Rules Of Hospitality

There is an old saying: “ Rules of hospitality, are by this law expressed; welcome the coming, and speed the parting guests.” Have you ever thought how many times you have acted as a guest of somebody and how many times have you played host? When I asked myself this question, I remembered some very strange events.

As guests, we expect that our host will roll out the red carpet for us. Provide us with the best food or snacks and treat us as Gods because our tradition says “Athithi Devo Bhava” or the guest is God himself/herself. 

At the same time, when we have to play host to someone, that is, entertain visitors/guests at home, the rules sometimes change. We expect our guests to understand us, be nice and adjusting and accept whatever we treat them with.

In our story today, I am going to share some strange experiences I had, as a guest and as a host. The first episode that comes to my mind is of this strange uncle who visited us when I was just a kid. He was not related to us but he was a friend of my Mama and was charged with the duty of bringing my cousins (mama’s children) to Delhi and to our house.

For one, I found this uncle queer. He looked like the bear Jambavant in Ramayana. To say that he was hairy would be an understatement. Hair was sprouting all over his body like a forest. His ears were like flower pots with hair growing out of them like money plants. Poor chap, however hard he tried to cover himself, one could spot the rich growth on his body. But that was not why I disliked him.

This uncle probably was not trained by his parents in guest-manners. Normally, as somebody’s guest, we would be very circumspect in our behavior to ensure that we do not appear to be too greedy to eat or appear too eager to talk. Our uncle would have none of these manners. He ate like Bakasura. My poor mom would make the best South Indian dishes and serve lovingly. You would have observed that when you are served food by your host, the host would always insist on serving more and the guest would always resist. In this case, our guest did the opposite. He would pile up a mountain of rice, dig a well in it and then the sambar or rasam was poured into it till it filled up and overflowed. All the while, he would wait for more to fall on his plate, not once telling my mom to stop. Poor mom, the first time she had very little left for others after serving Bakasura.

While playing guest, I made some interesting observations. Firstly, there were hosts in whose homes I felt very uncomfortable. Like the time we visited a dear friend of my father. The friend’s house was a study in cleanliness; everything was clean and sparkling; every big and small item was in place. Every corner looked washed and shining. When we entered, I felt unclean and unbathed. I was afraid to put my feet on the floor lest it should get dirty. I was afraid to sit on the sofa lest the covers should accidentally get crumpled. In short, I was so fearful, as if I was in a haunted house.

To add to my fears, the behavior of the lady of the house was queer, to say the least. She was nice and friendly, no doubt, but every time we spilt something or did something, she would rush to pick the bits up or bring a cloth to clean the table. This was happening with great regularity, so much so that we stopped eating anything. We were also so paralyzed with fear that we would just be sitting still, afraid to move!

My father later told us that the lady had some disease called Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder(OCD).

Secondly, I found that I felt very comfortable and at ease with certain people who played host. One such person, Uma Aunty, was my dear friend’s mother. I will say that she is one person I can never forget. As shool-kids, I used to virtually camp at her place. She was not formal and never made goodies for us. Instead, she used to sit on a Divan and we used to do the work. She could talk on anything; music, movies, sports, and politics. She never treated us, or anyone who visited her house as guests. We felt like part of the family.

At this juncture, I must introduce my wife as a host. I am not great at hosting, but my wife makes up for my deficiencies. Being a Punjabi, hosting and hospitality comes naturally and genetically to her. Punjabis are great in hospitality, you will agree.

The first rule of hospitality my wife laid down was: offer water to all who knock at your door. Never serve only water; offer some biscuits too. When someone is asked to enter the house, always serve tea to them; it could be the electrician, plumber, maid or anyone. Even as I am writing this story, there was a knock on our door. I opened it and there was this lady from the municipality who was conducting the census and asking for details. I gave the details and shut the door. My wife asked me whether I had offered water; I said no, these ladies are doing door to door survey and have to visit other flats. She opened the door and asked the lady whether she would like some water or tea. That’s my wife for you. 

The incidental benefits? Our postman personally delivers letters, chats with us for a while, has a cup of milk sometimes (he does not drink tea). Our raddi wala still services us (he has quit his profession and now runs a hardware shop) only because he likes the way my wife treats him. Whenever he comes, there is at least half an hour of philosophical and spiritual discussions. We South Indians, I admit this for myself, are not a very hospitable lot, but my wife forced me to understand that all human beings expect only one thing; to be treated as human beings.

Finally, this story will not be complete if I don’t tell you about my strange host. This man invites guests with his questionnaire, which reads something like this:

1. Are you vegetarian? I serve vegetarian and non-vegetarian, which please note.
2. Do you smoke? I don’t allow smoking in my house.
3. Do you prefer alcohol? If yes your preference (a) single malt (b) Scotch (c) Whiskey(any brand) (d) Vodka (e) Rum (f) Beer. (If you are a teetotaller, you can expect bottled coke or Mirinda only. Please note that I prefer rum which I stock. Don’t expect single malt and scotch unless you are willing to get a bottle yourself).
4. Both my wife and I do the cooking. We welcome help in washing used utensils.

Whenever we visit this friend, we enjoy it. He and his wife make us feel at home. Incidentally, this questionnaire is only if you are visiting them for the first time.

Personally, I like to visit people who allow you to kick off your shoes or slippers, walk freely and barefooted inside their homes, don’t force you to eat or drink anything and allow you to sit anywhere, on the sofa, in a chair or on the floor! What about you readers? Why don’t you post your preferences or experiences?