The Orange Café - A very Lankan Affair

           I was not supposed to be here. I was not supposed to see him. When my parents first found out about Rukshan, they didn’t tell me. They didn’t ask a word about the boy I’ve been seeing for the past 5 months and 20 days. Later, our home was chaos. Father blamed it on Mother’s lack of parenting competency and Mother blamed Father, for being over-protective. My father was never too over protective. If you meet Nishanthi’s parents, you would know what I mean. Her father wouldn’t let her go even for a group tuition class. She had teachers coming to her house to help her with the second round of Advanced Levels. She was never allowed to come on class trips, nor was she allowed to go to parties. Nishanthi didn’t own a skirt shorter than her knee and she wasn’t allowed to be seen in skimpy tops even if the temperature outside was well over humid thirty-two degrees. I was not overprotected like that. In fact, that is why I’m sitting here, in a middle-class café, waiting for my lover of almost half dozen months.

It was eleven in the morning. I had to be in my accounting tuition class by twelve thirty. It was hot, even with the massive rotating fan which was fixed to the wall. The wallpaper of the café was orange; someone with very bad sense of colour had placed vases filled with hot pink roses on each table. On the side of the small area was a beat-up staircase that led to the top floor. It had a sign with an arrow pointing upwards on it saying ‘Lunch Only’. On to my right was a glass shelf full of various short eats. They looked fairy fresh. Even if the fish-buns were stuffed with half-boiled potatoes (and no fish at all), I would have eaten one. I was hungry. Rukshan never gets late. It was 11.03 already. He was three minutes late. 

        Rukshan and I met at a friend’s birthday party. It was Kasuni’s 18^th party and she had a splendid celebration at her grandmother’s massive garden. It was one of the few parties I’ve been to. I didn’t get invited to many. Rukshan was with some guys, most of them were known to me from this tuition class and that. But, I had never seen Rukshan before; I would have remembered him if I had. He wasn’t exceptionally handsome that night, with his spiked hair and dark clothes, but there was some charisma about his personality which struck me. He was standing at the center of the group of boys (well over half a foot taller than most of them) and when he spoke, they all stopped to listen. When he looked at me that night, for the first time, I could feel my eyes darting away towards my feet. I blushed. After that moment, I couldn’t pay attention to what my friends were chatting about around the dinner buffet or hear the music on the dance floor. My eyes would search for him moment after moment. That night I was a lovesick fool. But, sitting here, after nearly six months of getting to know Rukshan, my affection for him has grown beyond a moment’s infatuation. I am in love with my head. Rukshan is my first boyfriend, and I knew he was definitely the last. At that thought I smiled. I checked the time on the wall clock on the orange wall again. 11.07. Four more minutes had passed. I was getting anxious. 

       After the night at Kasuni’s party, I asked around about Rukshan. It was a fortune that I had managed to overhear his name at the party. He was twenty three back then. Definitely not one of the boys from my world! He would be twenty five this August on the day of my first advanced level paper. I looked around the place, while fiddling with my silver chain. He got it for me for new years. It had a heart shaped pendant on it and fit around my neck almost perfectly. I was getting rather hot. “Excuse me, can I have something cool to drink?” I asked the man who brushed passed me. He looked down at me in an odd way. “Miss, I am not a waiter” he said without smiling and continued to go wherever he was going. Embarrassed, I blushed. I decided it was best I kept quite until Rukshan came. I looked at the pastries next to the fish buns. I would never eat a pastry when I was out in public. You get the pastry crumbs all over you and you’d never know if you’ve got them on your face or not. Such a mess!

A week and a day after Kasuni’s party, Jehan passed a note to me during a Business Studies class. My heart skipped a beat when the girl next to me handed it over and said it was from Jehan. He wasn’t bad looking and he had a reputation for being smart. In our class, the boys sat on the left side and the girls on the right. They didn’t sit together even if they were brother and sister. I took the note from Jehan and looked up at the teacher. He was explaining something with his back to us. Christine who was sitting next to me nudged my thigh and whispered ‘What?’ With the folded note still in my sweaty palms, I looked at Jehan, he was looking straight ahead at the teacher, with a very serious expression on his face. He was handsome. I didn’t consider myself a pretty girl. I had a shapely body, my friends would say. Ruskhan has mentioned the slenderness of my limbs and the graceful height I inherited more than once. But I felt too lanky. I wish I had rounder breasts and larger hips. A friend once mentioned that boys liked curves, but not fat. I am not anywhere near fat or anywhere near curvy. But flipping through foreign beauty magazines, I’ve realized that my body could fit in well with those girls; except, my face would have to be blotted out. My skin is a golden tan – the only physical feature I’ve inherited from my father. My eyes are small and close-set with short eyelashes and drooping eyelids. I hated them. My nose is small and asymmetric and I have large maroon lips I feel are too close to my nose. My hair is a jet black mass of waves, which I usually tie in a knot at the base of my slender neck. 

