Please Pass Chappati

There are some things hallowed about that place though it's hard to put one's finger on them. They could be the variation in the predominant colours with the day of the week, Diwan or Shib Singh, on whose enormous midriff the gong resonates, conversations of a particular genre and about particular people could qualify too, but for me, it's the spectrum of attention-seeking methods people employ.

In my first year, and for most of my time in second year, people dining in the mess knew each other, at least by name. Then somewhere towards exam time in second year, a new wave of faces came, and stayed. As third year progressed, the number of familiar faces fell dramatically. The loss of familiarity in itself wasn't much of a loss, at least to the asocial like myself. This loss had graver implications. I could no longer say, "So-and-so, please pass the dal on." One had to say things like, "excuse me" and "EXCUSE ME" because most people were never listening. Or one had to ask Diwan or the rest like him who were perpetually waiting for Rudra Dinner to harass you like you harass them.

Consequently, language in the mess changed forms. The dull din was replaced with Jat and female laughter because these were the only the two groups left intact by the massive cleansing exercise of the authorities. Use of the word 'please' lost popularity. Requests were now identified by handles such as " Pass the dal" or " I want the dal" or " Is that dal bowl empty?" This was towards exams in second year. In third year, however, I learnt not to complain because language changed forms further. 'Please' regained partial popularity, but the article 'the' lost it significantly. "Please pass dal" became the order of the day. Some groups found this construction too complicated and adopted a modification of the one they were using the year before. They usually ordered, "pass dal." These peremptory commands, though temptingly impolite, never invited rebellion because five feet six inches of me wasn't much rebellion for the six feet something masters. I swallowed my pride and followed their orders.

This year, however, things have taken a completely new turn. Language is more or less outdated. If you want the attention of the person sitting next to you, you usually have two options. Either stretch your hand across his plate in an effort to reach what you know you can't, or tap him on his shoulder. The first is usually more effective because people want to get back to eating as soon as possible and your hand stops that from happening. Consequently, your requests are complied with faster. If someone is sitting diametrically opposite you, just kick. Diagonally opposite you, just tap the table. Once you have the person's attention, just say, "chappati," and it will come. Then again, you might have to say it a few times depending on comprehension abilities.

I'm quite curious to know how this trend will evolve in the future. We're already down to single words, and I'm just twenty-one years old. What when I'm thirty? Forty? If my children land up here to eat yellow paneer with yellow dal, how will they ask for something? Or maybe in a few years time everybody will acknowledge that we have a problem let people serve themselves. Or if we're lucky, Balbir's Dhaba will open again.