The Lunch

It was that time of the year again. The hostess felt a bit old to go through the birthday-treat-at-some-fast-food-joint routine. She wanted a memorable meal.

She considered taking her friends to a nice place. But there was the issue of taking me along. Could she treat me at McDonald’s somehow? Or was there a place that was not as expensive as most nice places are where she could feed me without going entirely bankrupt?

Always the best problem solver of the lot, I suggested that we have a buffet lunch. Of course I quoted the price I had seen (not paid) a year ago and it ended up being something of an underestimate.

We reached a certain Italian restaurant. The hostess had thoughtlessly asked everyone to consume the entire birthday cake, disregarding the fact that she would end up paying for a buffet lunch regardless of how hungry we were. Perhaps there was a ray of hope in her heart that I would be too full for a buffet and that I’d do the decent thing and settle for Haldiram’s instead. Her hopes were dashed in much the same way as mine are when I hold a math exam in my hands.

“Ah! 5 diners!” the waiters must have thought. “Ha! 5 waiters!” we retaliated in our heads. I knew what was expected of me and I wasted no time in rising to the challenge. I quickly walked to the buffet and stacked my plate with everything I could. I ate quickly to prevent my stomach from knowing that it’s full, and took quick breaks where I walked around the buffet with a plate to work up an appetite.

The hostess watched me with great satisfaction, clearly impressed that I was indeed all I claimed to be. The other guests followed my lead. “Please eat more”, the hostess pleaded, sounding like a loving aunty seeking praise for her paranthas through high-speed ingestion of copious quantities. I shoveled in the food with my fork, anxious to make her feel happy about what I had talked her into.

Growing up with a lot of people who love food can cause you to imbibe more severe stereotypes than you would consider yourself capable of. I don’t call these stereotypes severe simply because of the strength of one’s conviction in them, but also because of how deep seated they are – you don’t even consider them stereotypes so much as you think it’s the way of the world, making it all the more difficult to root them out. To me, people with small appetites were anomalies, clearly not the fittest of the race, and not people that I befriended as such. I assumed they must either be obsessed with their appearance or are yet to be schooled in the simple pleasures of life. Or maybe both. A majority of my friends, through this natural selection process I’d created in my head, loved food as much as I did, which meant that those who didn’t eat a lot got sidelined by the entire group quite easily. They didn’t have much to do other than sit in the corner and watch the rest of us eat.

Recently, I chose a very unlikely group of friends. I’m convinced that I may never have known them had it not been for the fact that we all shared a strong caffeine addiction and tremendous respect for a certain tea stall. I thought they were rather weird for being almost indifferent to food. It went against my whole idea of how the world should be.

On the hostess’ birthday, they did something they’ve never done before. Not to my knowledge, at least. They came over to my side. I finally felt accepted. I can safely continue to cling to my stereotypes while they turn morbidly obese.