Dinner Chats at Coconut Lagoon

I ate a sumptuous lunch. I strolled lazily across the fields facing the huge Vembanad Lake. I sat contented on the swing, gently swaying with the breeze. Next to me, the near-extinct Vechoor cows that Coconut Lagoon had ‘’adopted’’ grazed contentedly….

A big carbo-laden breakfast and a big carbo-laden lunch. I could not think of dinner at night. I was contented to just sit in the garden, facing the restaurant, people watching.

A waiter came along and I ordered a lassi. How about dinner, he enquired. I am simply too full and could not eat a morsel, let alone your buffet, I told him.

He came back with the lassi and offered a sandwich instead. I hesitated and thought, oh well, why not, just a small bite.

The plate that arrived was anything but small – it had four pieces, some fries and a salad. I managed to nibble on one piece, slowly.

The supervisor came to enquire, ‘’m’am, are you OK, you are not eating?’’ No, I am simply too full for any more food, I told him.

The staff must have been trained to chat with guests to make them feel welcome. The usual questions – how’s your stay here, where are you from, what is your name…This particular waiter must have felt obliged to keep me company in the garden, for he asked many questions, like how many countries have I visited, do I prefer Malaysia or Singapore, is Singapore a nice village….

Suddenly he asked, ‘’parlez vous francais?’’ Do I look like I can speak French? Why did he ask? Has he run out of topics to ask? I said, ‘’oui’’ and he looked delighted.

I suspected he was just keen to practise his French on someone. He took up ‘’conversational French’’, to help him converse with guests, he explained, and hurried off to attend to other guests who had just ambled in for dinner.

He came back, and asked: how do you say ‘’have you eaten breakfast’’ in French? Then he left me, after I had given him the translation.

He came back again, and asked: how do you say, ‘’have you been to France?’’ Again, I gave him the translation and he left.

Then he came back, and asked:

Waiter: Kan partay vous a Singapore?
Me: Huh? What do you mean?
Waiter: When do you leave for Singapore? Is my pronunciation OK?
Is it “kan?’’
Me: Oh! It’s ‘’quand’’.
Waiter: Kan
Me: Quand
Waiter: OK. So, kan partay vous…
Me: Samedi
Waiter: (blank stare)
Me: Saturday
Waiter (sheepish smile): Oh I see, ze par peu de francais….Which
part of the village do you live in Singapore?
Me: A l’ouest. Et ou habites-tu?
Waiter: Ze aybit 80 km d’ici

And he gave a foreign sounding, almost French, name: Quilon. I thought he was pulling my leg or frenchi-fying his village name. Much later, I checked a guidebook and realised its modern name is Kollam (or Koilum as Marco Polo knew it).