A Cook’s Broth

“Roasted Lamb steak with peas to be served at number seven. Baron Wolfenson wishes that the meat should be from the right hind leg of the lamb”, shouted the steward to the cook as he hurried out to the dining hall with an order of “fish and chips”.

The kitchen was steamy and moist with the evaporating water in huge vessels. The surroundings were also sticky with particles of cooking fat mixed with steam floating in the air. Stewards were continuously coming in and going out of the kitchen. Voices echoed as cooks were ordered by the stewards. Dishes clattered and made a shrill sound as they made their way into serving trays before going out into the dining hall. Cooks would hurl various ingredients into different kinds of utensils and create dishes that could satiate the taste-buds of any living being.

“The Oriental Lotus” was restaurant known all over London as a symbol of class dining. The ambience was inviting. The décor of the main dining hall was done in a manner which reflected the taste of a man of panache. I t was a well known fact that Bakhtiyar Currimbhoy Batliboi affably known in the social circles of London as “ Mr. Bakh” persoanlly chose artifacts and fittings from various parts of the world. The chandeliers were chosen personally from the glass works in Venice while the furniture was Burmese teak. The Bone China came on order from potters in Lixang village in Xingjiang, China while cutlery was chosen carefully in Paris. With such an exotic décor it was one of the obvious choices for the elites of London.

The maitre’d and his teams of stewards were carefully chosen by Mr. Bakh and all of them were high on loyalty for their master. They had all joined as apprentices and did odd-man jobs before they rose through the ranks with experience. They knew most of the diners and their families, individual tastes were taken care of (for instance, they knew that Lady Annette of Dover liked raisins in a chocolate pudding while Harold Kaminski, the Russian emissary to the United Kingdom preferred scrambled eggs slightly less cooked). Mr. Bakh was friends with almost all the Patrons. The lotus was in full bloom.

Not only English, but even the Indian nobility and intelligentsia was regular to Mr. Bakh’s place. Maharaja Shauryamangal Singh of Jhapiala State in India preferred sautéed vegetables in butter along with vintage French wine from the house of “Moet et Chandon” (Yes! He is the same Maharaja Shauryamangal Singh of Jhapiala who had bought a fleet of Rolls Royces and dispatched them as garbage collection vans in his state when he was refused one in England. What a man, what a man!). And revolutionaries like Harman Walia, Homi Firzoedaar and Premkumar Sen turned up on Saturdays to savour the “Awadhi Biryani” and “Dhanshak”. India - the jewel in the English crown was feeling slight tremors with a chap called Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi returning to his homeland from South Africa. He had introduced Indians to a new concept called non-cooperation and the whole country had jumped into a movement to claim independence for India. These days the talks in the dining room were mostly of Gandhi and India’s future.

It was destiny that had brought Ram Kotwal to “The Oriental Lotus”. Mr. Bakh was eating at Sir Jamaluddin Khyabji’s house when he liked the way the meat was cut. On enquiries with the butler it was found that the pieces were cut by the “Indian lad” who was recently brought to England with Khyabji as the boy gave good foot massages. Mr. Bakh tipped the emancipated soul a pound and said, “Buy yourself some good clothes”. Those grateful eyes that looked at him said more than a “thank you”. Quietly pocketing the shining coin the boy bowed in salutation. This was the starting of a relationship that lasted a lifetime.

Ram Kotwal was born in Champawat village in the United Provinces of British ruled India. His birth was looked at as a curse by the family- he was unwanted and was conceived by mistake. He was ugly compared to his siblings. He never wanted to work and was always lost in dreams. Now this was not an asset for a boy who was born in a family of thirteen children and whose father was a daily wager. Initially christened Kaalu Singh because of his wheatish complexion in a household full of fair children, he started calling himself Ram because he felt that a decent name was the pre-requisite to making it “big” in life. Kotwal was added to his name later by Sir Jamaluddin Khyabji when Ram single-handedly chased away burglars from his estate with a stick and mimicking sounds of bullets fired from a rifle.

Sir Khyabji was travelling to the “Duns” when his car got stuck in a huge pothole. Kaalu Singh was loitering nearby when he saw the aristocrat in trouble. Without being asked, he started pushing the car. Although the ten year-old boy’s efforts yielded no results (later some villagers got together and pushed the car out), Sir Khyabji knew that the boy was of “use”. He called the boy and said, “You have two options. Either you take this two-rupee note for your effort or you can come with me”. The boy thought for a while and said,”Saheb, where should I sit?” On Sir Khyabji’s gesture, the driver opened the front door and Kaalu Singh got in.

“What is your name?” Sir Khyabji asked. “Ram”, Kaalu Singh replied. This was the end of Kaalu Singh. And thus started the journey of this young fellow from the valleys of Himalayas to the capital of England.

