Karthikan's law

Our quest for variety as well as to escape from the dreary and monotonous food served at the staff canteen took us regularly to a nondescript place under a tree, a few miles outside the college where we taught. It was a nothing place; the roof, a piece of canvass slung from the branches of the tree; the furniture, a few tables and benches made from discarded timber. It was a place that was made by the people who came to eat there. Once they left, there was nothing there.

We went there mainly for the fried chicken. The rest of what was served was ordinary. Karthikan, the owner was no great cook as far as his rice, vegetables and curries were concerned, but he knew something about frying chicken. From his great kwali of boiling oil came some of the finest bits of fried chicken laced with hot spices and yet juicy to the core. After the first few visits, we realized that we had to be early to get our hands on Karthik’s chicken, otherwise the factory workers who were his main customers would have devoured the lot by the time we got there. So it became a practice for us to get there early on certain days when we wanted to flee the college and its miseries, to put a bid for Karthikan’s entire stock of fried chicken for the day. On those days there will be no chicken for the others; the college guys ate the lot.

This went on for some weeks. We going there whenever we felt like it and buying up all the chicken that was fried that day.

Then one day, when it again caught our fancy to eat at Karthikan’s, we reached there to be encountered by a totally unenthusiastic welcome from Karthikan and his two helpers. We ordered the chicken – all of it as usual, but one of the helpers told that we could have only one piece a person. Karth’s orders, they said. We looked at each other to see if we heard it right. Then one of us said,

‘Oi Karthi we will pay for the chicken, man! What’s your problem?’

Karthikan, who was behind the stove stirring the chicken pieces on the stove, left his place and came to us, in his right hand the slotted ladle he that he used to rescue the pieces fried of chicken from the oil before they got overcooked. With a steady voice and holding his gaze on us, he said,

‘You guys, you come here when you like. And when you do, you use your money to buy up all my chicken. When my other customers ask for chicken, I have to say that I don’t have any. The college guys bought them all! Well, I can’t do that anymore. I must look after all my customers. If you want my chicken, you can have one piece per person, but no more. If you can’t agree to that, please don’t come here anymore.’ With that, he turned around and went back to stirring the pieces of chicken that were floating in his large kwali.

Of course, we all left immediately, got into our cars and drove away; we had to save our dignity.

We went back after some weeks. Karthikan greeted us as he always had. We ordered our chicken Karthikan served each of us a nice juicy piece. It was like nothing had changed.