Trying to catch the waiter’s eye once you enter. Hoping to get seated.
Sharing a table with strangers. Taking inspiration from their plates on what to eat.
Where menus are short and scrawled on the wall.
With chhotu taking the order. Or chacha.
Sada or soda. Not still or sparkling.
Battered stainless steel plates placed firmly on the table. Faded melamine.
No chefs in the kitchen. Just ustaads.
Where your smile matters more than your Instagram count when you want a choice cut of meat. Or an extra bowl of sambar.
Where the food overflows out of the serving vessels. White space be damned.
Where only the food talks once you are served.
With empty plates and a satiated belly at the end saying much more than any star rating ever can.
