Short stories

  SEARCH FOR THE WAITER WHO SERVED  HALF A PLATE

Until a few years ago, my dad was working in the Middle East. There he has had a wide array of friends. Ranging from people who mixed their language into their English to sound funny, to people who licked chicken wings so clean that dogs wouldn’t want it. But there was one person who stood out; one person who was part of the friend circle only for a short time. He was a waiter who only served his customers half a plate.

Tim (whose name I’ve changed for reasons that’ll become obvious) was the waiter at a restaurant in the heart of Old Reggae, Kuwait. He was the most extroverted person my dad had known and used to talk endlessly about almost anything. He was funny. But more importantly, he was fearless. This became clear on the wedding day of his ex-girlfriend. After the wedding, he pushed her husband to the wall and said the following: “Rosie and I have known each other for a long time now. We have shared the pain of our breakup between us. We have been together for everything. Still I see that she has chosen with her head rather than heart. She married you not because she loves you but because you are a doctor. I know you married her looking at her educational status. But may a bond arise between you two so that she is kept well and beautiful. And praise everything she cooks. If not, I’ll see to it that you won’t have a tooth to enjoy what she makes.”

But words lose their value when you don’t do what you instruct others. Tim finally married a woman, not out of love, but after seeing that her father owned a fancy car and a million dollar business. I was there with my family to witness it. But I have no memory because I was four. Because he never loved his wife, Tim never really enjoyed her as a person. He began to drink more than he had liked. “Rosie. He will kill her. She can never be happy!” He used to say. At least that is what my father could make out after Tim was drunk. Dad used to say that people exaggerate their words when they drink, usually amplifying what they are. For example, a poet will recite poetry and a fool will recite the unacceptable. Tim was truly the latter. He used to cry out insults, mostly at himself, and talk about sexual things with disturbing clarity. Once he came to our house to blabber about his wasted life. He opened a bottle and got beerier and beerier until his words began to get trashy. Thankfully, mother took me to my room before I could hear anything wild.

As a waiter, Tim did not earn much. But he had enough to feed his wife and daughter. But like how any fool would do, he never saved what he was receiving. He was very much in debt and was slapped and fisted when the giver lost his patience. Even after all this, his wife never helped. Her father said that it was Tim’s sole responsibility and did not show any kindness. She never accepted beggars into her home. Once an old man came asking for money and was chased out by dishes flying out of the kitchen window. Tim returned drunken one day after work, only to be kicked out by his wife and her father. She even began to refuse giving him food. He did not even care about his daughter anymore.  And he couldn’t buy anything himself as he only had a few coins at the end of the day after gambling and drinking. He was now a street person, not fitting into his wife’s concept of ‘high class.’ My dad used to give him money, telling him to fill his stomach with something refreshing. And yes, he filled his stomach with alcohol. Dad stopped helping him, and so did his friends. That is when he started something truly weird. And calling it weird would be an understatement.

Complaints reached the owner of the restaurant that what was promised was not reaching tables. No one knew what was happening except Tim. Other waiters had spoken about him entering the washroom with dishes. But no one knew that after he entered, he ate half of what was on the plate. Since he was broke, and his wife never cared, this was the only way he could fill his stomach. This continued for some time. But he was not completely unnoticed. He was suspected by the manager. But he couldn’t really confirm it.

There is always a time when a smart fool becomes over smart. That is the precise moment he gets labeled as a dumb fool. Tim was no exception to this. Once, a customer shouted at the billing desk. I was there with my family. He demanded to speak with the manager and the manager was immediately silenced by what he had to say. The man had ordered wine with his dinner. But what he got was water instead. The manager questioned Tim and he agreed that he had drunken the wine and filled the glass with tap water from the bathroom. Dad asked the manager if he could forgive him for once. He burst out on hearing that and said that Tim was a piece from another puzzle. He wouldn’t fit the atmosphere of the place. He was kicked out in great anger. But the restaurant itself did not stand for a long time. The man spread the word and people united to close the restaurant. Even after kicking out the problem, the owner was forced to do it.

Tim now did not have the money to drink. But he never bowed down to fate. Instead he bought bottles of rum from people he knew and promised to pay. But he never did. And when people started to pester him asking their money back, he returned to India and took a train to Bombay to start a new life. Dad called him several times. No one picked the phone. His other friends also couldn’t contact him. My dad tried to reach him by other means. But he remained mysterious and obscure. Then everyone quit trying and Tim was a part of no one’s life.

Two years passed. Dad was still working an office job in Kuwait. But mother, brother and I came back to India. Dad had decided to quit his job there and return to start a business in India. One day, he got into a heated argument with his boss. He took out a paper from the printer, wrote down ‘I am resigning’ and quit his job. We were happy and dad’s business was going well. Then one day, mysteriously, dad received a friend request on facebook from Tim. It was a real shock. He tried to call but it was always out of coverage. Instead, he received direct messages from the account asking for financial help to pay his debts. Dad reflected on it a bit. He was smart enough to realize something wasn’t right about all this. Then he took a step. He decided to travel to Bombay himself. He wanted to go alone. But I cried my eyes out so that he’d take me, and it worked. We reached Bombay. And on seeing the dirty buildings and narrow slums, promised myself to never go there again.

There was no way to find him in a messy city like Bombay. He had received an address via facebook. But he never trusted that. Dad always acted practically and carefully. So we caught a taxi to Tim’s mother’s place, which dad knew was just outside the city. The place was a stark contrast to the stinky city. Flats became two storied houses and roads became naked, bumpy paths. The old woman recognized dad immediately. The smile of a young girl lighted her face. She welcomed us in. We sat there as she rushed into the kitchen. I saw a photograph on the wall. It was Tim. A realization then struck me and I shivered. The old woman returned with snacks and tea. She was proud that she had made the ladoos (a sweet, round, yellow Indian snack) herself. But her joy sunk when dad asked her about her son. She was surprised and asked why he had not known about him. Dad said he had been in India for a few years. “Then you should have known.” She said. She didn’t say anything else. Dad pressed her even more talking about the facebook account. “Facebook account?” She said. “It can’t be him.” “Why not?” Then she spoke about Tim. He had struggled to find a job in Bombay; not because of qualifications, but because of his attitude which he struggled to hide in every interview. He has lost everything. So he had used his mother’s shawl to hang himself to death. Her eyes were damp after saying that. She went into a room and came back with Tim’s wife and daughter. Her father had been funding her daughter’s education. “But he can’t afford it anymore.” Said the old woman. “I’ll fund her.” My Dad didn’t take even a moment to respond. And he did pay for her education till college.

Years later, Dad received a letter. We were surprised as no one had sent us actual mail in a while. It was from Tim’s daughter. She thanked Dad for all he had done for her. We learned that she had got into a decent job as an office clerk. Moreover, she was supporting the education of an orphan girl in rural Tamilnadu (India) and was planning to create the same change in the lives of many. His eyes lit up after reading that. At the end of the letter was written ‘2 John 12’. We later understood what that was. It was the reference to a phrase from the second book of John. It says the following:

“I have much to write to you, but I do not want to use paper and ink. Instead, I hope to visit you and talk with you face to face, so that our joy may be complete.”

There were still questions. Who was behind that account? It was still asking for money. I became furious and told dad we should catch this scammer. But dad laughed it off and simply blocked the account.

“This moment has compensated for it all.” He said. And it really did. Because a girl who had grown up seeing her mother chase away the poor was now spending her earnings for them.