The Lakeview Café

 

The lake view restaurant was costly. I used to walk past it in my evening or morning walks and sometimes during the noon under the shades of large beautiful trees, especially on the weekends. And sometimes I would enter the restaurant in some special occasions because of the serenity and aroma playing around the entire atmosphere and the captivating view of the soothing lake with crystal clear water mirroring the color blasts of the tree line; in the special and magical effects through the glass window of the restaurant.

 

During the pandemic lock down for covid 19, the restaurant incurred a huge loss too and it was apparent in its look after the year-long closure with hardly any maintenance and the massive job cut. And it remained closed for months even after the withdrawn of lockdown for a much needed renovation work, which paved way to another amazing window to earn some more revenue by introducing an improvised lake view café on the open space by the lake. It appeared to be more flexible and convenient for the walkers who happen to pass by the restaurant all around the day, partly because of the open tranquility and mostly because of the reduced price comparing to that of the main building.  

 

And it was the reason why I became a more regular frequenter to the café to spend some more moments under the shades of nature after the regular workouts. And the coffee was really good; always freshly brewed from the finest quality of well roasted beans.

 

The man was in his late 80s, and he was looking more aged with his thin, devastated and delicate health: burdened with the shredded hopes in this stage of his life; and torn with the burden of struggles for sustenance. In an age-old ragged and faded shirt, he was quivering with a bundle of jute bags hanging from both his weakened shoulders. As a street hawker he sells those bags to the reluctant customers, mainly seeking a satisfaction in winning the bargain: so careful to let him get away with hardly any profit margin.  

 

‘Can I have some water, please, just a glass of water?’ He requested in a timid tone defeated by time.

 

The waiters got startled with the sudden and unexpected appearance of such an unwelcomed guest in the terrace. And a senior among them, himself in an old age, handed him a bottle of water to shovel him away as fast as possible. 

 

What we normally do in a situation like this is to ignore in a magnificent silence, sometimes with a camouflaged gesture of disgust playing around our frowning eyebrows, thinking how could these sort of guys can trespass into our sweet moments. Or with a delicate style to slide our sights out of the things unseeable, in a fragile attempt to sugarcoat our guilty conscience thinking that he will either survive anyway or will go beyond the necessity of surviving all the way.

 

 

But apparently, he needed some calories to consume; with contrast to the regular customers of the café who spend hours to burn their calories and then add some as part of the refreshments and I was probably one like them, seeking some pace-less moment of solace in the reckless racing for life. He was quivering in hunger and reached a point to fell down on earth anytime. And still his burnt out dignity shuttered his mouth to not ask for some food instead of a glass of water. But, you can easily get away with it by putting you in the dilemma of noticing and not noticing; whatever is comfortable for you. And whatever was comfortable for Philip, the wealthy husband of Rosemary Fell.  

 

The first thing that strike my head was how we possibly can bring a positive change to the destiny of these kind of people: burdened with the age and ravished off their rights to the commonwealth society; the carcass of a circus.

 

And then Katherine Mansfield’s short story, ‘A Cup of Tea’ flashed back to my vision.

 

Answering to the appalling request for alms enough to buy a cup of tea, Rosemary Fell took Miss Smith to her plush house in the posh area. The image of the poor, pathetic girl somehow matched with the hungry old man. The girl apparently in quiver and shiver for hunger and winter, was asking for enough alms to buy a cup of tea. Her condition was pathetic enough to drive Rosemary’s mind away off purchasing a painted ceramic box in a posh antique shop. And she drove her instead to her luxurious palace as a harbinger of destiny vowing to change the fate of the fretted girl. She was certain of her heart-felt intention to do good and stood irresolute to her husband’s diplomatic denial. She fed her well and kept her good vibe intact as long as her husband tricked her with jealousy and a sense of insecurity by praising the beauty of the poor girl.  

 

With the slightest risk of our fortune, we back away from all those well wishes to change the destiny of people, to show them how good-hearted we really are. We forget about our preaching on how a strong hope can change their life and make them land onto their dreams.

 

Most of us can’t change the society. But we can at least change a particular moment if we are yet to master the art of looking away dodging our sleeping senses. I know I can’t do big; but, it’s not good enough reason to force myself away from doing the least thing I can do. And as I myself was not in either of the categories of the doers and the ignorers and as I really didn’t belong to the class who would think of their budgets inside the main building or outside in the terrace, I asked a young waiter to come close. He knew me well as a recent addition to café for the love of a good cup of coffee. 

 

I asked him to get the old man to a vacant corner table, which usually remains unchosen and unoccupied for a hard angle of the beautiful view. I ordered a set menu combining fried rice, chicken and vegetables. And of course, the action was not cordially welcomed by the guy in charge of the café. At least this is what I can ignore. But the way the hungry old man was grabbing the food served was something I couldn’t bear.  

 

Leaving behind the half-finished cup of my favorite coffee, I paid the bill with a tip; bigger than I can afford happily and far lesser than what the other frequenters usually take back to their wallet from the changes.