The Ëthics"of Borrowing

Don't be misled by the title. This ain't nothing about loan waivers and/or write offs. This ain't no political - or economic - rant. I'm not qualified to think about such heavy subjects, leave alone write.

I am, after all, merely an idle man, with an idler mind, sitting in a corner observing life around me.

So...

As tales go, "Once upon a time...."

Once upon a time, before "all this", among other things there used to be bars and restaurants where people used to go. Either in groups among friends, or, even alone.

Once, one of of those days, I was sitting alone in a "family bar & restaurant" in my neighbourhood. A place within walking distance from home, a place that was familiar to me and as important, a joint where I was a familiar face to the owner and the waiters.

The place had/has(?) a unique charm, rare in Mumbai - an open to the sky frontage. With a scattering of tables, a small teeny-weeny handkerchief sized fish pond, and a cigarette shop adjacent. Almost always full, almost always noisy with friendly banter.

There I was, one evening, alone. At my "usual table", being attended by my "usual waiter" (all of whom are always called - by me - as Vijay) By now 'Vijay' does not need to ask me what I need. The whiskey, the soda, bottled water, ice, a cigarette packet with 3 cigarettes inside, all appear without any exchange of words. Eyes speak, say Thank you, and ask a silent question. The menu is shown, I point a finger, he nods, and he's off. Silence between us, comfortably efficient. This is GOOD. I light up the first of my three cigarettes, inhale deeply, look up to the stars and idly watch the smoke escape in a twin jet from my nostrils. The whiskey-soda-water tastes just right. Life, in balance, is just lovely.

The restaurant is filling up. It is almost 9:30 now. My table, meant for 4, has only me and three vacant chairs.

A man now stands, a bit diffident, at my table and gestures silently, seeking permission to sit across from me. I nod casually and he occupies the seat diagonally across. A sheepish smile that says "Thank you" and that's it. He looks around and beckons 'Vijay' who is busy at another table. A couple of minutes later, Vijay is here, taking orders from my co-customer. Strong beer, some snacks and he is ready.

For conversation.

Nods at me, in a friendly manner. I nod back, not as friendly, not actively seeking a chat with a stranger. But he's made of sterner stuff and plunges in. A few seconds are all, I now know his name, where he lives, where he works. A brief lull. Stretching slightly longer. He is looking at me. Expectantly.

I get it, after a while. I am expected to respond. I do. One word. My name. He is thirsty for more.

Where do I live, he wants - no, needs - to know. I am evasive. Nearby, I say. Clearly, not enough. I let it slide. Take a sip of my whiskey. He's curious about that too. "Whiskey?" he asks. I nod. "Which brand?" I tell him. He nods, soberly. "Mehenga hoga" he observes. I can neither confirm nor deny. He offers advice. Not that I was askIng, but still.. he suggests the name of another restaurant up the road. This brand that I'm drinking is, probably, a bit cheaper there. I am amused but wear a serious look as I nod. "Next time" I say.

Meanwhile, Vijay comes around again. I'm ok, need nothing more. The other guy fishes around his pockets, comes up with some cash and asks V to get some cigarettes. Vijay is back in less than a minute with bad news. The cigarette shop is shuts by now. The man looks disappointed. Meanwhile I've just lit up my second smoke.

He looks at me, furtively at first. I can actually see the words forming in his head, I can sense the momentum building up in his mind. Eyes meet. A half question, unformed, a half smile beginning, he points to my cigarette pack and asks, "May I?" in Marathi. I nudge the pack across, matching his half smile with mine. He smiles now, beaming wide, ear to ear, lights up and leans forward to promise, "I'm just borrowing this for today. Will return. By the way, what brand is this?" I tell him not to worry. He studies the stick and asks hesitantly, "Classic hai?" I nod, finish my glass, call for my bill, settle (a decent tip to my "Vijay") and leave. A friendly nod to my cigarette borrower. A goodnight nod. And I go home...

Once upon a time, we used to visit bars and restaurants... And I did, too. Several times after that incident. My usual place, my usual Vijay, my usual drink and snacks. The usual evenings, usual usuals...

Until one day. THAT man, from THAT evening. Once more, standing across "my table". I did not recognize him. He sat down. Smiled - confidently. Nodded at me - confidently.
Reached into his pocket. Leant across. Placed ONE Wills Classic before me. "Yehi hai naa? Aap ka brand? Sorry, bahut din ke baad aap ko dekha" 

Returned with Thanks. Returned with confidence. Honour, intact.