The tale of Agnes, Steak and Caramel Custard

“Yes Madam, can I help you”, the clerk at the reception asked her.

She had just entered the magnanimously imposing structure of the Head Office of Imperial Bank. She was frail with a recognizable hunch which was clear evidence of her eighty something years on this earth. She was dressed in a floral printed skirt with a white blouse which had frayed with innumerable washes. She carried a small plastic basket along with her polished leather handbag. A scarf fluttered whenever the high powered revolving fan threw a gust of air towards her.

“Anybody walks into this office these days”, the clerk thought while he continued to smile at her. Her appearance was not imposing by any standards and thus gave him no reasons to entertain her more than necessary. “Can I help you Madam”, he said again.

Removing her spectacles and keeping the basket on the desk in front of her she politely moved her lips, “I wish to meet Raghav Mehra”. The clerk almost burst into a sarcastic laugh, but then he did not wish to be impolite. “Do you have an appointment? Mr. Mehra is a very busy man”, his sarcasm was now completely evident. She gave him a blank stare which showed her disappointment. She continued to stare at him for a positive reaction, which made him all the more uncomfortable.

“I am sorry; In that case I won’t be able to help you then. Mr. Mehra would not be available without an appointment”, his words were giving her a signal to close the conversation and walk out. She picked up her basket and turned around. Her face was drained and all one could read in it was a melancholic expression. The clerk breathed a sigh of relief. “What a pain”, he thought as he went back to his work.

But his apparent ordeal was yet to end. The lady retraced her steps and put the basket on the desk again. Slowly she muttered in hope, “Could you please tell him that Agnes wishes to see him. I saw his photograph in the newspaper today and wanted to see him. Maybe he will find some time”. This irritated the clerk. With no options he dialed a number which was fresh in his memory and spoke into it before he put down the receiver.

“Could you please sit on the sofas over there. I have called his office. They said they will call back in a moment”, he raised his hands to show a line of sofas behind her. A few people were sitting on them. All were visitors who were waiting to meet Bankers at Imperial Bank. Some were nervous, some irritated while some gave out no expressions at all. The old lady found herself a seat in the corner and waited for the moment she was looking forward to. It did not take long.
The clerk hurried to her with an “ear to ear” smile. There were movements around the reception. A well dressed man also came quickly towards her. “Is she the visitor”, he asked the clerk. At his nod he addressed her, “Hello Madam, myself Krishan Kumar, Protocol Officer. Nice to meet you. Chairman Sahib is coming downstairs to receive you”. Agnes gave him a blank stare. Either she hadn’t expected his sudden change in behaviour or maybe Kumar’s “murder” of the language made her numb. It was difficult to say. All around her she could feel that the attention had shifted to her. People were referring to her in hushed up tones. Why had she suddenly become important?

Suddenly she saw that a few people had gathered around the line of elevators. One of them opened and a man with authority came out. He was in his mid-fifties and he oozed of power. Dressed in a grey pinstripe suit he walked up to Agnes in a hurry. There were so many feelings visible on his face- surprise, restlessness, happiness and not to mention, a smile. “Nothing has changed about him”, Agnes thought, “the same face, just a bit wrinkled with age, a smile that still had the same innocence, as it was thirty five years ago, hair that had become thinner and had turned grey. But the same walk”.

“Agnes, how are you”, he said as he hugged her. People beside him smiled. Such reactions were not expected from Raghav Mehra, the Chairman of Imperial Bank,an organization that had the ability to influence the nation. An orderly took the basket and followed them as she slowly accompanied him to the elevator that would take him to his plush office on the 37th floor of the building.

The reception’s telephone rang. A known voice asked the clerk “has somebody by the name Agnes D’Cunha arrived”? The phone clicked after it had got the necessary information. Then the phone rang again, and again, and again for the same reason. The clerk was flustered. What is so important about this frail lady that more than a dozen top executives of the Bank were enquiring about her?

Darshan Banerjee was surprised to see his boss Hitesh Mishra smiling. Mishra, Country Head of Treasury Operations at Imperial Bank was known to be a fellow who never smiled. Today he grinned as he left his office. Banerjee dialed into the intercom and called up a colleague, “Meeesraaaa is smiling”, he said into the phone.

