Baker’s dozen and the joys of largesse

A dozen has 12 units, but a baker’s dozen has 13. Sounds strange? Well, this concept has its roots in medieval England, where strict laws were enacted to ensure honesty in weights and measures. Weighing less was a punishable offence, and as a safeguard against human error, bakers started adding one item to the standard dozen. Customers were delighted by this goodwill gesture, as much as they enjoyed an extra bun or bread roll. A freebie, no matter how small and inexpensive, is delectable.

Now let us revive good old memories nearer home. The ‘boomer’ generation would recall the ubiquitous figure of the door-to-door milkman and his magnanimity in adding a little extra measure to each customer’s daily quantity of milk with an air of self-satisfaction. As a child, I was intrigued by this ritual. When I asked, “Why do you give us extra milk?”, he replied good-humouredly, “This is for our Laddu Gopal, the little one.” That sparked my imagination, and thereafter I was grandmother’s devoted companion during her daily puja; it was my first experience of the essence of tradition and culture.

Your neighbourhood vegetable vendor is another model of generosity — he puts a handful of fresh dhania and hari mirch free of cost in your bag before handing it over to you. It’s a welcome bonus everybody looks forward to with expectation but not always gratitude. In today’s urban milieu, we are missing out on this bonhomie. The home delivery service is mechanical and the delivery guys are often nonchalant. Exchange of pleasantries is conspicuous by its absence from this businesslike, matter-of-fact environment.

Notwithstanding the touch of warmth and humanity that such tiny gestures add to our daily dealings, I felt uncomfortable with this practice after I read a saddening story of a woman compelled to deprive her children of milk so that there was no shortfall for the customers. It is well said, “When you get something for nothing, remember somebody has paid for it.”

Probably, Gen Y and Z may smirk at our simple joys, but our social interactions sustain us as mundane daily transactions offer a meaningful interface. Conversely, we may pity the new generation, but they have their largesse too: the ‘buy-one-get-one-free’ offers; encashable points collected over the year; the never-ending jackpots such as round-the-year sales — seasonal, clearance, festival, post-festival and what-not.

Then there are the online payment apps and the scratch cards popping up to announce rewards. The day my first cashback of Rs 3 was credited to my account, I was enthralled. A bonanza, indeed! A veritable windfall that I celebrate with palpable joy and tangible gratitude.

Musings