Chez Moi

I reached that monumental mark yesterday - chalked up three decades of living. So I can no longer call myself a “girl”, no matter how inappropriate it was till now. But, as certain laydees, who are certainly rocking in their 30’s and 50’s attest, life begins NOW. So am hopeful of things to come. 

But not as far as my son is concerned. Left to him, I might as well go on the national OAP register. 

Anyhoo, the budday yesterday ROCKED. Totally! Hubby started things off with a bang on Friday, the “star” budday by giving me this amazing pearl set - gorgeous chain coupled with drop earrings. Celebration started properly by mid-Saturday, with a trip to the cinema to see Jaane Tu ya Jaane Na. We both had been real keen to see this flick, ever since the music charmed us. Plus, with the early birds who had been humming away since catching it on the first week egging us on, we simply could not put it off anymore. 

Happily, the movie did not disappoint. I actually want to see it again. The only part I did not like was the character of that Sushant character. Why did they have to make him so easy for everyone to dislike and get rid of? Wouldn’t it have been better had he been a regular, decent soul and despite that, Aditi loved Jai best cos that’s the way it should be? (Any of the Bollywood director types looking for a consultant - well, your search stops here!)

Sunday dawned bright and sunny - a marvellous day in London, which is a glorious thing in itself. For once, we left home quiet early so we could have a sensible day out. Started off with a spin on the London Eye. As P had only seen it from far, he was pretty excited. He enjoyed the Eye thoroughly. We had fantastic views of the city, spreading as far as the eye could see. A loud American was pointing out various landmarks (quite wrongly!) to his awestruck family. I wished he’d either shut up or pipe down. Of course he did neither! 

After that, we let P loose on the park where he proceeded to try all sorts of balancing tricks on the rope bridge and climbed up the rope column - thrice - before deciding enough’s enough. 

Next stop - BFI IMAX. 

As IMAX were showing P’s current favourite flick, Kung Fu Panda, there was no escaping this. After the miniscule multiplex screens of today, the 20 m X 26 m IMAX screen seemed MEGA! We were all astounded at the size of it and the sound quality was literally mind blowing. So much so I thought one member of the family would have big problems with it. The Bun proceeded to rock and roll through out the movie, making for some exceedingly uncomfortable moments. 

Once that part of the day was finished, we went in search of Ping Pong, a Chinese dim sum restaurant. The review said grub was good while the same cannot be said for the service. They were spot on. The location was brilliant. We got outside seats as it stank too much of fish inside and I couldn’t bear it. But flagging down the wait staff was an art we sucked at and most of the time was spent in waving furiously. I was reminded of Bill Bryson’s pithy remark: “… you cannot make a waiter see you unless he is good and ready..” 

Reared as we are on the Saravana Bhavan School of Hospitality, the service didn’t bother us much. Especially when the food they brought in was like pure morsels of heaven! The dim sums are served in individual wooden steamer baskets and each one contains three dumplings. Though our waitress suggested we order about three baskets each, we displayed rare (and in this case, misplaced!) caution and ordered one each. 

Presently, the farcical part of the routine started. There we were, with some amazing smelling, glistening morsels of food waiting for us and we were armed with two fiddly sticks. It didn’t help matters any when the brat mastered eating with chopsticks like he had been doing it all his life and polished off his dumplings with “YUM YUM” noises. Sighing, we stabbed, poked, prodded and generally mutilated our dumplings into submission. But man, was it worth it or what? 

The next couple of hours were spent in trying to attract the wait staff’s attention, ordering more portions and slowly coming to grips with the chop sticks. By the time we downed tools, we were absolutely sated. Three portions of dumplings, followed by a miniscule portion of yummy mango pudding, watered down by a strawberry and lemon cordial (for me- while hubby had jasmine tea and the brat OJ) constituted my budday meal. I was one happy bunny!! 

Needless to say, that was the best budday ever - if this is a taste of things to come, then bring ‘em on! 

There is a rather unfortunate habit amongst us expats to view some things (or most, depending on one’s perspective) with the rather jaundiced viewpoint of ‘oh are they ill-treating me because I am an Indian / non-white?’ Whilst I am not a card-carrying member of this group, I will definitely put my hand up and admit that there have been a few occasions when I have asked myself that. More often than not, the offending situation would resolve itself to make me rethink my views. But some times, certain situations pan out in a certain way that more or less cements my belief that no matter how ‘accepting’ or ‘open’ a society prides itself to be, the reality is often a totally different concept. Last Saturday, something happened to reinforce my thinking and I would be greatly interested to see which way the readers of this post align themselves.

The past couple of weeks, I had been harbouring a hankering for a good margarita. S also kept hinting at the long overdue meet we were planning with a good (fellow Indian) mate of his from work and his wife. Deciding to kill two birds with one stone, I suggested we head for Chilies Restaurant and Bar at Basildon, which was local enough for all of us and which, more importantly, served some amazing cocktails. Plans were made and on ringing the venue, we were told that as long as we were in a group of less than eight members, we would be given a table with minimum fuss and delay. We got one within thirty minutes and I counted ourselves lucky as I recalled a past visit when we visited for a record two hours and forty-five minutes for a table for four (P was two years old then)!

