The penny pinchers

Another planter, a real skinflint, precisely measured out the minimum quantity of sugar, milk and tea required for a cuppa in order to ascertain the monthly requirements for his staff. No second helpings were allowed, Sundays and holidays were excluded and, with mathematical exactness, a proportionate reduction was made when staff went on leave! Not surprisingly, this worthy had a prominently displayed notice in his office reading, “It’s easy to be generous with other people’s money”. Needless to say, he certainly wasn’t with his own.

There was also the domineering memsahib who knew her cook was filching the groceries but couldn’t catch him red-handed. Then one day, she did. “When did your turban become a nest?” she demanded sarcastically. Bewildered, the man blinked. “Well,” she added, “I found three eggs in it today!”

Then there’s the story of the British bachelor who found his liquor being pilfered — his butler relished an occasional peg as much as he did. So he locked up his liquor cabinet before proceeding on leave. Dismayed, the butler searched in vain for the key. On his return, the planter asked the butler to get him a drink. “But, Dorai, I don’t have the key,” he protested. “Of course, you do!” retorted the wily Brit. “For safe keeping I left it in your apron pocket!”

In the late 1960s my boss was a Scotsman, the Visiting Agent for a group of tea estates. He used to painstakingly write out his voluminous reports in longhand and then dictate them to me. To spare him the bother of having to read out the lengthy reports, I once suggested, “Why don’t you just give me the handwritten sheets to type out?” He looked at me aghast, then snapped, “You’re getting a stenographer’s allowance of twenty rupees per month, aren’t you?” I was — and had no answer. Apparently, value for money outweighed the strain on his vocal cords!