Order! Order!

A couple of years ago, when I dined at the Indian restaurant run by the Temple of Fine Arts here, I looked around at the 'waiters' and 'waitresses' in awe. I'd heard that were all volunteers, professionals like doctors and lawyers who had devoted their time to serve at the restaurant. As I looked at the men in their dignified kurta-pajamas and the ladies in their elegant saris, I felt a deep sense of respect for them.

Little did I know that a few years later, I'd be one of them.

Last week I got a 'promotion'. It was a very proud moment for me. When I started volunteering, I was stationed in the kitchen and my task was to get the food ready to be taken out by those in saris and kurtas. The 'promotion' indicated that I was considered presentable and trustworthy enough to 'take the floor'. Meaning not only did I get to serve the food to the restaurant patrons, I also got to wear a sari and do it. I've been 'on the floor' for almost a week now, and though it is very different from being inside the kitchen and getting the orders ready, it has its own challenges.

Firstly, there's the weight. Even light meals are actually not that 'light'. It's not easy to balance everything on the tray, navigate amongst the mesh of tables and chairs, find the right table and then go around it, carefully placing each dish in front of the right person. And all this in a sari and jewellery (the other aunties insisted I wear a bigger bindi and some jewellery too)! You have to memorise the table numbers and locations, there's no way you will find your table if you just walk around looking for the number, cos it will be invariably be covered by a jug of water, a napkin, the menu, and what not.

And oh, did I mention I'm on the way to becoming ambidextrous now? My left hand is getting stronger by the day. Here's now. When you serve a thali meal, you carry the tray with the million things on it using both hands, but once you reach the table, you have to serve the basket with the puri/chapati using your right hand. And at that point in time, the gigantic plate with all the little dishes is resting on little but your fragile left hand. 90% of your concentration must be on not dropping it on your patron's head, while the other 10% goes into mental calculations on how to make space on the table for the plate to rest. Not easy. I really admire my 'boss' Aunty R (of course, we're all volunteering, so there's no 'boss' system, but she taught me almost everything I know) who can effortlessly carry two meals at a time and glide through to the table tucked in the middle of everything.

Temperatures in the kitchen are often as high as the oil in which the puris are deep-fried. On the floor, however, is a calmer picture. So when I am fleeting in out of the kitchen, my facial muscles get a lot of exercise. In one moment, it'd be, "Where is the extra raita with the chana bhatura??? I asked for extra raita with the chana bhatura!!!!!!!!!" and the next moment, it'd be a calm, pleasant and hospitable, "Here's your chana bhatura with extra raita, sir. Enjoy your meal."

And just when you finish serving and head towards the kitchen, you encounter raised hands from what seem like every alternate table around you. My history as a teacher of primary school children makes me want to yell, "One at a time, kids! Okay? Otherwise I will not attend to anyone. Understand?" but I have to stop myself from doing that. Ahem. The raised hands can be for anything - from "Can I have an extra basket of papads?" to "Where is the washroom?" to "I ordered a mango lassi, but it is not here yet." to "I did not order this, but can I have one too?" to "Does this have garlic?" and what not.

A lot of the patrons are non-Indians, and they ask the weirdest, most random questions of all. Once I was asked, "Is the South Indian thali more sour or the North Indian one? I'd like to order the more sour one." Thankfully, my familiarity with both kinds of cuisine helped me out on this one. Tamarind is used in both sambar and rasam, so surely that had to be the more sour one. The Indian patrons - many of whom are South Indians, also present a challenge, especially if they name the dishes they want, in Tamil! Everyone at the restaurant speaks Tamil, and sometimes all I do is catch the English words and figure out what the hell everyone is talking about. This guy once ordered what sounded like "Nimbu without ice". I did not wanna clarify if he meant numbupani (lemonade) because he looked so confident (he was a regular), so I went in and asked if there was a drink that sounded like 'Nimbu'. Thankfully Clueless - my partner in crime - was able to identify the word as 'Neer more' (buttermilk). Phew.

Of course I have the last laugh when people order in Hindi. Once Aunty R came to the kitchen and asked me what kind of a dish "Adha" was. Apparently someone had ordered "Adha". So I asked her if he'd said something before or after the 'Adha' and it turns out he wanted half a portion of the potato curry. And Sayesha saves the day muahahaha.

Then there was the Caucasian lady who stared at the painting on the wall and engaged me in a lengthy conversation about sari pallus and dupattas.

On my first day on the floor, one of the guys at a table asked me if I was new. Sheesh. "This can't be good" I thought to myself. I'd got the order right, I'd not spilt anything on any of them, why the hell was he asking me if I was new? When I said I was, he even asked me my name. Man, he was so gonna complain. But complain about what? Later, Aunty R put my fears to rest. Apparently, they were regulars. People who worked in the area and ate there every single day. No wonder they got curious when they saw a new face. Phew, that was all it was. Of course, Aunty R told me in detail how they got scolded for not asking her name when she'd been serving them for months, but as she put it, "one young girl appears and they want to know her name??" Hahaha! :D

But the best part is when all of us 'waitresses' sit down in the late afternoon, chat and share stories. I heard a good one today. One of the girls was on her way back to the kitchen with a complicated order in her head when she was summoned by a guy at the next table. She went over, nervous and heard the words, "Too sweet... lassi...". So she started profusely apologising for the high sugar level in the lassi, only to realise that all he was doing was trying to order "Two sweet lassis".

Ooh this one's mine. In my quest to be as professional as possible, I started incorporating the "Enjoy your meal" phrase after serving it. Yesterday I served a lady her meal, and said, "Enjoy your meal." and went back to the kitchen to fetch her guy friend's meal. However, when I got there with his food, she'd finished her food, but he'd gone to the bathroom. I kept his food on the table, and felt this sudden loss of words to say. I felt like I should say something, but there really was nothing to say. It had become such an automatic thing to say "Enjoy your meal." that I had to literally strangulate my cheeky self to not end up saying "Enjoy his meal." to her! Sheesh.

Volunteering there teaches me a little something every single day. And I'm not just talking about killer cooking skills muahaha. Often, I smile at the parallels I draw between this and my previous job as a book editor. The supplier who waited for the books that were still in production, the patron who waits for his Mysore masala dosa that is still in the kitchen. The reader who discovered the error in the book, the patron who discovers he has got the wrong meal. The excellent teamwork based on competency and trust I had with Bananapen at work, ensuring smooth production and delivery of the books, the excellent teamwork based on competency and trust I have with Clueless, ensuring smooth production and delivery of the orders. The madness when tons of books, each of a different kind had to be printed within a short period of time, the madness when tons of orders come pouring in, each of a different kind, to be sent within a short period of time. The celebration when projects ended with positive feedback, the celebration when the shift ends with patrons leaving the restaurant with a smile on their faces, and a thank-you for the volunteers for all their hard work.

In the past, I could never stand people being rude or sarcastic to waiters and waitresses, but after volunteering at the restaurant, it has reached new levels. I actually laugh less at the scenes from the TV series FRIENDS that show Rachel as a terrible terrible waitress. Though I'd always identified with Phoebe, now I've started to identify with Rachel. Waitressing is not an easy job, and now I know so.

Be nice to your waiter/waitress - we're really doing our best.