a matter of paise and rupees

Each morning when I leave my walk in the park now, it is my custom to cross the road and stop at the newstand for a copy of The Hindu, one of the well-written English newspapers in India, that provides a good local coverage of Kerala and Kochi, in addition to the national and international news. The paper costs 3 rupees and 25 paise (about 10 cents). With usually some rupee coins in my pocket, I leave the aging news man ("I am here 365 days, no holiday" he says with that infectious Keralan grin) the difference between the cost and 4 rupees. By no means a ransom (which would be offensive to this man who prides himself in the service he provides and the context in which he does so, carefully arranging the papers, magazines and books for the day) but more than a token (or button, at least), he accepts the "remainder" with grace and an appreciation that it is an acknowledgement of his service.

One day, I had only a 10 rupee note and, as he had just started, he could only give me change of 5 rupees. Don't worry, says I, I'll be here tomorrow. We can sort it out then. "Come tomorrow sir, I will give you the paper for free", he said with his cheeky grin. And so it was that the next day, I was handed my Hindu with due recognition, and a wiggle of the eyebrows that inquired "You don't want the change too, do you sir?"

Meanwhile at the Imperial, I have taken to leaving the rupee coins in the change from my payments for breakfast or dinner with whichever of the young lads brings the "parcel" to me. Prajid has been more conspicuously present since I started doing this, insisting that he be the server and bringer of the parcel. This evening, with chappatthi, chilli gobi and a couple of Anu Chocobars thrown in, the bill came to 64 rupees. I added a 5 rupee coin to the payment, which Prajid carefully spirited into his pocket even as he was handing over the rest of the money to the cashier. At this point, he became determined to provide what, in his mind, was exemplary service.

He went to the freezer and proceeded to open Chocobar packets and inspect each ice-cream inside closely, rejecting the ones that were not to his satisfaction, closing the lids that he had opened, and replacing them in the freezer. I'm sure he thought he was demonstrating his version of customer focus and it was not in my heart to tell him that he had broken every taboo of western service regarding food and its serving (at least he didn't stick his fingers in the boxese and draw the ice-creams out for a close-up inspection). I left the Imperial with the usual thanks and walked back to the apartment reflecting on a matter of rupees and paise.