It just so happened that I planned to dine
out one evening. I am very averse to eating out, but it so happened that the
day turned out to be my happy birthday and I had magnanimously, in a moment of
emotional outburst, promised myself a treat. So, I finished my office and set
out to feed my hungry belly with the luscious stuff that the world had to
offer.
I am
unmarried and do not have any family as such. I stay alone and happily so. Now,
don’t jump into an assumption that I am a social recluse. I have some good and
even the usual not-so-good friends in my office and neighborhood. So, I could
have easily asked my friends to join me for my birthday treat. It’s not that
they would have refused. On the contrary, they would have excitedly canceled
all their prior engagements just to gorge on the succulent dishes for which the
poor birthday boy was paying. But, I myself chose not to send out invitation to
any of them. By nature, I am very frugal and nurture no desire to empty my bank
balance to feed lustful friends who have lost the habit of saying ‘no’.
Besides, in these circumstances, when they sense that the bill will be on me,
they fast for the whole day so that they may sink their salivating mouths into
a culinary more palatable than the ordinary home-food. It is a common belief
that when the treat is on someone else, then our gluttonous soul lying dormant
for all these years suddenly decides to wake up and sniff around. Even the
non-foodies begin to lust for the expensive food and even the teetotalers start
to plunge their nose into the red wine. Therefore, and wisely so, I
deliberately maintained a low profile during the build-up to my birthday, shying
away from any limelight and feigning poor health over the week.
So, as I trudged along to the restaurant
all alone, there was a spring in my stride and a happy whistle playing on my
lips. I chose one of those restaurants in Park Street where I had never been
before and was, therefore, looking forward to a fresh ambience. A swish-looking
restaurant called ‘Rachel’ caught my eye. I love this name very much and so, despite
some initial trepidations, headed towards it.
I stood, somewhat uncertainly, below the
flashy neon light. The attendant at the gate looked at me with a
not-so-friendly look, eyeing me suspiciously. Perhaps, my shabby clothes made
him question my financial viability. But I’m not the one to take such things
lightly. I fished out a coin from my pocket and handed it to him. He turned the
coin from one side to another with a look of incredulity that I couldn’t
fathom. Having surmounted the first obstacle, I puffed out my chest and
entered. As I stepped inside, I could make out what the managers were trying to
do. They had only installed dim, little lights so that the electricity bill is
low. The last time I was in a restaurant in Park Street (it was some 6 years
back), the managers were quite considerate about the customers’ requirements
and provided ample lights so that they are not inconvenienced.
I poked around. There were quite a few
cozy-looking tables. All the ones in the corner had been occupied by couples
who were making coquettish sounds as they munched leisurely. Unaccompanied by
any lady, I felt a touch out-of-place. Nevertheless, I puffed out my chest
again and walked towards an unoccupied table settling down there like a lion
about to eat his hard-earned prey.
I
looked around. A waiter caught my eye and walked towards me carrying a menu and
a glass of cold water. I swallowed the water in one go and began to study the
menu in meticulous details. As I scanned through the dishes, my eyeballs popped
out. They had raised the price by what looked like ten times, a contingency for
which I wasn’t prepared. I knew that the
country was under an inflationary grip these past few years. But never in my
wildest dreams had I imagined that the restaurants were literally toying with
the sensibilities of a food-lover. My first reaction was to walk out of the
restaurant instantly, return to my humble house and go to bed with an empty
stomach and a filled wallet. The stomach and wallet are inversely related to
each other. When one of them is fed, the other feels malnourished. But then I
told myself that it’s your birthday. And besides, the waiter was standing not
far from my table and, for some mysterious reason, had chosen to fix his eyes
entirely on me.
I made a mental calculation of the amount
of money I was carrying. Then I made a quick price comparison of the items
printed on the menu card. The cheapest item was something I had never heard of
before. Perhaps, it was a foreign cuisine or maybe a mash-up of different local
foods. I am very choosy about my food, but the risk here was worth taking, as
my wallet firmly suggested! Putting on a look of pretentious confidence, I
raised my hand and gestured the waiter to come. He came mechanically. Despite
my inner turmoil, the sheer professionalism in his stride did not miss my eye. I
gave the order. I think I noticed a vague sneer on his lips, which I chose to
ignore.
I waited for around 13 minutes (or was it
14) surveying my surroundings. The room was quite dark & dull and most of
the customers were eating in inexplicable silence and communicating in romantic
whispers. And then the waiter arrived carrying a small tray of food. As he
placed the plate on my table, I was quite flummoxed by the sight that greeted
me. The thing that I had riskily ordered looked unfamiliar. More importantly,
it appeared to be a meat product. Being a strict vegetarian that I am, I stay
miles away from meat and hence, you can well understand my state of perplexity.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t ask the waiter about my fears for I didn’t want him
to think of me as an ignorant chap who doesn’t know what he has ordered. I already
had a sinking feeling that deep down he wasn’t showing the kind of awed
reverence most waiters are accustomed to showing to the wealthy clients.
He went away, leaving me in a state of
disturbed melancholia. The food before me looked repulsive, but I had no other
choice. From the corner of my eye, I could sense that the waiter was staring at
me from his desk. I held the fork and the spoon and put food to my mouth (and
not mouth to my food, as some of my gluttonous friends would have done). My
intestines began to squirm in protest as I clumsily gulped down bite after
bite. Like the expert strategist that I am, I smartly dropped quite a few
pieces (almost half of the food) under the table during the course of my birthday
dinner. Finally, I was finished with the grotesque thing which I somehow ate
and then washed it down with 3 glasses of water.
The bill arrived along with the sneering
waiter. I drilled my eyes into the electronically printed bill. The bastards
had added about 20% of the menu price for some taxes and services. My blood
boiled in wrath and agony. But the waiter was almost leaning into my pocket and
I had to maintain an indifferent & unconcerned look to protect my dignity. My
wallet threw me a disgusting look after I nearly emptied it of its contents,
and the waiter did the same after I gave him a seemingly unsatisfactory tip. As
I quietly walked out of the restaurant, I was no longer the haughty lion that
had walked in, but a meek rodent who was scampering away. It was a disturbing yet
a memorable birthday and my first and last one with ‘Rachel.’
PS- The above account is a work of fiction
and definitely not related to my personal life :))
