then The Statesman moved to New Delhi, along with the Viceroy, in due course of time, as a branch office of its Kolkata headquarters, which cotinued looking after the British business interests there.
In its New Delhi office, many a legend did circulate, including the existence of a headless body of an English gentleman, who was looking for his severed head taken away by a mutineer. The British sense of humour let it pass without fuss. They even laughed at the joke.
But around about Christmas time, when the employees had safely stored a minimum of one litre of rum, mixed with an equal amount, if not more, of cola drinks inside their stomach, many headless bodies were counted in The Statesman premises. Including those of the spotters.
But the cake is taken by this one about a legendary editor of The Statesman, who conceptualized, propagated and then helped carve out a country named Pakistan out of Indian landmass, exclusively for Muslims of this subcontinent.
The legendary Mr Abdullah presided over the canteen of the managerial staff, euphemistically called Grade IV, whatever that may have meant then, in the Delhi office of The Statesman as Head Waiter. Scion of a distinguished pedigreed canteen staff, who had learnt all the tricks of the trade under the British in the very same canteen, he attended to his duties diligently. As promotions in The Statesman offices were rare, nobody could take his job lightly, especially as the head of the department.
After a lunch comprising a minimum of three courses plus a sweet dish, the full stomach would not let the staff leave the dining table in a hurry. Then Mr Abdullah would intervene.
"Sahib," he would say, "don't go yet. Khichree (porridge of lintel and rice for the sick) will be served soon." The sheepish staff would scurry to their workstations.

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