We sat at our table, chatting and managed to come to a reasonably quick decision regarding the menu – made easy by the fact that three of us were vegetarian and we had just two or three mind-bending choices to make. Then we waited.
We talked about our families, which part of the country each of us were from, the languages we each spoke, our colleges, the different cities we each had lived, how we were finding living in the UK and my blogging. Still no sign of a waiter / maitre’d. And we waited.

P was getting impatient and quite a bit peckish. His enthusiasm with the kiddies pack had exhausted itself by now and he had made up his mind about what he wanted to eat. But still, there was no sign of a soul.

The restaurant was full and all around us, the staff were running around taking orders, bringing in the food, generally making sure the people were getting fed. But no one seemed to be paying us a blind bit of notice.

After waiting patiently, we decided enough was enough and we flagged one of the girls down. Who took our orders and we specified that we preferred the drinks, starters and P’s order to come in first. So it did – well, almost. One starter and P’s mains arrived together and we started tucking in, mentally imagining the beautiful pitcher of margarita.

But there was no sign of the ambrosia and we had finished devouring the garlic bread. We were desperately thirsty now and P was beginning to chant for his OJ. Another frantic hand waving resulted in a supremely uninterested girl plonking some side plates and cutlery in the middle of the table and vanishing into thin air the next minute.

This was the first time any of us had been to a proper restaurant and ended up doing part of the staff’s job ourselves. Joints like Nando’s pride themselves on their casual approach but as other patrons had had the luxury of the staff setting the table for them, we had assumed, foolishly, the same would be available to us too.

After a colossal thirty minutes, when we saw our neighbours finish their meal and exit the restaurant, we got our drinks – a pitcher of margarita, with some beer glasses. We first thought they had made a mistake. When we pointed out the fact that we were missing cocktail glasses, the girl who brought our drinks coolly explained they had run out of glasses and we had to make do.

By now, we were getting a few degrees ahead of peeved but still were determined to have a good time. So, we gamely drank our delightful margaritas out of beer glasses, imagining the salted rims and the still-absent tostada chips. Some time later, our pitcher was nearing empty, P had finished his dinner and the garlic bread was a distant memory. There was still no sign of our food – the remaining starter or our main courses.

Deciding enough was enough, we asked for a passing waitress if we could speak to the manager. The manager materialised in a few minutes, with the standard ‘hope you are having a good time’. She did not seem too shocked by our ‘no, not really.’ After complaining for a few minutes, our friend finished semi-jovially, ‘I hope you are not making us wait for our food ‘cos we are Indians’.

To which she replied: ‘No, I don’t think so.’

I was gaping at that. Having got used to a PC Britain, where at least in public people put on a politically correct mask, this nonchalance was surprising, to say the very least. The slight matter of a few patrons waiting for their food and of cocktails served in beer glasses didn’t seem to matter much and after some half-hearted platitudes, she went away to investigate. She came back, with our main courses and useless starter, and a laughable explanation of why we had been sitting there for the better part of an hour, twiddling our thumbs. The kind lady, who was ‘in charge’ of our table, was having a bad day and it was all getting a bit too much for her. Enjoy your meal now that you’ve got it.

I could not bite my tongue any more and reamed into her at the disgusting treatment meted out to us. Not once did we get a heartfelt apology or horror at having some seriously irate patrons, complaining away about every single thing.

We ate our food then in silence, most of it turning to ash in our mouths. A promising evening ruined and I couldn’t even enjoy my margarita. That was when a lady we had never seen before put in an appearance. She bustled in, full of apologies and we assured her everything was okay, all the time wondering who the heck she was. She explained that she was so busy that she was unable to pay any attention to us and she felt so close to tears to know how awful we felt.

WTF? This was not the girl who took our orders. Not unless she aged a good decade in the time since we saw her last. This was definitely the lady who was serving our neighbours and now was apologising profusely. This farce was getting ridiculous and after placating the woman we tried to carry on with our food. A few minutes later, the lady materialised one more time, armed with a scoop of ice cream for P, who gobbled it all up.

The bill, I must say, arrived without any delay and we found our delightful experience was not cheap by half. Though I wasn’t betting on it, I had thought that the management would have had the courtesy to deduct some bit off our bill, as a goodwill gesture. Well, it was obvious that goodwill was in short supply that night, especially when we were at the receiving end of it.

The only thrill we got was walking off without tipping them for treating us so nicely and making the evening a memorable one.

To think I told a friend last week that Chilies was my favourite restaurant in Britain. How things can change in the span of a few days! I think the joint should do what I suggested and put up a big board stating in no uncertain terms that folks of our sort were not welcome to partake food there. Do not start being a hypocrite at this late hour, Chilies and stick to your guns like you did last Saturday night and display the same nonchalant spirit in showing everyone what you stand for. At least this way, your august establishments will not be soiled and your staff, needlessly overworked.