Nerve Endings Firing Away

Couple of weeks back, I had my lunch at Mr.Wang’s, a regular Chinese downtown eatery near the university I attend. I used to frequent this place when I worked weekends to cope up with the academic workload that I had so graciously indulged myself in. The place was mostly empty at 2pm when I had my lunch and I was the sole customer. The Korean lady was always welcoming and even offered a free drink each time. But over time, I grew weary of the place and got bored of eating the same stuff week after week, not to mention the deteriorating food quality. I was afraid I would be eligible for Chinese citizenship if I had any more food from Mr.Wang. I moved to other eateries — Taco Bell, the Thai eatery, the shanty Mediterranean joint and other cuisines, not frequenting any place more than once a week.

But upon a friends’ insistence, I was back at Mr.Wang — a solid one and half years later. I had expected the lady to have forgotten me and casually ambled up to the food counter. But I was in for a surprise. The Korean lady not only greeted me in the same amicable manner but also clearly remembered me as she enquired about my whereabouts. Initially I was shocked and managed to mumble out an imminently forgettable excuse that I was out of the country. She knew that I was lying because she replied tauntingly “Oh really! For a year and half?” I had no answer and mumbled something that even I couldn’t understand. But the memory game continued as she not only remembered my Kung Pao chicken choice but also gave me the free drink as always. I felt absolutely horrid about not returning but unfortunately the food was still as bad since I had left eating there. I wouldn’t return again. Then again, maybe I would — not for the food but just to say a quick hello in return for a look of friendly recognition.

But it did give me a warm fuzzy feeling that someone would really care to remember a seemingly inconspicuous person from a distant past. It reminded me of the first-name friendliness we had with our neighborhood grocer in India. Little things like these humanize the experience of living in “a city that has no time to hate”.