Two momentous years had elapsed. He was predictably late, but was sure to saunter in any moment now, with that irresistible smile as his major adornment. But would their conversations ever be the same again? What if…
With these thoughts swirling around in her head like a tornado, she stood entranced near the entrance, forgetting to move inside.
“Ma’am, would you like me to show you to a table, or do you have any preferences?” A soft, gentle voice flowed smoothly through her earpiece and brought her out of her reverie.
A smart, cute-looking youth stood before her with a slight smile playing around his full lips and slightly crinkling the corners of his cat-like eyes, giving the feeling that he seemed amused by something about her. Irritation lacing her voice, Radha asked to be shown to a table with a bit of privacy. Raising his perfectly arched bushy eyebrows, the young maitre’d gave an almost imperceptible nod and indicated that Radha follow him. Weaving through the round tables covered with red-checkered tablecloths, a red rose with a fern in a slim vase adorned each table, and he led Radha to a quaint little alcove with pots of plants hanging from the ceiling and all around and a little fountain bubbling in the corner.
Radha was surprised by the new addition. It was pleasant and serene, and quite separate from the rest of the restaurant. She remembered that the kitchen used to be here, and the back portion belonged to the restaurant’s owner. She scanned the area and saw that the portion that had been the owner’s living quarters was now a spacious, well-maintained kitchen.
A gentle cough, a clearing of the throat, actually, to draw her attention, startled her, and she became aware that the waiter was waiting for her to accept her seat; that slight smile still tilting the corners of his mouth tantalizingly. Forcing herself to tear her eyes away from his lips, she looked into his eyes and addressed him, “Where’s your boss? Zulfi is still the owner, right?”
The lips curved further into a wide smile as he answered, “Yes, Zulfi, sir, is still the owner, Ma’am. He now stays with his family in a big bungalow in Kharghuli. He’s a big shot now, and his wife, Rezina Ma’am, is the SDO in Bongaigaon. They have a 3-year-old daughter. He’ll be coming in any moment now.”
And without asking, she got all the details about the owner, who had been a friend and a big brother to her during those college days when all her friends were dating, and she wandered around with them, a lonely soul. Zulfi da, as she always called him, was the only one who had recognized the loneliness within her and offered her his invaluable friendship along with a bar of 5-star chocolate.
As the memories rushed in, Radha had forgotten the waiter. And, now, again, he stood in front of her, clearing his throat to get her attention. Her eyes, lost in the visages of the distant and not-so-distant past, fell on him and slowly fixed on his smiling face, and for an instant, she had to struggle to remember who he was and where she was, and slowly the present came into full view. And, again, without any logical reasoning, she felt a bit of irritation at his seemingly all-knowing smile, and, this time, she was unable to hold back from asking him the reason for his smile, which seemed to be mocking her.
At her question, his smile broadened and, enigmatically, he replied, “You’ll know in a minute, Ma’am. Meanwhile, as you wait for your friend, why don’t you have a Masala ThumbsUp like the one I got for you? It’ll lose its fizz, and you won’t like it at all.”
“What the……!!!” she began, but checked herself from uttering the expletive; force of habit resulting from spending half her lifetime cloistered amongst nuns.
“How do you know this, boy?” She asked, annoyance lacing her voice.
The boy smiled further and was about to reply when he was suddenly interrupted by the sound of jingling bells coming from the entrance. She looked up towards the front door and saw a familiar, tall, lithe figure, clad in a light pink shirt, denim, and white Reeboks, glide in. “Rishabh!” his name came out as a whisper. His still handsome face, covered with untrimmed grey stubble and bags underneath the deep-set eyes, looked haggard, and she felt a familiar dull ache throb in her heart. As if some magnet had drawn his eyes towards her, his sweeping gaze fell on her, and Radha’s heartbeat stopped for an instant. Rishabh also stood rooted to the spot for a moment, and then, in a heartbeat, he was beside her, hugging her in a tight embrace, knocking the breath out of her. As she struggled against the rock-solid body, long-held tears flowed out copiously and drenched his shirt.
“Please don’t leave me, Radha. I am a changed man, now. I haven’t had a drop of that poison since last year. And this time it’s for eternity. I promise you. If you don’t believe me, ask Zulfi; ask this boy here.”
Saying so, he reluctantly let Radha go and, stretching out his hand, pulled the young waiter towards them. Radha, once again reminded of his unobtrusive presence, looked at him, embarrassed by this public display of emotions. The boy was smiling again!
Radha stared at him intently. He seemed vaguely familiar. But try as she might, she could not place him. Seeing Radha’s confusion, Rishabh asked,
“You don’t remember him, do you? And yet, once, you considered him your son, Radha. He’s Sparsh!”
“Sparsh! Sparsh!” Her mind echoed the name. How could she have forgotten him? That intense young boy who had worked in Zulfi’s Sunflower Restaurant as a waiter, who somehow seemed to have touched her soul, whom she had taken under her wings and, jointly with Zulfi, paid for his education. “So, that’s why he knows about my Masala ThumbsUp. That’s why he was looking at me in this manner.”
“Sparsh! Oh my God! I’m so sorry. So much had happened since I last met you, but I never really forgot you. Why didn’t you tell me earlier? And what are you doing here now?” The questions just poured out.
“After he graduated from IIM Delhi, he came home looking for you. Instead, he found me in an inebriated state. He called in Zulfi, and together they’ve been taking good care of me. Zulfi admitted me to a rehab centre in Bangalore for a year, and after I came back home, Sparsh has been staying with me and seeing to it that I stay away from the stuff. He works with Zulfi in the restaurant, and all this renovation was his idea.” Rishabh explained.
At last, the enigma of the odd waiter was solved, and Radha hugged him.
“Ma’am, Rishabh da has been a gem for one year. Please don’t leave him again. I promise you, he is a changed man now.” Sparsh pleaded.
And I was happy to oblige.
Nisha Mahanta Bordoloi
About the Author
She is a storyteller and anthropologist whose works explore themes of hope and love. Her writings have appeared in local dailies, weeklies, and anthologies, including Phoenix: 11 Stories of Hope and Flashes of Love. Her short story A Mistaken Identity won the International Story Writing Competition in Tennessee, USA. She is also the author of two children’s books in the Adventures of Jharna and Masti series and the novella Veiled Friendship. A trained public speaking coach, she shares her literary work and insights on her blog.
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