A lot of independent worldly matters have been discussed and decided over courses of food. Mine was debated over food.
I got invited over lunch by R. to her place. I was to split the bread with the whole strength of her family. The whole strength of her family was daunting. Daunting enough to quail the bravest of her suitors. Needless to say, I couldn't with all honesty, consider myself to be a brave person, least of all her suitor. I was just playing enamored hope I spelt that correct. I’ve been trying to use that word for a while. I am digressing. Her family is of essence here. So be it.
She had a grandmother. Also a grandfather. And a father. Everybody has one. It’s a necessary evil. A mother. And a brother, an unnecessary evil. I notice I put them down in decreasing order of toxic and degenerate contents.
Her grandmother was ancient. She still is. She is one of those who you’d presume to exist underneath those mixed bundle of shawls and rugs looking out with a beaky nose and piercing eyes. Shooting out disapproving whistles appropriately.
Her grandfather didn't make his presence felt after he'd shooed me off at the gates when I was coming in. He thought I was asking for alms. I have learnt to think kindly of him ever since .After all he was the only one who went by first impression. And it's common knowledge first impressions can be, ah, misleading.
Her 'Dad' was the father. He was a dyspeptic looking bird who looked as though he had had some bad news in the year 77 and never really recovered from it.
We were all seated cosy.On separate sofas. Face to face. At least I could see her dad's face. More importantly, he could, mine.I felt like Exhibit A.
He measured me up with a visual yardstick and shot a question in a hushed-speaker-of-the-floor note. It was a polite ice-breaker about the health (and wealth) of my family. I must have answered, because he trotted out another about the status of my education and if I see any future in it. I made some fine murmurs. He really warmed up a bit, and was just fixing the next one on the degradation of youth of the country, when he was interrupted by a strange buzzing noise in the form of a kid; who entered through the kitchen-garden-door, shot past and out of the front-door.
"My son”, the old man groaned in a 'mean-culpa' voice, as the thing went out into the garden.
The conversation took a more cheerful nature. And was without any mentionable hiccups. Except on one occasion when in the middle of a tricky question,R. winked at me and stuck her tongue out. I stuttered. The dad frowned. We were called to lunch.
The table was laid-out. We were seated. I was placed strategically between R. and her grandmother and in front of her dad. The mother scuttled back and forth.
Dad said,” You are a non-vegetarian".
It was a statement and not a question. So I thought I aught not to answer. And in any case my mouth was full. So I grunted prudently in the affirmative. Good manners came first, or so my father taught me as a kid. When I was a kid, I mean.
After that the dad had a smug smile on his face throughout lunch, as though he just hit the jackpot. At least like when you just hit the jackpot and the tax policy realisation hasn't hit you.
The mother was quiet. Extremely soft-spoken. She said her words, as if pondering over them. Spoke quite a lot of Bengali. She certainly looked careworn. Quite appropriate me thinks. For a mother of two growing kids. That too, one like R.
Luncheon came to a close with a terrible lot of excitement. Just on one occasion R. upset her 'raita bowl' over my lap and her dear brother exhibited his sense of humour at splitting his sides at this extremely poignant moment.
After lunch, we were left alone. And I was taken on a guided tour. We visited Her room, the sibling's room, the kitchen, the master bedroom, and guest room, besides the kitchen garden, the garage and the front garden too. All well, except those fleeting moments of buzzing from the dear sibling. Must have been a personality disorder.R. explained he was playing MIG-21.I thought he was eavesdropping on our conversation.
As the rest of the family retired for the siesta, the two of us sat cross-legged underneath the old eucalyptus tree, while quizzing each other on our ignorance.
Bid fare-well to the family, even to the ancient relatives. Though I suspect her grandfather was hard of hearing.On the whole they all seemed to be very glad.
I got invited over lunch by R. to her place. I was to split the bread with the whole strength of her family. The whole strength of her family was daunting. Daunting enough to quail the bravest of her suitors. Needless to say, I couldn't with all honesty, consider myself to be a brave person, least of all her suitor. I was just playing enamored hope I spelt that correct. I’ve been trying to use that word for a while. I am digressing. Her family is of essence here. So be it.
She had a grandmother. Also a grandfather. And a father. Everybody has one. It’s a necessary evil. A mother. And a brother, an unnecessary evil. I notice I put them down in decreasing order of toxic and degenerate contents.
Her grandmother was ancient. She still is. She is one of those who you’d presume to exist underneath those mixed bundle of shawls and rugs looking out with a beaky nose and piercing eyes. Shooting out disapproving whistles appropriately.
Her grandfather didn't make his presence felt after he'd shooed me off at the gates when I was coming in. He thought I was asking for alms. I have learnt to think kindly of him ever since .After all he was the only one who went by first impression. And it's common knowledge first impressions can be, ah, misleading.
Her 'Dad' was the father. He was a dyspeptic looking bird who looked as though he had had some bad news in the year 77 and never really recovered from it.
We were all seated cosy.On separate sofas. Face to face. At least I could see her dad's face. More importantly, he could, mine.I felt like Exhibit A.
He measured me up with a visual yardstick and shot a question in a hushed-speaker-of-the-floor note. It was a polite ice-breaker about the health (and wealth) of my family. I must have answered, because he trotted out another about the status of my education and if I see any future in it. I made some fine murmurs. He really warmed up a bit, and was just fixing the next one on the degradation of youth of the country, when he was interrupted by a strange buzzing noise in the form of a kid; who entered through the kitchen-garden-door, shot past and out of the front-door.
"My son”, the old man groaned in a 'mean-culpa' voice, as the thing went out into the garden.
The conversation took a more cheerful nature. And was without any mentionable hiccups. Except on one occasion when in the middle of a tricky question,R. winked at me and stuck her tongue out. I stuttered. The dad frowned. We were called to lunch.
The table was laid-out. We were seated. I was placed strategically between R. and her grandmother and in front of her dad. The mother scuttled back and forth.
Dad said,” You are a non-vegetarian".
It was a statement and not a question. So I thought I aught not to answer. And in any case my mouth was full. So I grunted prudently in the affirmative. Good manners came first, or so my father taught me as a kid. When I was a kid, I mean.
After that the dad had a smug smile on his face throughout lunch, as though he just hit the jackpot. At least like when you just hit the jackpot and the tax policy realisation hasn't hit you.
The mother was quiet. Extremely soft-spoken. She said her words, as if pondering over them. Spoke quite a lot of Bengali. She certainly looked careworn. Quite appropriate me thinks. For a mother of two growing kids. That too, one like R.
Luncheon came to a close with a terrible lot of excitement. Just on one occasion R. upset her 'raita bowl' over my lap and her dear brother exhibited his sense of humour at splitting his sides at this extremely poignant moment.
After lunch, we were left alone. And I was taken on a guided tour. We visited Her room, the sibling's room, the kitchen, the master bedroom, and guest room, besides the kitchen garden, the garage and the front garden too. All well, except those fleeting moments of buzzing from the dear sibling. Must have been a personality disorder.R. explained he was playing MIG-21.I thought he was eavesdropping on our conversation.
As the rest of the family retired for the siesta, the two of us sat cross-legged underneath the old eucalyptus tree, while quizzing each other on our ignorance.
Bid fare-well to the family, even to the ancient relatives. Though I suspect her grandfather was hard of hearing.On the whole they all seemed to be very glad.
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