Ram travelled to London aboard “White Derbyshire” (Owned by the Imperial Shipping Co. of Manchester) along with Sir Khyabji and Lady Dilnawaz. He was so loyal to the aged aristocrat that he never left his master. Be it any moment, he was always at the beck and call of his master. His loyalty was unquestionable and his sincerity and devotion towards the family members was admired by all in the household. The eldest of Khyabji next-generation Gustaad used to joke with his father,”Pappa, I want nothing from you except Ram. After you, I should inherit him”.

But fate willed otherwise. The Khyabjis perished aboard “Arizona Star” while crossing the Atlantic to go to Canada. Seven family members died when the liner went down with 200 people aboard. Only Tanaz, the teenage daughter of the Khyabjis who was at a finishing school in Zurich survived. The executors of the Khyabji estate found no use for Ram and threw him out. With his meagre belongings packed in a bundle, he knew where exactly to go.

“Sir, a vagabond wishes to see you. He says you know him. He refuses to go away although we tried to shoo him off”, said Kirpal Singh, the guard to Mr. Bakh.

As Bakh stepped out of his office, he knew who exactly had come to meet him. He sat on a table and gestured for some tea as he asked the burly Sikh to fetch the fellow. When Ram came in Bakh smiled at him. Ram touched his feet and sat down on the floor with his eyes on the bearded Parsi. None of them said anything as Bakh finished his cup of tea while Ram kept looking at him. The clock kept ticking.

“Can you cut meat the way you cut it at Khyabji’s?” Bakh started the conversation. The boy just nodded.

“I won’t pay you any money. You can stay here, eat here and learn here”, Bakh said as he got up. Gesturing to Zuber, one of the waiters, he left the room. Zuber gestured Ram to come with him.

In a short span of time, Ram Kotwal was Bakhtiyar Currimbhoy Batliboi’s most hard working employee. He was always found working in the kitchen. Although it was his small hands which made him cut meat artistically but with the precision of a surgeon, he never restricted himself to it. He would be found assisting the cooks in their work or he would be learning how to serve from the waiters. Once when he dropped 6 pieces of Bone china while he tried to balance them, Christopher, the maitre’d whacked him with a stick injuring him. When Mr. Bakh heard of the incident, Christopher was sacked and replaced by Alfred Shaw, the Head waiter and personal butler to Mr. Bakh. Mr. Bakh was very clear in his style of business. If at all anybody is to be punished, it would be him who would give the verdict, not anybody else. He was in charge and it should be known to one and all. Alan Cunningham, the new personal butler to Mr. Bakh was asked to train and ready Ram Kotwal for his job as a steward. But before that the boy was to be taken to Dr. Thomson to treat his injuries.

After almost one year of being under Alan, Mr. Bakh asked Ram to get ready for the evening. He was to start his stint as a steward in “The Oriental Lotus”. Ram jumped in excitement when he was told of his apparent “promotion”. Lord Delaware was dining at the restaurant and Ram was to serve table seventeen where the Lord would be seated in the evening. Exactly when the clock struck seven, Lord Delaware strode into the hall with his wife- Helena, The Lady Delaware. Straightening his bow and adjusting his tailcoat, Ram went up to the ageing yet handsome aristocrat and his charming wife and took the orders. An Indian steward was not heard of in those days but reassuring looks for Mr. Bakh from a distance put the couple at ease. After a well served sumptuous meal, the Lord left. He left behind a gleaming silver coin for the “boy”. An ecstatic Ram could not sleep that night.

Soon Ram became one of the popular stewards at “The Oriental Lotus”. His speed and precision and his “eye for intricate details” made customers ask for him. He knew exactly what his regular patrons ate or drank and the ‘minute details’ they expected. Many affluent Indians tried to lure him away but Ram exactly knew where his loyalty lay. He knew that the man who gave him sanctuary during this “impoverished days” can never be forgotten or left. Loyalty was always rewarded and Ram waited for his destiny to find him his place on earth.

The second “Great War” had started. Ram had heard that some German with a small moustache was holding the world to ransom and everybody from the king to two “big men” on both sides of the earth were trying to stop him. In India Gandhi had made it very clear that India would not accept anything else apart from independence to support the King’s war effort. With his limited ability to read and understand and the information caught by his ears from diners, Ram knew that the world was in for some great change.

On day, the news came for which almost 30 million Indians had waited for close to a century. India had become independent. The “Union Jack” had come down and the “Tricolour” was majestically hoisted over the historic Red fort at Delhi. This was the time when Ram felt that it was time to go back to India.

“I want to go back to India”, he said to Mr. Bakh. The master looked up but said nothing. He walked up to the safe, took out some money and put it into Ram hands.

