Try licking fingers in a 5-star hotel

Try licking fingers in a 5-star hotel

Over the weekend I went out for dinner with a few of my Indian friends. Apart from the fab menu and an even more hip ambience there were spoons, forks and knives, too. And my gourmet tolerance took a ride.

With all due respect and love to my SubContinent brethren, I dedicate this piece to you all.

This is my nth experience when domestic talk and holiday plans switched over to Geneva and Las Vegas once inside a 5-star environment. Wonder why. After all we are there to eat. And eat by chewing and tearing using the same set of yellowish, cavity-filled molars and tea-stained canines.

It doesn’t matter if you are hanging out with childhood friends who’ve seen you in chaddis, I’m convinced beyond the realm of questioning that once you are holding a fork and a knife to spoon your hunger, you only  talk stocks and conferences.

Invariably, the conversation shifts from school fees and hypertension to suits and tuxedos of husbands.

Yes. It is women, who love announcing their self-conferred status. So what if the hubbies haven’t seen the inside of a Taj or a Oberoi or Emirates Palace even – they have been on virtual trips to Copenhagen definitely. The once-in-a-blue-moon meeting with a superior becomes “Oh! my husband is always attending conferences around the world…”, accompanied with a drawling demonstrative sigh, as if they get to do the act even only up mid-air!

The best part is these are the same local sleuths who love licking their fingers schchum, schchum, schchum, when others around are busy manipulating the innocent weapons in hand. Or whose spaghetti gets sucked in deep down their oesophagus threatening to take the fork inside as well.

Shut your mouths, idiots!

The simple act of closing the mouth will not only ensure you bite that pasta at the desired end but also help you balance the fork between the left fingers, too. Not to mention, it would be a great relief to the men folk (those mamma’s men who are pot-bellied, blurping and ****ing) who could take care of their sound effects – and save the others on the table from the eeew, eeew and icky factor.

Why do Indian men make terrible eaters? If they bite into an apple then the juice gets sprayed out like coloured water from toy guns of kids; when they drink tea, it is akin to starting a bike and if it’s coffee (especially a freshly brewed cuppa) then God save you from a vehicle without a silencer. Even the mundane daal-chawal and roti is eaten with a vengence in the name of relishing. The ceremony of each bite involves tearing a big portion of roti, folding it and scooping in the daal all the while the tougue hanging out like man’s faithful friend until ultimately the five fingers carry the catch of the day to place it hurriedly amid the gluey mucilage with a shruuuum…

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