There were similar occurrences in other departments as well. “Old Men” were acting like “young probationers”. The Executive lift (available to Senior Vice-Presidents and above) was constantly doing rounds to the 37th floor. Protocol went for a toss. The chairman’s secretariat was wondering who this Agnes was, who had broken all hierarchy in Imperial Bank. The Chairman’s office was crowded with people. Senior Vice-Presidents, Country heads, one Vice-Chairman and the Chairman himself. Extra chairs had to be sent in to accommodate twenty nine executives who were sitting with the old frail lady.

“Order some tea with chocolate cup cakes” Varun Mathur, the Vice-Chairman ordered. “Sir, ensure that you get five for Harirajan, or else he will snatch ours as he did earlier” quipped Sakar Ray, Senior Vice-President of the Human Resources Department. Everybody broke into laughter. People outside the room were still confused as to what was happening. Suddenly somebody found a common link. All the men in the room had joined the bank in the Western Provinces area.

******

“Coming for lunch. Lets gobble up some lunch before the boss comes back”, Diwakar Pandey said to his batch mate Anil Verma. Both of them were probationers at Area Head Office of Imperial Bank. Getting into a conversation, they hurried down the flight of stairs and walked out of the office. After walking almost a kilometer in the sun, they came into a residential area. From a distance they could see a huge man coming towards them.

“Hey Hari, what’s for lunch?” Verma asked the burly man. “Your favourite caramel custard is there kiddo” said Harirajan to his junior colleague.

The board on top of the house said, “Lisboa”. It was originally painted in blue but now could be confused with black. Motorcycles were neatly lined in front of it. Inside the house sat scores of young men and women eating. Both the fellows got inside and found a place. “Agnes, we are here”, they smiled at the lady who moved around the tables with an apron around her and a smile on her face.

“Man, you have lost so much of weight” she looked at Diwakar and said. “Johhnyyyyy…..get baba a bowl of custard” she screamed at one of the stewards. “I will have a steak with potatoes and rice” Anil declared. Everybody was referred to as “baba” or “baby” by Agnes. She nodded in approval before she went to the next table.

“Lisboa” was the house owned by William D’ Cunha. He had arrived in Khudabad, the capital of Western Province just before independence. Western Province was full of textile mills which employed a lot of Christians who came all the way from the Portuguese ruled parts of the country. They came as technicians and settled there. When William lost a hand to a malfunctioning machine and could work no more, his wife Agnes turned the house into an eatery. Initially, Willie (as William was affably known to all) sat on the counter and chatted with customers while he collected the bill. One fine day he died leaving everything to Agnes and their son Thomas. Agnes had run the place well. Imperial Bank and the Police Commissioner’s office were in the vicinity. Officers from both the places frequented the place for steak, roasted meat, cutlets and caramel custard (which was Agnes’ delicacy). Business was brisk.

It was “family” for everybody. Most of the officers had come from various parts of the country and found “Lisboa” a good place to eat and chat. Most stayed in the nearby area of Kamalpur and frequented the place. Agnes knew all of them by their first names. She was like a mother-figure to all the young fellows. Everyone had a “line of credit” which had to be liquidated on the 5th of every month. People who failed to meet the date were allowed access only if they had a valid reason. Once in a while somebody ran off without paying but Agnes did not care. She was not a professional. She cooked, people ate and paid. Jesus was kind to her.

The “Bankwallahs” were a vociferous lot while the “Policewallahs” were quieter. This was contrary to their professions. As most were “regulars”, there was hardly anybody who sat there without company. Couples were to be found chatting over innumerable cups of coffee followed by dinner after office hours before Agnes had to tell them that it was time to go home.

Friednships and love blossomed equally there. When Nilkamal Singh, a Police Service officer got pick pocketed of his salary (imagine what an irony), it was Raghav Mehra who overdraw his account to lend him money. And when Joe Sridhar, another Police Service officer asked Neelima Matthews to marry him, she said yes only on the condition that Joe would bring her twice a week to “Lisboa”. An excited Joe had agreed to all seven days.

