Disclaimer: The concept of the author is original. It is not written with the purpose of hurting the sentiments of any person, place, class or caste. The motive behind is to generate awareness for production of good literature and making the material available within the reach of the customers. In these times of dwindling readership, there is need to encourage people to develop the habit of reading, just as we had in our old times. Simultaneously availability of the study material within the approach of the reader is equally important. The terms like Brain Food, Restaurant and Chef are the matters of debate and/or logical inferences. My purpose is not to promote any terminology. This is an imagination of the author, based on interaction with some people.
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Brain Food Restaurant (My Fiction)
I - Part Of IV
I - Part Of IV
Sundays are very special days for me. On Sundays I find time for my family. I share some of the family responsibilities on this day. Moreover I read some interesting literature. In this way I get relaxed and gather more energy for the ensuing week.
Mind has a special power. If you make some changes in your daily routine, the mind gets relaxed. Thus you prepare yourself afresh for the monotonous routine activities of the next week.
On the Sunday morning I go to the market to buy the household needs for the coming week. I usually carry a cotton shoulder bag. In that bag I carry some magazines, comics, and books. I have identified a shop in the market. The shopkeeper returns those books and replaces them with other books of my choice. He charges monthly rental payment for this. On my return I buy some special breakfast for children. So my family members wait for this day eagerly. At least on Sunday we take food together and enjoy.
The previous Sunday, as usual I was walking down the street. My eyes caught the sight of a rather unusual sign board on a shop on my right hand side.
There was written,
“Brain Food Restaurant- Cuisine- Bar-Be-Que”
I was a little astonished at the sight of this sign board. I don’t remember if it was there, when I last visited the market? Though unwantingly, but my feet got stuck up there for a while. I started reading the sign board further. Below the main name was written:
“We serve all kinds of delicious, Indian and International brain foods.”
Our Specialty: “Healthy, Hygienic, Non Spicy, Spicy, Dry & Juicy Cuisines and Bar-Be-Que”
Below it there was a note.
Note: “we don’t charge for tasting the items. Free home delivery service available anywhere in the world. We don’t have any branches.”
Now it was height of limit. I had never heard of any such type of a restaurant, not to talk of seeing one.
I was standing in front of a rather big shop. Enough space was left in front of a big glass door on the front of the shop. On the glass were pasted round stickers of some credit cards. In the middle portion of the platform there were two steps to climb up to the main entrance of the shop. The shop was part of a multi story building. On the right hand side of the platform, there was a small cabin. In the back of my mind, I had the idea of purchasing some special breakfast for the children. What else can be more special than a breakfast of brain food? So it occurred to me that I should see if, I can get some delicious breakfast for the development of brain of my children.
But there was turmoil in my mind. Lots of thoughts crept in my mind. Could it be a place where some food mixed with herbs or any other medicines was being prepared? Were they serving food soaked in the blood of some deadly and poisonous insects or animals?
I remembered, once my cousin had come from Singapore. He had told me that they serve snake preparations there. I also had knowledge that not only abroad, but in India also people eat crab as food. Some people have logic behind it. They say that such food is nutritious and healthy for body and mind.
It seemed amazing. So I decided to go inside the restaurant and look for myself. “What maximum will happen? After all they cannot force me to buy or eat anything, if I do not want!”I thought.
At the first sight it appeared to be a restaurant of international repute.
“Sitting in such a big market with such a big establishment, they dare not befool us”. I tried to convince myself, with many such logics. Finally I started for the stairs and climbed up to the front gate.
From the cabin on the right hand corner of the platform a man in uniform approached me. He requested me to come to the cabin with him. I followed him. He requested me to give the bag to him. I gave the bag to him. He emptied the contents on a table in front of him. He noted the contents on a card and handed over the card to me.
Then he said to me, “When you return, please give this card to me and I shall return your articles to you. I took the card and walked towards the gate.
As I reached the front gate, A Darbaan (Security Guard) stood up from the stool, on which he was sitting. He bowed his turbaned head in respect, opened the door for me and then softly, and gracefully said, “Welcome, Sir!”
He was wearing the traditional dress of Moguls. This has become a traditional attire of these employees in many elite restaurants in India. I reciprocated his greetings, but of course without bowing my head. As I entered the hall, the doors closed behind me automatically.
To my surprise, the internal environment was contrary to my imagination. There was almost pin drop silence instead of the usual hum of a restaurant. There was no conventional food being served and eaten by customers. There were four round tables, with four chairs around each table. People of all ages and all walks of life were seated on chairs .Their heads were down and eyes stuck on to the pages of some books or magazines.
On the rear end of the hall there were two tables. At those tables, two smartly dressed young girls were sitting. There was enough distance between the tables of the girls and the tables of readers; so that the readers could not get disturbed by their talks.
The room was well lit. There were sesame wood racks all around the room. The racks were nailed to the walls. The racks were well polished and sparkling under the lights. They had shelves and sliding glass doors. There were some labels on the racks as well as shelves.
Within me I was full of rage. “They are making a fool of us,” I was thinking in my mind. This is a book shop cum library. My chain of thoughts was broken by a sweet and sober whisper of a feminine voice.
“You are welcome to this next generation restaurant, Sir! Please follow me and I wish to tell you more about our dishes.” I noticed that one of those girls was standing by my side and it was her sound.
Before I could say anything, I found myself following her to the table at the rear end of the hall. Next one minute and I was sitting on one of the chairs, in front of her. There was a graceful shine on her beautiful smiling face. There was sort of a magnetic attraction in her personality. This probably was the reason that I could not express my anger at that time.
Now my agony had come to my mouth. Probably she had read it on my face too. She gave me a pamphlet just the type we get in a restaurant. Hiding my anger, I started reading that.
“This is our menu Sir, please take your time to go through it, and then place an order of your choice.” She said. I read it.
Famous Cuisines by Shakespeare
1. xxxx xxxx xxxxx xxxxxx
2. xxxx xxxx xxxxx xxxxxx
3. xxxx xxxx xxxxx xxxxxx
4. xxxx xxxx xxxxx xxxxxx
Spicy Momos by Dickens
1. xxxx xxxx xxxxx xxxxxx
2. xxxx xxxx xxxxx xxxxxx
3. xxxx xxxx xxxxx xxxxxx
4. xxxx xxxx xxxxx xxxxxx
Bheja Fry by Sherlock Homes
1. xxxx xxxx xxxxx xxxxxx
2. xxxx xxxx xxxxx xxxxxx
3. xxxx xxxx xxxxx xxxxxx
4. xxxx xxxx xxxxx xxxxxx
Tandoori Kababs by A.G. Gardiner
1. xxxx xxxx xxxxx xxxxxx
2. xxxx xxxx xxxxx xxxxxx
3. xxxx xxxx xxxxx xxxxxx
4. xxxx xxxx xxxxx xxxxxx
Bengali Sweets by Tagore
1. xxxx xxxx xxxxx xxxxxx
2. xxxx xxxx xxxxx xxxxxx
3. xxxx xxxx xxxxx xxxxxx
4. xxxx xxxx xxxxx xxxxxx
And so on…….
My anger threshold now crossed the brim. I put the pamphlet back on to the table. To be true I would have wanted to throw it on her face. But instead I retorted,
“Can I talk to the owner, please?”I enquired.
“Why not sir, it will be our pleasure!” She said.
She dialed some number on the intercom. I could guess she was talking to the proprietor. She turned her face towards me and with a sweet and soothing smile on her face, she spoke to me,
“Ma’am is waiting for you sir, in her chamber on the fourth floor of this building. Come, I’ll escort you to the lift”. She took me to the gate of the lift.
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