<p>Whenever out of town, my priority is to meet relatives and friends there, and interact with local people, something my wife doesn’t relish in equal measure. For the compromise she makes, I accompany her to a couple of tourist spots though not full-heartedly. Recently, our visit to Lucknow meant spending some time with the once very close maternal uncle, now ageing and ailing. It could be the last time we would be able to see him.</p>.<p>Next evening, we left our two kids behind with my brother’s family. “Will you not wait for dinner?” asked the brother’s wife. Not to tax the working couple, I told her that the affectionate will not let us go without meals.</p>.<p>By the time we reached uncle’s home, it was dark. The octogenarian uncle was dependent on his son and his wife. Despite his faltering tongue and diminished hearing, we shared many sweet memories. It was almost dinner time but the table was being adorned with delicacies in array – dhokla, pakodas of various descriptions and sweets. Reading between the plates, I whispered to my wife, “forget the dinner now.” </p>.<p>As we were preparing to leave, uncle and aunty insisted that we bring both the children on our next visit for dinner, after informing them on the phone. The advice came as a jerk-- my sole uncle had displayed uncharacteristic formality. At this moment, offering us just plain daal and an order to come with children anytime would have gratified us far more. Their wording dampened our desire for a revisit. </p>.<p>On the way back, the few dhabas from Shahbad railway colony to Vikas Nagar were closed due to a wintry fog. There were no autorickshaws either, so we decided to traverse the three km distance afoot, not a burden in those green days. As we lost all hope for meals, and purchased packets of noodles as an alternative, a roadside dhaba without signboard beckoned to us. On query, the manager-cum-waiter with humane demeanour scratched the cooking pan and affirmed that he would manage two plates.</p>.<p>Before receiving the payment, he asked with folded hands, “It wouldn’t be as delicious as one at home for sure, yet did it serve the purpose?” We thanked him as much for the nice food we had. With our bellies full, we now felt sorry for charging the poor uncle and aunt of depriving us of dinner. They might be helpless due to their age and living situation. We felt triumphant that the grudge against uncle did not hold us long.</p>
<p>Whenever out of town, my priority is to meet relatives and friends there, and interact with local people, something my wife doesn’t relish in equal measure. For the compromise she makes, I accompany her to a couple of tourist spots though not full-heartedly. Recently, our visit to Lucknow meant spending some time with the once very close maternal uncle, now ageing and ailing. It could be the last time we would be able to see him.</p>.<p>Next evening, we left our two kids behind with my brother’s family. “Will you not wait for dinner?” asked the brother’s wife. Not to tax the working couple, I told her that the affectionate will not let us go without meals.</p>.<p>By the time we reached uncle’s home, it was dark. The octogenarian uncle was dependent on his son and his wife. Despite his faltering tongue and diminished hearing, we shared many sweet memories. It was almost dinner time but the table was being adorned with delicacies in array – dhokla, pakodas of various descriptions and sweets. Reading between the plates, I whispered to my wife, “forget the dinner now.” </p>.<p>As we were preparing to leave, uncle and aunty insisted that we bring both the children on our next visit for dinner, after informing them on the phone. The advice came as a jerk-- my sole uncle had displayed uncharacteristic formality. At this moment, offering us just plain daal and an order to come with children anytime would have gratified us far more. Their wording dampened our desire for a revisit. </p>.<p>On the way back, the few dhabas from Shahbad railway colony to Vikas Nagar were closed due to a wintry fog. There were no autorickshaws either, so we decided to traverse the three km distance afoot, not a burden in those green days. As we lost all hope for meals, and purchased packets of noodles as an alternative, a roadside dhaba without signboard beckoned to us. On query, the manager-cum-waiter with humane demeanour scratched the cooking pan and affirmed that he would manage two plates.</p>.<p>Before receiving the payment, he asked with folded hands, “It wouldn’t be as delicious as one at home for sure, yet did it serve the purpose?” We thanked him as much for the nice food we had. With our bellies full, we now felt sorry for charging the poor uncle and aunt of depriving us of dinner. They might be helpless due to their age and living situation. We felt triumphant that the grudge against uncle did not hold us long.</p>