This is about a waiter I came across in a popular vegetarian hotel at Irinjalakuda, Kerala. I used to have my breakfast there on some weekdays, though rarely. One day, I sat at a table and looked around for a waiter. The time was past 9 AM and the hotel was almost empty. There was no waiter nearby. There was one at the servers’ corner at the far end. I waved my hand in an attempt to capture his attention, but my signal went over his head. Though he did not see me, he started moving towards me. He kept walking straight, chin up, staring into the road outside the open door. While I was on the verge of giving my order, a thought struck me that he was not a waiter at all. What a blunder would it have been had I ordered a guest my breakfast! While I was searching for a real waiter, this guy abruptly came to a stop near my table, though still looking out. He had come from the servers’ corner and now that he had stopped near me, he was certainly a waiter and had actually stopped for my order, I reasoned to myself. “One plate Iddli”, I said hesitatingly. The guy took an about-turn and, without giving me even an acknowledging nod or look, went back to the servers’ corner. I kept watching for some sign of his having heard me. However, after a few minutes, he brought the iddli and, still staring outside, kept it on my table. He stood nearby for a few seconds, continuing to look straight outside as if he didn’t want to lose his focus on something there. I peeped out, to see whether there was anything worth-seeing. There was nothing remarkable. Soon, he returned to the servers’ corner. After a few minutes, he brought me tea, although I hadn’t ordered it. Somehow, I didn’t have the courage to reject it. Soon he brought me the bill. I had a half mind to order a plate of vada too, but since the bill had already arrived, I chose not to. Tips were not vogue in that hotel. I paid the bill and left. I still remember: the guy hadn’t cared to look at me even once.
This one is about Murugan, another waiter. The venue: a popular vegetarian hotel at Kaloor, Ernakulam. I had gone there for my lunch. The person at the cash counter told me that a ticket was not necessary; just go inside, have the meals, come back and pay the bill. I went into the dining hall. It was crowded. This chap had what is known as “thookku’ in his hand and was refilling the small steel vessels with curries in a diner’s plate. He sensed my presence, looked up, and advised me, “Sir, there is a vacant seat at the last but one table. What would you like to have, Sir, meals ?” Saying yes, I went and occupied the seat. In moments, he brought me a steel plate with a number of curries, and asked me, “Boiled rice or white rice?” When I said boiled rice, he called out to another supplier, “Boiled rice here, quick.” Rice came quickly and I started eating my lunch. Meanwhile Murugan – I found out his name several days later - hurried past me several times, serving other diners. He had kept an eye on the level of curries in my bowls because even before they became empty, he appeared and topped them up. There were a few steel glasses stacked up in the middle of the table, beside a jug of drinking water. In one of his hurried trips, Murugan came, took out one glass, filled it with water and kept it near my plate, so that I didn’t have to do it myself while I was busy eating. Soon he came again and was about to refill the curries for a second time when I said ‘No, thanks, I had enough.’ He said ‘Okay Sir’ and turned to serve another. While I was about to rise, he brought me the bill. There was no system of tips in that hotel too. While I was on my way to the cash counter, Murugan was hurrying with fresh meal plates in both hands; he smiled at me, bent his head and said: ‘Thank you, Sir.’
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