“One Masala Dosa to Table No: 29!”
On a bustling Sunday morning, the waiter of Annapoorna was finding it hard to cater to the orders of scores of dosa-frenzy customers. As he glided through the tightly packed tables and chairs, the septuagenarian, fondly called Winnie, couldn’t stop chuckling.
“That’s my order flying to its destination like a precision missile not missing its target!”
The savory Masala dosa’s aroma enticed his geriatric nostrils which sniffed and imbibed all the flavors before gulping it. Toothless gums and tongue came to Winnie’s aid as he did not forget to lick the residue of masala dosa lingering on the tips of his fingers.
Winnie glanced through the bill. A masala dosa with a cup of piping hot filter coffee had cost him one hundred and fifty rupees. As he settled the bills of Table No: 29, he thought,
“We humans are all assigned certain numbers all through our life. These people don’t even know my name. They are only concerned with what the customer who sits at Table No: 29 pays. The waiter, of course, might anticipate a few bucks as his tip.”
That afternoon, Winnie complained of a severe chest pain and was admitted to the hospital. A surgery was performed which turned out to be successful. He was shifted to Room No: 29 later in the evening. His condition worsened at night and he was wheeled to the ICU on a stretcher.
“I don’t think I am going to survive a few more hours. I am unmarried, and have no kids- biological or adopted. Why don’t you guys take my wallet and grab whatever it holds once I leave this world. No one will ever know if the wallet actually held some money or not !” Winnie said to the attendants in light blue uniform.
Winnie breathed his last around 9 am the next day- the time he had consumed his Sunday special masala dosa breakfast in Annapoorna.
“The old man in Room No: 29 passed away this morning. Heard that he lived all alone in a dilapidated house down the street.”
Muffled voices reverberated from the hospital corridors.
No one came to claim the body of Vincent Gomez, the old bachelor.
Shrouded in white, Winnie’s body, laid in a coffin, was lifted to the ambulance by the attendants in a light blue uniform. Their faces beamed at the generosity of the old man, whose wallet had granted them quite a fortune- five hundred rupees each.
The grave was dug without further ado.
Tomb No: 29
A man who loved masala dosas from the age of four, is now reduced to a mere number.
