Juice Wala

The first weekend in Bangalore was a nightmare. For one thing, I woke up at 2pm on Saturday and for second the next day turned out to be even more boring. After a late lunch I wanted to drink some juice – just for the horror of it. I got into the first shop I saw. A small kid was the … well, um … the shop keeper.

I asked him. “konsa juice hein?”

The boy replied, “Sab kuch hein saab. Aapko kya chahiye?”

Oh boy! He got me there. I am highly uncomfortable when presented with more options than I can handle. I looked helpless around the neatly arranged pile of fruits. I picked the one that was kept close to me. “Thik hein. Pine apple de dena.”

“Ok Saab”.

I watched him slowly calculating everything in his mind and executing them in a slow decided manner. But when I saw the jar full of stuff I wondered whether he also wanted a glass.
And I was right. There was almost a glass and a half. And he made me drink all of it.

While I was sipping down the thick juice, I asked him, “Kal ka IPL match dekha? Kon jeeta?”

“Wo nayi team hei na … kya he … hain! Kerala, woh jeetey. Tendulkar ka century gatar mein!”

“Really? Mein kerala se hoon”

“Aap kerala se ho? Aap bahut gore ho!”

“Kyun? Kerala ka log gore nahi ho sakte kya?,” I asked him.

“Eisa nahi hein. Mere uncle ka wife hei na, wo kerala se hein. Bahut kaali hein. Uncle hamesha uski mazaak udatha hein. Boltha hein agar bijali chali gayi toh uski khali daanth aur ankh dikhthi hein!”

I smiled and left paying the money thinking about the poor woman who made all the Keralites blacks!

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