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  • Writer's pictureManu Dhawan

Vivid scenes from a local salad bar

As I pretend to be enjoying the rockets in my bowl, I cant help but listen to a bunch of good looking women sitting on a table next to me, talking and often looking at themselves in a mirror close by. While the server on the next table thinks about his wet socks and itchy crotch, a struggling actor, with his ripped arms and overgrown ego, struts around in a blue tee, hoping everyone by now has stopped eating and started ogling. When he realizes that the salad leaves are probably more edible than his rather sweaty armpits, he exits, making way for some much needed fresh air.

The women next to me are still talking, one of them who seems very familiar and probably an actress, is on a rant about the prime minister and muslims and Kashmir and seems very educated about the subject. The other two, I call them Asha and Sunita given their unobtrusiveness, have no idea what she’s talking about and keep contributing to the soliloquy by talking about how much our dear leader travels and his latest tweets.

My apple cinnamon green tea tastes like syrup and I leave it after the first sip, questioning my decision of choosing this place, admittedly swayed by great online reviews, over the regular coffee shop. While a tall, skinny and beautiful blonde walks out, a box of salad in hand and dreams of the latest episode of Game of Thrones and John Snow in mind, in walks a middle aged and bald white shirt with a well rounded girth and face, both going well with his spectacles. He decides he’s going to have a glutton free chocolate cake, snapping his finger to ‘politely’ call the server.

Given, that most of what is left in my plate is Kale, I push it aside and call for the check. In the meanwhile, Ms Bollywood wants the napkins kept on my table as the ones on her table are ‘lumpy’. I pass them on, making sure I have another look at the rather attractive but tired face, armoured with my best, albeit forced, smile. Realising it did not have the desired effect, I sign my receipt and book an Uber to get back home. While pretending to be busy on my phone, I notice the driver’s picture and something tells me it is going to be an even more interesting ride back.

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