By Dr. Dipankar Datta
This story is not about another Slum-dog who could neither make it to the hot seat – leave aside the Oscars. So who is this Jamal -- Read on folks:
The early 90s were my early days in Tamil Nadu. I was posted at Theni – a small town at the foot hills of Kodaikannal Kerala. I was then a Bengali bachelor. Brought up with fish and rice, at least twice a day, suddenly I planted myself onto a place where getting rice twice a day was sort of impossible. It was Idli & Dhosai for breakfast and dinner with rice as lunch only in the afternoon.
And being in Tamil Nadu I was battling to come in terms with vegetarian, sour, spicy, hot food; trying every alternate day different hotels. I was in fact searching for a place – any damn place for that matter – which will serve food - that won’t cause spontaneous yelling of tears without emotional upheaval, won’t burn my tummy, won’t cause running nose sans a viral attack.
My frantic search came to an end when a well wisher of mine suggested a place about 15 minutes of walking distance away. “You want good, homely food or food at a good place?” – asked my friend knowing that being a doctor I may a bit fussy about the place being clean. My emphatic “NO--place doesn’t matter. I want good food” – encouraged him to guide me to a small hotel.
It was one of those hotels that dot any small town with regular monotonous interval. It was roughly a 7ft*12 ft room. As I was ushered in, I had to negotiate a repulsive choubachcha (meaning a water tank in Bengali), just short of overflowing with ubiquitous, eco-friendly disposable plates – the banana leaves on my right.
There were only six people (the maximum they could serve on a single go) having their lunch. They were sitting on low bench. The low benches were dry enough no to repulse you from sitting, but the high benches on which their plates were kept, were wet due to repeated wiping with moist cloth and had a peculiar stink of its own.
I was introduced to the owner as a V.I.P customer, the only “eye doctor” of the town and was greeted accordingly. My friend left me under the care of the shop owner who with lot of hesitations told me that I had to wait outside as there were no places to sit. Not only there was no place to sit, but there was no place to stand either, for the narrow aisle between the long benches was being frequented by the owner and “the only helper” serving hungry tummies with utmost care.
In due course my food was served and I was so happy with the food that I decided to keep my eyes and nose shut as long as needed but wouldn’t forego a meal in that place.
There I met Jamal – the server – cum – helper – cum cook – a young chap of around 30, usually clad in colored “Lungi” and a white vest, having a well groomed beard and forehead almost always decorated with “bibhuti” – the holy ash of south
Name suggested he was Muslim, forehead suggested he was Hindu, beard suggested he could be anything. But his devout ritual of elaborate worshipping of Gods & Goddesses, a host of them in one multilayered shelf in one of the walls of the eatery, left no doubt in my mind that he was Hindu, the name being an aberration . Days went by me watching Jamal, Jamal serving me being bracketed by pleasantries at the start and end of my meals.
One November I found Jamal absent. I enquired with the owner and he told me that Jamal is on leave. “Why” – I enquired. “Festival in his village” replied the owner.
To the best of my knowledge there was no Hindu festival at that time of the year. So I causally enquired “which festival?” - thinking that it must be a local village festival. To my utter surprise the gentleman said, as a matter of fact “Id”.
I was shocked to discover that Jamal is a Muslim – a Muslim who takes leave to celebrate
Jamal taught me that, to quote Ramakrishna Paramahamsa “Hindus say Jal, Muslims say Pani, Christians say Water. Yet Jal remains whatever it is.”
For Jamal, putting Bibhuti, performing Hindu ritual of Aarati and celebrating Id, does not change a Homo Sapiens.
We had heard of Hindus sheltering Muslim neighbors during riots and Muslims saving Hindus from being killed. But I suppose that this feeling sprouts from humanity, friendship, fellow feeling but what Jamal does is from within and is a true teaching of all religions. He taught me to be religious by actual practice, and not by preaching.
* The author is the Chief Medical Officer and Reader at
