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
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