Whistle Down the Wind
For dinner I tried an Indian restaurant near where I am staying. Through the large plate glass window I could see a tall Indian waiter standing to attention next to a tiny bar at the end of the room. As I pushed the door open he strode towards me with a beaming grin.
"Hello, sir. Good evening sir. Would you like a table? Is it for one, sir?"
He ushered me to a table in the corner, next to the bar. He brought me a menu, which seemed complete and very reasonably priced. I ordered the Lamb Sag, some plain rice and a bottle of Indian beer. He took the order down the creaky stairs to the kitchen below.
As I waited for my meal to arrive I looked around at my surroundings. It was early so I was the only customer. There were eight tables, set with expensive-looking, very tacky chairs - stretched white leather over chrome-look, bendy metal frames. Set into the bar, low to the ground, was a large fish tank containing two happy-looking goldfish that swam eternal figure-eights around a plastic gothic castle. The oxygen bubbler had been turned to the highest setting, so that each time the fish swam near they were sucked up into the fizzing maelstrom and then spat back on their way. I wondered why they seemed never to tire of the process, and then I remembered the minute size of their brains.
The tall waiter brought my beer to the table and frothily half-filled my tumbler.
"Thank you SO very much", he said, with a grin.
A tiny waiter now came upstairs to join the tall one at the bar. He had brought a mug of tea up with him and as they chatted he slurped regularly and loudly. They spoke in Punjabi which was every now and again peppered by English words which had no equivalent in their language. And so, as 'hard drive', 'mother-board', 'server' and 'keyboard' nestled into the conversation it became clear that one of the men was selling his computer to the other. At one point I caught the eye of the tiny man, who beamed at me broadly with his lovely elfin face and nodded.
A buzzer sounded from down below and the tall man negotiated the groaning stairs. He returned shortly afterwards with my lamb and my rice which he set on the table.
"Thank you SO very much, sir. Please enjoy your meal very well."
As I spooned the rice and meat onto my plate he began to pace slowly up and down between the bar and the door. This continued for the duration of my meal. I marvelled at his very pointy, ugly, grey vinyl shoes. Each time he neared my table I heard a soft but insistent whistle. It was his breath as it forced its way out of one or other of his nostrils. Upon closer inspection it became apparent that the luxuriant, sleek, jett-black hair on his head had started a subsidiary company up his nose. Each time he now passed my table I could see the errant, tough fronds wavering with each whistling snort.
In order to take my mind off the sound and the spectacle as I ate my dinner I turned my attention to the fish as they surrendered themselves to the ecstatic thrill of being tossed by the whirlpool, only to have completely forgotten about it two minutes later as they made their next pass.
"Hello, sir. Good evening sir. Would you like a table? Is it for one, sir?"
He ushered me to a table in the corner, next to the bar. He brought me a menu, which seemed complete and very reasonably priced. I ordered the Lamb Sag, some plain rice and a bottle of Indian beer. He took the order down the creaky stairs to the kitchen below.
As I waited for my meal to arrive I looked around at my surroundings. It was early so I was the only customer. There were eight tables, set with expensive-looking, very tacky chairs - stretched white leather over chrome-look, bendy metal frames. Set into the bar, low to the ground, was a large fish tank containing two happy-looking goldfish that swam eternal figure-eights around a plastic gothic castle. The oxygen bubbler had been turned to the highest setting, so that each time the fish swam near they were sucked up into the fizzing maelstrom and then spat back on their way. I wondered why they seemed never to tire of the process, and then I remembered the minute size of their brains.
The tall waiter brought my beer to the table and frothily half-filled my tumbler.
"Thank you SO very much", he said, with a grin.
A tiny waiter now came upstairs to join the tall one at the bar. He had brought a mug of tea up with him and as they chatted he slurped regularly and loudly. They spoke in Punjabi which was every now and again peppered by English words which had no equivalent in their language. And so, as 'hard drive', 'mother-board', 'server' and 'keyboard' nestled into the conversation it became clear that one of the men was selling his computer to the other. At one point I caught the eye of the tiny man, who beamed at me broadly with his lovely elfin face and nodded.
A buzzer sounded from down below and the tall man negotiated the groaning stairs. He returned shortly afterwards with my lamb and my rice which he set on the table.
"Thank you SO very much, sir. Please enjoy your meal very well."
As I spooned the rice and meat onto my plate he began to pace slowly up and down between the bar and the door. This continued for the duration of my meal. I marvelled at his very pointy, ugly, grey vinyl shoes. Each time he neared my table I heard a soft but insistent whistle. It was his breath as it forced its way out of one or other of his nostrils. Upon closer inspection it became apparent that the luxuriant, sleek, jett-black hair on his head had started a subsidiary company up his nose. Each time he now passed my table I could see the errant, tough fronds wavering with each whistling snort.
In order to take my mind off the sound and the spectacle as I ate my dinner I turned my attention to the fish as they surrendered themselves to the ecstatic thrill of being tossed by the whirlpool, only to have completely forgotten about it two minutes later as they made their next pass.
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