I asked, without any preamble whatsoever, which part of India she was from. 

Our acquaintance wasn’t 30 seconds old when I asked, either.

And she answered, without any preamble whatsoever, that she was from New Delhi.

I told her in rapidspeak, while firing off a couple questions about the menu to her son, that we had flown into New Delhi and then on to Bagdogra.  I saw a bit of a blank in her eyes, so I amended it to Siliguri, and the blank was quickly filled in. 

“Did you like India?” a question I find common in those whose country I have visited.

“Absolutely.” I said,  “That’s why I’m here today, to go back just a bit by eating your food.”

I had to move, because other customers were joining the line behind me, so I made my way over to the buffet line and loaded my plate with butter naan, chicken tikka masala, and aloo chili. 

I happened to look up a bit later, when my plate was about half done, to see that she had left the till and was seated, directly across the room from me in a booth.  She sat sideways in the booth, so she faced me front on, back straight, hands folded in her lap, and watched me eat my food.  Nor did she move when I went to get a second plate and looked right at her.

For some reason, her two sons kept stopping at my booth and courteously asking if I needed anything and then took my plates away as I used them.  I noticed they waited for all the other customers to finish their meal before taking their plates away.

“This is so good,” I quietly told one of them.

His eyes shone.

She watched my whole meal, and when I got up to pay, she got up to check me out, even though she hadn’t the previous customers.

“Did you like your food?” she asked.

“Yes, it was everything I remembered,” I told her.  “I have been looking for the aloo chili ever since I came back and finally found it here.”

She smiled in a quiet, satisfied way. 

She told me she had moved to the states in ’76 but goes back often to her homeland, the latest being just before the pandemic. 

“I want to go again as soon as I can.”

Her two sons flanked her as we spoke quickly, because the line was building up behind us again.

I thanked her for the meal and her sons for their service and left.

But a part of me wishes I could go back, and eat again, without silverware and just with my fingers, of her delicious food.

Because I think eating her food with my fingers gave me away to her.