“I knew, there would be a day when you would want to fly out of my nest. A person like you has a much bigger destiny that I can give you here. I am giving you a thousand pounds. May it be of some use to the destiny that you are going to make for yourself” As he said these words, the Parsi walked out of his room giving directions to his staff. Ram knew he was out into the “big bad world on his own”.

It was the chill in December that welcomed Ram in Delhi. The journey wasn’t easy. From England, he took a ship to Bombay. It took him 75 days to reach the Indian coast. With the thousand pounds and his bundle of clothes, Ram Kotwal Bahadur (This was to be his new name he though as he bought his ticket under this name) set foot on his motherland. With no friends or relatives or acquaintances in the city, he roamed around the city aimlessly. He looked at the “Taj Mahal Hotel” opened by a visionary Parsi gentleman and thought, “one day I am going to own such a hotel”.

“Hotel for sale in Shimla. Interested parties may contact….”Ram found this advertisement in a newspaper which he had picked up to sleep on. He did not read anything else. He bought a ticket to Delhi in “Frontier Mail” and started on his journey. The hotel was a rundown place called, “Rosewood Hotel” owned by a Britisher called Ray Balfour who wanted 5000 rupees for it. After convincing him for 4 days, Ram gave him 500 pounds in “British currency” and bought the hotel. Ram finally owned something.

It looked nothing like a hotel. It has twenty-four rooms of which the fourteen on the first floor were gutted in a fire long back. The kitchen looked nothing like the kitchen. The only plus point was the location. The hotel overlooked the city of Shimla. Ram decided that this would be his selling point. After borrowing another thousand pounds from Mr. Bakh, Ram set out to refurbish the hotel. (His letter to him asking for some money as loan came back with a letter and an Englishman. The letter read, “I want two thousand pounds in five years”.)

He knew that he had to be like Mr. Bakh, if he wanted to become big. He started slow and small but his plans were huge. He personally worked with the masons, the carpenters and the plumbers to put the “run down” place back on its feet. Days would pass by fast and Ram feared that if the work was not completed on time before the tourist season started, he may land up in a soup. At night when the world was sleeping, he would quietly watch his dream coming up from a distance and wait for the sun to rise so that he could start working again. The work finally paid off and after 4 months of perseverance (and luckily just before the tourist season) the hotel was ready for the guests.

Ram carefully chose the staff he employed. There were three cooks, and ten stewards. Ram himself donned the role of supervisor. The first guests who came to the hotel were the Mehrotra family from the plains. They stayed for ten days but when the bill was asked for, the family was surprised. They were not charged for anything.

“You are the first patrons of my venture. All I expect is your blessings and wishes”, Ram politely said to the patriarch of the family.

Words from the Mehrotra family reached a lot of people in the plains. “The Rosewood Hotel” became a preferred destination for travelers to the region. Ram always ensured that his guests got something “extra” than what they asked for. Letters and telegrams always arrived well in advance to book occupation. References were made by satisfied guests who appreciated the efforts made by Ram and his team. Ram was getting closer to what he wanted. But he was still far from what he actually desired.

It was through one of his patrons that Ram Kotwal Bahadur came to know that a certain hotel in the national capital was up for sale. When Rams aw the property, he liked it in one go. There were no major changes required and the place could be started immediately. All it would require is a change in the team. The asking price was twenty five thousand rupees. It took Ram countless visits to Banks before a dynamic banker at Imperial Bank of India saw the spark in Ram. “The Derbyshire Hotel” was renamed as “The Rosewood Hotel” and commenced business. A part of the team arrived in Delhi along with Ram a complete turnaround was done with a new team and a new strategy to do business.

Business travelers were the key to the future and Ram understood this quite early. Business was picking up in independent India and he was able to perceive their demands. His acumen to perceive things beforehand was a huge advantage which the “Rosewood Hotels” cashed on heavily.

Ram’s wedding to Sonalika Dewan changed a lot of things in his life. They had been introduced to each other by Inder Chauhan, a common friend and soon romance blossomed. Although she was not the first woman that Ram had known but she was indeed the most elegant that he had ever met. Initially, they used to meet each other “by chance”. Then it shifted to meeting “by convenience” and soon they were meeting out of “sheer necessity”. Ram was driving her around the city on his new “Hindustan 14” or the “Willys Jeep”. Very soon the compatibility rose to such levels that the pot of morning tea to Ram’s room had two cups, sherry & Scotch whisky co habited in his liquor cabinet and even their clothes were laundered together. One morning Ram said to her, “I want a home. Let’s get married”. Lazily she pulled the satin sheets on herself and said in a sleepy voice, “Defer the proposal to dinner. I am not an early morning person”. That evening Sonalika agreed to become Mrs. Ram Kotwal Bahadur.

