Sardarji

In the eighties, my senior had a regular typist for urgent praecipes or short applications. His services were used only when there was a necessity and hardly out of choice.

The typist's name was Manmohan Singh Sandhu.

In the appellate side clerks' room, where he was a regular fixture sitting in a corner, everyone knew him only as 'Sardarji'. Sardarji travelled by train everyday all the way from distant Palghar, almost 100 kilometres away. His typing speed was so abysmally slow that he hardly got any work.

My senior, however, was his benefactor. Whether he had any work or not, at around 7 p.m. on every working evening, before he left for the railway station, Sardarji would visit our chambers and say "salaam sahab" to my senior, who would indulge in some banter with him for five minutes and then whip out a ₹50 note and give it to him.

This went on for years.

In those days, when appellate side clerks struggled to make 50 bucks a day, Sardarji was assured to get them on a platter, thanks to my benevolent senior.

As a result, Sardarji, who was a bachelor who boarded the 7 a.m. local from Palghar every morning, to reach his seat in the high court appellate side clerks and typists room at 9:30 a.m. dozed off while others worked frantically all around him. Except for those rare occasions when we troubled him to type out some four-line praecipe. His quota of slumber used to be completed by 4 p.m., when he would have tea and become alert.

This routine did not make him very popular. Jealous colleagues used to tamper with his old Remington typewriter. As a result, he had a big tin box made, which he used to store his typewriter. The box used to be chained shut and locked every evening. Another chain fastened the box to his wooden table.

He was so slow in everything that he spent about 30 to 45 minutes everyday unpacking his stuff and 'getting ready' every morning and an equal amount of time winding up for the day every evening. The only punctuality in his routine was the 7 p.m. 'salute' to my senior, for which he got 50 bucks and went home smiling.

I have several anecdotes to share about this unforgettable portly character with an infectious laugh. I intend to share them all in due time, but today I shall narrate one which is funny and sad at the same time.

It so happened that when my senior was offered judgeship and accepted the offer, everyone at the Bar knew about it. Except Sardarji who, for some reason, was in denial mode. I, too, shared the news of the promotion with him several times. But he used to burst out laughing every time and say: "What a joke!"

No one could convince him. He dutifully turned up at 7 p.m. and my senior continued to give him his daily 'stipend'.

Then the inevitable happened. My senior was sworn in, left the office and occupied a judge's chamber. On that day too, Sardarji came at 7 p.m. as usual and found his benefactor missing. When I told him that his "sahab" will be here no more, he burst into tears. He insisted on seeing him right away.

I told him that he must have left for home from his judge's chamber by then. But Sardarji went to the main building of the high court and found his benefactor's new chamber.

My senior was still in that evening as many people were coming to meet him. Sardarji waited and went in last.

As he was leaving, my senior sensed the reason for his coming and pulled out a ₹100 note and wished him good luck and said goodbye. Little did he realise what effect this action of his would have on Sardarji.

Sardarji triumphantly announced to the other clerks that "sahab" had now become "bada sahab" on promotion and had doubled his daily tip! My senior was shocked to find Sardarji coming to his chamber day after day.

He was too kind and gave him ₹50 for about a week and then realised this had to stop once and for all. He requested me to explain things to Sardarji. I tried, but Sardarji said this was entirely between bada sahab and him, hence, I should stay out of it!

I reported this to my senior.

The next evening my senior asked me to come to his chamber at 7 p.m. as he wanted to "settle this thing with Sardarji".

I remember that meeting vividly. Sardarji was offered a cup of tea and explained that this daily dole was now not possible for my senior to be giving. He thanked Sardarji, gave him a parting gift of ₹5,000 by cheque and bid him goodbye.

Sardarji broke down. Then, wiping his tears, he scolded my senior: "Did you ever ask me whether you should accept judgeship? How could you do this to me? Who will give me any money now? What was wrong with the way things were? We were all so happy. Now, what will I do? Where will I go? Life has not been fair to me. Your becoming a judge may make no difference to you or anyone else. But it is a virtual death sentence to me. Why? Why did you do this to me?"

My senior looked very sad and shaken. After a while he told Sardarji not to worry. "Please do not come here everyday. I will send you a monthly stipend with someone."

Sardarji smiled. He said, "Sahab, I will personally come once a month to your chamber to collect the cheque."

My senior asked: "Why?"

Sardarji's reply still rings in my ears: "Mai aapko hastey dekhna chahta hoon. Mai aapko hasaane aaunga!"

I want to see you smiling. I shall come to make you laugh.

We all had a good laugh at that.