The other side of the glass door.

Sunflowers, roses and dahlias. Squirrels scurrying around. The garden looked beautiful. And there was a tall, huge man. Of Rajput or Pathani descent, the doorkeeper. Dressed in the familiar red, blue and gold.

At 3:00 pm on New Year’s Eve we reached our hotel. Hungry and tired. Dumped our bags in the hotel room and sat down to lunch in the dining area of the lobby surrounded by glass doors.

As I started to eat the naan and the paneer butter masala I looked up. I saw the doorkeeper looking in our direction and quickly went back to my food to avoid embarrassing him. When I reached for the achar, the sun did not catch the gold in his uniform and I did not shield my eyes.
I realised he had gone and stood on the other side from we could not see him. My mother remarked about his sensitivity and said, “pavam”.

I wondered how it must feel to stand all day and night; opening and closing the door for hundreds of people who are extremely capable of doing so themselves. That is when my father said, “The darwan takes great pride in what he does. There is no reason we should feel bad for him.”

I remembered the story of Prithviraj and Samyukta.