It was a usual afternoon; most of the handhelds were showing 1:30 PM to respective bearers. Intellectuals started gathering in cafeteria. Some were getting in to queue for buffet. Having completed my con-call, I also joined the queue. People were moving slowly, taking decision on the fly, which dish deserves the space in their plates. Let me zoom-in on my queue mates, the one, who is causing a whirlpool in thick gravy with big spoon, is the champion negotiator and is known for concluding every business meeting on his terms. The other who has decided to have the world’s most diluted butter milk in his plate, is actually a programmer who writes code at a speed as if he is chatting with his girlfriend. Next is the Sr. Manager who has a history of managing even the rebels and turning them productive for him, has come half way and didn’t take anything in his plate except salad.
As everybody is moving in the queue, there came someone who forced them to play a game of ‘Gravy with the Cubes’. He was the caterer’s probably illiterate guy, with a bowl having not more than 25 cubes of Paneer – almost half centimeter dimension each. He mixed them quickly in the thick gravy. The eyes of the queue mates sparkled. The luckiest person today was our programmer; he grabbed the spoon and fished more than 10 cubes with almost half liter of gravy; rest of the queue mates stared. People, who have passed the dish, hold their cravings to turn back and take a chance. Our programmer, with a winning smile, continued judging other recipes. Though only two more people, after applying their fishing skills, could get some cubes. To my disappointment, the game was over till my turn as all cubes had already been taken. Now the whirlpool was there on my writing instinct.
- Amit Roop