Raghav himself had found love at “Lisboa”. It was in the form of Anette Faria, a junior at Imperial Bank. They got acquainted during the “annual closing” in March. He would drop her home after the day. Soon it was innumerable cups of coffee followed by dinner for them. A wedding was a bit tricky for them as they both came from different “faiths”. But love prevailed as in the end as they got married to each other. Agnes gave an “on the house” to the regulars on this occasion. Seven happy years later tragedy struck this beautiful love story. Anette went down to jaundice. At her funeral, Agnes said to a teary Raghav, “Man, if you break down now, she will lose her faith in love.” Raghav never forgot those words. He lived by the memories of Anette. He channelized all his energy to build a future for the two things he loved most after Anette- their son Roshan and Imperial Bank. Roshan went on to become a well-known Cardiologist while Imperial Bank became the largest Bank in Asia.

Years went by. Probationers came and went by. They grew in age, they grew in the organization. Some stayed in touch while some got lost. Every week dozens of postcards and letters came in Agnes’ name. They contained news of weddings, births, promotions, transfers and of course, deaths. Agnes had learnt to live with the realities of life. As she grew older, Thomas started helping her out. He had his mother’s benevolence and was liked by all. “Lisboa” never got a facelift as far as exteriors were concerned, but inside Agnes and Thomas and all its patrons, it was always in “top condition”.

“Let’s have steak with potatoes and rice for lunch. And some Caramel custard too. What do you say Agnes?” Varun Mathur asked. Agnes took out a small tiffin box and smiled, “Am an old woman now Baba, I have brought my lunch. I will eat it before I catch my evening train to Khudabad”. But none of the “babas” would listen to her. Thomas was called and told that his mother will fly to Khudabad the next morning. Lunch was ordered from “The Oriental Lotus”- Suraj Kothari,the Senior Vice- President in charge of Public relations was on good terms with their management. A dinner was organized in the evening at “Kimberley”- the official residence of the Chairman of Imperial Bank. It was time for Agnes to meet the “families”. It was late into the night that old jokes and anecdotes did rounds at “Kimberley”. Agnes was visibly tired and went off to sleep early. The “Babas” and the “Babys” kept chatting late into the night.

Next morning Agnes left for Khudabad. Raghav personally went to the airport and personally took her to the aircraft. After ensuring that the airline had made special arrangements for her and after making a call to Thomas of her safe departure, he came back home.

******

About a year later, Raghav was taking the elevator to his 37th floor office when his cellphone beeped. He saw the message and asked the operator to take him downstairs. He made a few calls. Soon twenty-eight other people came down. Innumerable executives of Imperial Bank attended Agnes’ funeral. Many faces saw each other after decades. Quite a few Khaki-clad gentleman too were present. After the service was over, people offered their condolences to Thomas. Raghav walked up to a burly Sikh in uniform and said, “Nilkamal, I hope your wallet is safe today”. The man laughed aloud and hugged Raghav.

In the evening, when Raghav was dropped at the airport by Azam Bashir, the Area Head of Imperial Bank at Western Province Area, he whispered something in his ear. Bashir knew exactly what to do. Days later when Raghav was flying to Zurich for an international conference, he was served steak and caramel custard on the flight. He asked the air hostess, “could you please give me something else to eat. I have given up eating steak and caramel custard.” Raghav knew they would never taste the same now that Agnes was dead.

******

“Coming for lunch. Lets gobble up some lunch before the boss comes back”, Kabir Pant said to his batch mate Ankit Grover. Both of them were probationers at Area Head Office of Imperial Bank having joined the Bank three months before. Getting into a conversation, they hurried down the flight of stairs and walked out of the office. After walking almost a kilometer in the sun, they came into a residential area. After a few minutes they found the board- “Lisboa”. As they entered, they found many recognizable faces. They wished those faces before sitting down on a table.

“Arnab was telling me that the table on the extreme right is the one on which the Chairman always sat in his younger days. Apparently he dated his wife on that table. And that photograph above the counter is probably of Agnes D’Cunha”, he said.

“What will Baba-log have?” the steward asked them. Both of them gave their orders and continued chatting.

After they walked out post lunch they entered an office next door. It had a well known signboard in blue and green which read, “Imperial Bank, Agnes Mansion Branch”. Azam Bashir had ensured that Agnes became immortal for Imperial Bankers.

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