THE SHADY CHARACTER SYNDROME--BELONGING

THE  SHADY  CHARACTER  SYNDROME

By A.V. Dhanushkodi

BELONGING

All through my life, I have never felt I belonged to any place, or attached to anyone.  I have always been alone, in every respect.  There have been, however, a few occasions when circumstances compelled me to make an attempt to belong to someone or something or somewhere, my attempts have failed miserably.

One evening, my wife, my son, my daughter-in-law, my daughter, and I, went to the Besant Nagar beach to enjoy the cool air, the sand, and the variety of snacks one finds only on the Indian beaches.  After an hour of jokes, stories, and heated discussions, we decided to have dinner at Vishranthi, one of the restaurants lining the Second Avenue.   Vishranthi was earlier known as Sri Krishna Bhavan, the only restaurant in Besant Nagar, when I moved into the area in 1988.  Sometime, around the turn of the century, the cosy little restaurant was thoroughly renovated.  As one entered, there was a self-service area, behind which was an air-conditioned hall with plush cushioned seats and dim lights.  Dim lights in restaurants perform the function of concealing in darkness the dishes that are served, deluding you into believing that they will be delicious.  Now, there are so many restaurants, vegetarian and non-vegetarian, all along the Second Avenue and other roads and streets, but my preference has always been for Vishranthi, a sentimental attachment from the last century. 

When we entered the air-conditioned hall, it was almost full, except one section of table and seats, ideal for us to occupy.  As my family was occupying the seats in the section, I walked over to the washroom to wash my face and hands, to freshen myself.  It took some time, before I came out.  I headed straight for the table, where my family had settled down.  There was a waiter at the table with a notepad, noting down the dishes as one by one placed the order. 

I stood there for a few moments, studying one of the menu cards on the table.  When I had decided on my dishes, I was about to sit next to my son, where there was space for  only half a man on the long one-piece cushioned plush seat, when the waiter stopped writing, turned to me, and held me by the arm and exclaimed in a rather sharp tone of voice, “Sir!”  The “Sir” did not sound genuinely respectful.

First, I was taken aback, but the next moment I thought he was trying to warn me not to sit there, as there was a scorpion or a centipede on the seat, which I had not noticed in the semi darkness.  I looked down at the seat, straining my eyes, but found nothing menacing crawling there. 

“It’s clean,” I informed the waiter, and expected him to let go of my arm. 

He did not.

“I know,” he replied with the certainty of a knowledgeable man, “but don’t sit here.”

“Why not?” I questioned him, puzzled.

“Sir, please sit elsewhere,” his response contained a note of utter despair, as if he was making a herculean attempt to explain the meaning of the Theory of Relativity to a two-year old moron.  All the while, everyone of my family was watching the verbal exchange between the waiter and me, with uncomprehending amusement, judging by the Mona Lisa smile which hovered on their lips. 

Now I dropped the ‘not’ and asked him  simply “Why?”

Then, he had no option but to slap it in my face, “Sir, can’t you see that they are members of one family sitting together?” as if that was, for me, a more complicated fact to comprehend than E=mC2.      

Everyone of my family exploded into hearty laughter.  With a great effort, I had to control myself from joining them.  Instead, I replied, “Yes, I can see that.”

The waiter lost all his patience, “That is why I am telling you to sit at some other table.” I noticed that he had dropped the ‘Sir’ and was ‘telling’ me, instead of requesting me.

Now it was my turn to explain the Theory of Relativity to a three year old moron, “Sir, can’t you see that they are members of my family sitting together?”

The next moment, the waiter was not there, a dramatic disappearance in the demi-darkness.

After a few seconds, another waiter walked over to our table with a notepad to take our orders.

A.V. Dhanushkodi

July 2, 2011