Sonalika was earlier married to Suresh Rai, a member of the Indian Civil Service who died of malaria while serving in the “Terai”. Barely into her early twenties, she had joined her father’s distillery business where she ably assisted him. The Dewans were one of the leading distillers in the northern part of the country. With popular brands like “Frontier Whisky”,”White Stag Rum” and “Silver Cedar Beer”- their flagship Brand, the Dewans were a known family. When Manoharlal Dewan found his daughter interested in a “self-made” man, he accepted his daughter’s choice and got them married.

Mr. Bakh came to the wedding. Age showed in his constitution, but the straight walk and crisp voice still remained the same. He gave an piece of paper to the couple and said, ”Ram was the son I never had”. The paper was Bakhtiyar Currimbhoy Batliboi’s will which brught tears into Ram’s eyes. Ram could not have asked for a better gift. The couple spent a month at “The Rosewood Hotel” in Shimla. Sonalika was proud of her husband’s starting point. At the end of the month, Ram Kotwal Bahadur, was a satisfied man who was crazily in love with his bride.

The Dewan’s presented them with a property as a wedding gift which was named “Champawat” in memory of Ram’s village. Initially Sonalika wanted to see her husband’s family but Ram negated it by saying, “Kaalu Singh died long ago”. Sonalika Kotwal Bahadur accepted the void in her life with grace and the couple set up their house in the capital.

Ram was in Rajputana when news came which shook everything inside him. He immediately started for the capital where Sonalika was waiting for him. They boarded a flight which took them to the place where Ram had started his life. Bakhtiyar Currimbhoy Batliboi had died. Sonalika held her “broke” husband all through the way. She knew that the “strong” Ram was very vulnerable at this particular moment and if she did not support him now, he would crumble. Tears kept rolling down his eyes and he hardly spoke a word. The aircraft was taking eternity to reach London. When the Kotwals arrived in London, Ardeshir-the eldest of the Batliboi children was there to receive them.

After a few days in London where they attended the last rites of Mr. Bakh and Ram showed Sonalika the places where he evolved from, they returned to India. A very important decision was made at London. Ardeshir was a comfortably placed lawyer in the United States who knew nothing about the hotel business. As per Mr. Bakh’s will, the name “The Oriental Lotus” would be inherited by Ram whereas the restaurant would go to Mr. Bakh’s family. So, after discussing a while, they decided on a plan. Ram would keep the “name” as well as the restaurant whereas profits from the restaurant for a period of 25 years would go Ardeshir and his family. Although, it was a totally losing proposition, but Ram accepted it. Had he not accepted it, Ardeshir would have sold the restaurant. Ram could not have let “Mr. Bakh die”.

All the Rosewood Hotels in India were rechristened as, “The Oriental Lotus”. In the coming months, Ram acquired two small hotels in Lucknow and Calcutta at throw away prices. His business strategy was very simple. Look for run down properties at throw away prices. Buy them, rebuild them and take them to glory. In the meanwhile Swarnalata Kotwal Bahadur arrived in this world. At the sight of his daughter, Ram told Sonalika, “I hope to add another hotel with each year of her life”.

But his biggest achievement was yet to come- a hotel in Bombay. Ram’s next course of action was to open a hotel in Bombay- the commercial capital of independent India. He was going beserk at his failure to find a good property in Bombay. He had to wait for four years before he found what he was looking for. The “Frontier Hotels Group” had gone bankrupt and their property, “The Sea horizon” was up for sale. After months of negotiations and the latest “push and pull” of politics, Ram inked the deal.

Ram was walking on the pier overlooking the Arabian Sea that night after the function was over. His mind had innumerable thoughts inside him. He thought of his whole life. From a small place in the valleys, “Kaalu Singh” had come a long way to become Ram Kotwal Bahadur. After a while, Ram walked back into his new hotel. Like all his other hotels, the reception area had the same look. There were pictures of Sir Jamaluddin Khyabji, Bakhtiyar Currimbhoy Batliboi and “The Oriental Lotus” at London. He smiled at them and walked towards the elevator.

As Ram got into the elevator to go to his room, he found an old couple talking about the food. The man said, “The meat in the steak was cut so well, I tipped the waiter ten rupees to give it to the lad who cut it so well. I hope he gives it to him”. When the elevator stpped at their floor and they were stepping out, Ram addressed them, “Sir, I will ensure that the money goes to the lad. A cook’s broth will never go unrewarded”

The couple was puzzled while Ram smiled towards them as the door of the elevator closed.

P.S. The plot and the characters are figments of my imagination. Any resemblance to any person dead or alive is purely coincidental.

Dedicated to the members of the “Hotel Industry” who are not visible from outside but inside and in reality they are the ones who keep it running.