A tale of guts and guile!

     Everyday in Gokul PG, a curious scene plays out at 1 in the afternoon and 8 in the night. Small groups of the PG residents gather at every floor, all looking tense and poised for action. Half of them don't know each other, yet they exchange knowing smiles. Some of them dart downstairs to conduct reconnaissance, but they receive information from those in the lower floors through nods and glances. The tension builds up slowly as the number of people increase. Now, the groups are openly conversing with each other, cursing the PG owner, the caretakers and the guard. All the people are armed with their plates and cups. Those who just reached the PG rush up the stairs to their respective rooms to arm themselves for the battle ahead.

   Movement begins when the guard arrives carrying a bag with 3 containers and a 4th larger container, separately. He keeps them on the 1st floor and disappears somewhere. Everybody is agitated now. "Abbe sekority (security), muhurat ka wait kar raha hai bh*****?" A censored, calmer version is repeated by the Telugu speaking elements of this crowd. The guard's reinforcements arrive in the form of a young boy and a teenager, who are barely able to lift the aforementioned containers between themselves. Some of the waiting crowd help them carry it to the roof, where a plastic table is waiting (and it still has scars of that afternoon or the previous day's battles). The scene is all set. The waiting people open the big container, full of rice or tomato rice or lemon rice (depending on the day of the week). What is everyone waiting for? The serving spoons! They are lying on another part of the roof, most probably unwashed. One of the 'staff' gets it. The Mexican standoff ends and mayhem rules supreme.

   Now the young boys  mentioned earlier desperately try to swing into action and bring about order in chaos. The younger one is sent off to one corner of the roof with the packet of rotis. The North Indians set upon him, intent on grabbing their quota of 3 rotis before they get finished. They will remain out of the main action for now, so let us focus on the table. The teenage caretaker tries to do 2 things at once- serve the rice and serve the dry curry. He fails miserably at both, usually. If one towers over the crowd gathered around the table, all one can see is a sea of plates thrust into the boy's face. You can also hear everyone shouting in Telugu, Hindi or Kannada to serve them first, so that they can leave. Some of them ask him to serve double the quantity of rice, for their friends waiting downstairs. The ones whose plates are full turn their attention to the sambhar. The serving spoon is nowhere to be seen. "Ooye, gante ekkada ra?" (where is the serving spoon?). The 'gante' appears from somewhere, everyone reaches out to it, a determined hand snatches is from everyone and takes his share. While doing so, he has maneuver it expertly through other hands waiting to grab it. When he is done, he hands it over to a friend or the nearest hand and gingerly extracts himself from the crush of hungry men. If you want to get your chance, you will have be to assertive, bordering on aggressive. Meanwhile,  the North Indians join the crowd at the table for their curry and sambhar. By now, the curry is almost finished and only the ones willing to snatch the whole container can get anything. The sambhar is still left, so all the serving spoons are used to finish it off. Some of them (like me) dip their cups into it. Plates full and a look of victory in their eyes, the winners of this brouhaha calmly retire to enjoy their food in peace. For those who go back to their rooms to eat, yet another minor dogfight is left. And dogfight it is, as they go down the stairs and avoid oncoming traffic. The oncoming traffic consists of latecomers who are rushing up the stairs like bulls to grab anything that is still left. You need to swerve and dodge them like Spanish bullfighters.

   The exceptional days are Wednesdays, Sundays and the days the owner serves the food himself. On Wednesdays and Sundays, the table IS the center of action since there are no rotis. The day the owner serves is completely different. Towering over everyone in the PG, with a stern demeanor and a broad physique, the owner commands respect. Nobody shouts, nobody grabs the spoons and nobody asks for more. Thou shalt take what He gives and thou shalt retire, for He is fair and just!

   Many years from now, when I am enjoying food in a 5 star hotel, I shall think of these days. I will look back at days when I missed my food, when I couldn't get enough and more importantly, at days when I successfully duped everyone and got an extra egg or extra curry!Ah, such joy! Who will believe me then, that a day's lunch and dinner required such guts and guile? I will surely miss the food rituals of Gokul PG when I finally get out of this place!