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Judging

I was very opinionated as a child, often making strong remarks about other peoples’ appearances. My father sometimes glared at me but never said anything. Then one day, he sat me down and told me a story that helped me understand why judging was so wrong. Of course, I was seven or so at the time so that story had to be one that my little mind could understand, internalize and own.

The Maharaja of Alwar, of the princely Indian state of Rajasthan used to love Rolls-Royce cars. This was in the early 1900s when Indian royalty adored buying these cars. Some even had their painters paint portraits of the cars, and a few had the cars decked out with jewels of all kinds.

The story goes that this particular Maharaja was visiting England at the time and stopped into a Rolls-Royce showroom. He was dressed in a nondescript way and let’s just say, as my father told me, he looked very plain. When he asked to see one of the cars, the salesman shooed him off, telling him that he could not afford to buy the car and that he should leave.

The Maharaja made a graceful exit. Upon returning to Alwar, he placed an order for seven Rolls-Royce cars. His condition was that the salesman from that showroom should come to deliver the cars.

When the cars arrived, the salesman set them all up outside the royal palace and waited to show them off to the Maharaja. 

The Maharaja arrived, graceful as ever, and gave the order that the cars would be used to pick up the municipal garbage in the city of Alwar, and that no one in his family would ever buy that car again.

That story has stayed with me. When I recently heard of the clerk who told Oprah Winfrey that she could not look at a bag because she probably could not afford it, it reminded me of the Maharaja.

I try hard not to judge. It is hard sometimes, I admit, but now when I judge, I do it consciously and know that mine is a considered opinion and not just a bad call.