Words are Weariness

Green, Yellow and White,-the girl wearing the waitress's uniform was a refugee, could be an Indian or a Lankan refugee; could be even Guyanese. Black skin, black eyes, black hair, black eyes..even her lipstick and nail polish were black. Her name should have been long with many vowels, she had shrunk it into 'Rathna' in her badge that she had pinned to her dress. She stood at the right distance from the table, not too far removed to see, but not too close to hear the conversation around the table, just as the rule book of waiting at tables says. She knew many other rules of the book. When you serve at the table, you must serve from the left side of the seated guest - Rule No 12. When left overs are removed from the table, you must remove them from the right side of the seated guest - Rule No 11. While adjusting the chair before the guest eases in, you should approach from the left - Rule No 26. If the napkin is folded and kept to the right of the plate it means...

It all happened like this. A Jewish woman had called us for dinner. You may ask me, what was unusual about it. I had been to many gatherings and celebrations with dinner hosted by all kinds of people,- Hindus, Christians, Muslims, Buddhists, but never a Jew. As a result, I and my wife were looking for the appointed day eagerly. Our host's husband was a writer. The novel he wrote was an interesting one , though the writing was not up to the mark. The whole story happens inside a moving train in Siberia. Though he had approached many a producer of films with his story, nobody was courageous enough to make a movie out of it. When we went to Ora's ( that is her name) home that night, her husband was away. She was alone with her mother. It was also for the good, after all, writers need their escape once in a while. She showed us our seats and said that her mother was in the kitchen and would soon join us in our conversations. The dinner table was nearby. We ...