A tendency is observed among the well-read, at least in weaker moments, to look down upon persons who are barely literate or have just a basic education.
Could not this condescension be tempered with some humility by considering that such persons could also have gifts, sometimes denied to the better educated? Not necessarily talent in the arts or sciences, but one that comes into play on a daily basis. Like memory or a sense of discretion.
The humbling moment came to my engineering college mates and me on our very first day on the campus. In the 1960s, with only about half-a-dozen engineering colleges in Madras State, we possibly felt entitled to a feeling of superiority. The moment came in the form of a 40-year-old short, tubby, dhoti-clad person with a towel on his shoulder and simply known as Seenu.
The hostel office gave us a slip of paper with our name on it to be handed over to Seenu in the hostel mess. He took the paper, glanced at it, looked up at us, crumpled the paper and that was it. We were admitted to the mess. For the next five years, he would remember us by name and face. The paper was our passport for food for the duration of our stay.
He ran the mess, except for the cooking, which combined with his extraordinary memory had made him a legend. The vegetarian mess was simply known as Seenu mess. He maintained a count of the numbers at each meal time as well as the extra portions ordered and any guests brought in, both chargeable. Never embarrassing students by approaching them, he would stand unobtrusively in a dark corner, note pad in left hand and a sharpened pencil behind his right ear. His eagle eye would miss nothing even at the 60-foot length of the mess hall. Notings were made discreetly and would be reflected in the monthly mess bill. There would be no revenue leakage.
It was a remarkable demonstration of a dynamic memory with a batch passing out every year and a fresh one coming in a little later. Spellings, initials, name of the father in case of similarity, unfamiliar names were all meticulously remembered. And, we were a few hundred students at any given time!
He had a humane side too — offering an elder brotherly shoulder to cry on to homesick freshers or boys who had suffered a family bereavement. Also, he would dispense home remedies with kitchen ingredients to sick boys on request.
He would continue to amaze us 40 years later when a few of us visited the campus. As expected, he came from his village on our request. Eighty plus and clearly fallen on hard times but his memory undimmed, he remembered most of us and even some by name. With some initial hesitation and moist eyes, he accepted the collection we had made. It was a poignant reunion.
No less a man of memory was the postman. He had addressees outside the hostel and saw us only on some days, yet knew us all. He was a welcome figure as he came bearing money orders, a lifeline to hostellers, which he would deliver discreetly. It would be the reverse when home-made food parcels were involved. He would make it obvious and wing mates would quickly gather. He would later leave with his share. It was great camaraderie and sharing. Such moments are often recollected by my hostel mates during interactions.
After passing out, I returned to the university for the convocation, to collect the degree in person. On the way to the convocation hall, I ran into the postman. We exchanged pleasantries and went our way. He called out to me by name but I could not recall his in spite of a five-year association. A postman with a basic education had bested a graduate engineer on his way to collect his degree!
