The popularity of table tennis peaked in Munnar in 1975 when the South Zone Championships were held there for the first time ever. The event saw around 200 participants converge on the hill station from across the country, and local buffs got to see in action the great K Nagraj and former national champions G Jaganathan, N Bajaj and B Saikumar. As a member of the organising committee, I was actively involved in the conduct of the tourney and its nitty-gritty.
We had to raise funds to host all the outstation players for no less than five days besides reimbursing their travel expenses to and fro. So we brought out a brochure that carried commercial advertisements for a fee. The response was encouraging but we still needed more funds to bridge the deficit. So we decided to approach the managers of local tea estates for donations. It was then that we had a brush with a well-known Scottish trait—parsimony. One of the many planters we approached was a Scotsman who must remain unnamed.
As we three committee members sat down in his austerely furnished office, a small signboard on the wall behind him caught our eye. The message painted on it was clear but depressing: “It is easy to be generous with others’ money. I am not.” Our hearts sank. Obviously, the Scot had in the past been plagued for donations for other causes as well, compelling him to put up this notice. Nevertheless, employing all the tact at our command, we explained the purpose of our visit and handed over a copy of our brochure. He glanced through it cursorily and then, with a noncommittal shrug of his shoulders, pointed to the telltale message behind him. “Sorry, gentlemen,” he said with finality.
“Much as I’d like to help you, I’m afraid I can’t!” “But, sir,” my colleague butted in earnestly, “Since a donation from your company isn’t possible, what about a small personal donation from you?” The Scot’s eyebrows arched quizzically and he shifted uneasily in his chair. Then, looking us straight in the eye, he remarked with disarming candour, a faint smile creasing his florid face, “Once again I’m sorry. When I’m not generous with my company’s money, can you expect me to be generous with my own?” He did have a point there, I conceded grudgingly, as we trooped out empty-handed.