Stories of gratitude

The little gestures that prove that journalism is not such a thankless profession after all

Five years ago, on a September afternoon, a barefoot man in a crisp white dhoti and shirt entered The Hindu‘s Madurai office with much trepidation. It was 65-year-old K. Balasooriyan’s first visit to the office of the newspaper he grew up reading. But on that particular day, it was a different kind of engagement for the owner of the 110-year-old popular and budget eatery, Hotel Kathiravan in Srivilliputhur.

For a food column in the features supplement, MetroPlus, I had profiled the iconic traditional mess with a small interview of Mr. Balasooriyan. As a reporter, it was one of my regular assignments for which I had travelled to Srivilliputhur and spent a day watching the kitchen open, the quick on-the-go homemade meals getting prepared and being served hot to travellers and the locals, who kept trooping in from noon till late afternoon.

The day the story was published, much to my surprise, Mr. Balasooriyan walked into our features cabin. His humble demeanour made him look like a splitting image of R.K. Laxman’s common man. He stood in silence with moist eyes, raised his hands in blessing and was immediately ready to go back.

He said he took the public bus from Srivilliputhur, 70 km from Madurai, just to convey his gratitude for the article. He was to again take the evening bus home. I asked him why he took so much effort instead of making a telephone call. In this age of digital communication, a face-to-face meeting was more important for him, he said. His gesture could not be challenged. That a newspaper that his father always cajoled him to read would one day carry an article on his family restaurant left him humbled. It was a strong enough reason for him to hop on to the morning bus and come all the way to our office to express his gratitude. Overwhelmed by the affection he showed, I struggled to make his three-hour journey worth the time. He was shy and all I could do was give him a few more copies of the paper and take him around the office and introduce him to other colleagues. “I dislike frills and fancy. My purpose was to meet you and bless you and that has been met,” he said while taking leave.

Another time I interviewed A. Kuppuram, the owner of Madurai’s only decent book store, Turning Point. Fondly nicknamed ‘Bookram’, he had faced many struggles but always remained motivated to grow his store. Each time I approached him for an interview for my column on people making a difference, he would say he is not deserving enough to be featured in The Hindu.

Finally, when he agreed and we carried his story 12 autumns ago, he filled my mail box with beautiful messages that he had received from his friends and well-wishers. And then, to convey his heart-felt thanks, he came to meet me in person and waited patiently in the reception for over four hours as I was out on an assignment.

When we met, he said he turned teary-eyed seeing the morning paper. He told me he felt honoured because his story had been placed below A.P.J. Abdul Kalam’s interview. “So many people called to congratulate me. You have made me a celebrity overnight. I will remember this moment till my last breath,” he said. Unfortunately, the city’s czar of books passed away three months later. His thank you messages are more consequential than ever.