          Another five minutes passed. Three boys entered the café, all of them dressed in skinny jeans and brightly colored t-shirts. They had their hair stuck down with too much oil. One of them looked at me, but turned to the shelf of food. “Three plain teas, brother” one shouted to the waiter who was now behind the counter. “No no, two plain and one Nescafe ok?” the second changed the order. “Anything to eat brother?” the young waiter asked the three boys. “Wade? Six Wade with Sambol is good” (Wade is a deep fried patty made of flour and dhal ground together and Sambol is a rather popular food here, made of scraped coconuts mixed with plenty of onions, slat and chilies). The boys sat around the table next to mine. They were chatting about Sangakkara stepping down from his captaincy and this and that about cricket. They seemed to be keen fans and maybe players themselves. After a moment, their Wade arrived, hot and aromatic. I grew hungrier. It was 11.28 now. 

                It took me a lot of bravery to open the note Jehan had passed. I was half excited and half anxious that it might be a cruel joke played on me by someone. A distant cousin once drew an elongated, distorted me, with ‘You are a Pabaya’ (scarecrow) scrolled at the bottom and gave it to me saying it was a picture of me. I opened the note to find a couple of short sentences written in untidy handwriting. It said “I would like to know you better. Please call me if you can – 07*******. Rukshan from Kasuni’s party J”. I folded the paper almost immediately. My heart beat faster and I felt suffocated. The class was over packed anyway. There was barely enough space on the bench even for my bony buttocks. I sat through the rest of the lesson uneasily, looking at the massive clock that was above the blackboard in front of me. It was five minutes slower, so every time I checked the time, I had to add five to it. I didn’t own a phone. My parents thought it was unnecessary. I didn’t stay out late anyway. Apart from school and then one extra class on Monday evenings, and my Accounting class Saturday afternoon, I was always with my parents. I would spend my days studying or watching TV. If my older brother was at home, I would have a chat with him. He studies in Paradeniya University and comes home only once a month or less. Sometimes I’d help Mother in the kitchen.

                      I felt uneasy now. It was nearing midday and seemed like Rukshan was not coming. This was the first time this has happened and I felt confused. I sat at the table half surprised that no one had questioned my presence for nearly an hour in the café and half scared. I remembered all the accidents I’ve heard about on TV and the even more terrible stories of people getting kidnapped. But I didn’t have a choice. So grabbing my linen book bag, I headed to the exit of the café. The waiter looked pityingly at me. “He didn’t come? You didn’t eat anything also sister”. I smiled with no enthusiasm and asked him to pack a pastry for me. Then I asked him for another pastry. “Give me two of those and a milk packet. Oh, I want an egg cutlet also please”. “115 rupees” he said. I pulled out all the cash I had in my wallet and gave him two hundred rupee notes. I realized I had only hundred more. “Five rupees miss?”. “No”. “No change?”. “No”. “Ok, I took 110. ok?”. “Thank you”. I put my food and drink in my bag and started heading towards my tuition class. That afternoon, I sat through an accounting class with no numbers in my mind. I didn’t even bother to take notes. I was there because I had to be. My father was coming to take me home. I wished in my mind, I could go back to the orange café. Maybe Rukshan would have come anyway. Maybe he got late. His mother may have gotten sick or he maybe sick. 

                    I remembered the first time he kissed me. It was on my right cheek. We were at some small restaurant too well-set for its cheap food. It had beautiful paintings on its clay walls and a small recorder played piano music. We had started talking about our future when the expression on Rukshan’s face changed into something I couldn’t read. He looked around quickly and pecked me on my cheek. “I love you” he said and I believed him. I blushed. “I’d run away with you if I could”. I smiled. Two days later I missed my Monday class to go to the afternoon movies with him. I changed into jeans and a t-shirt from my school dress. The movie was some English action film. It wasn’t good. It didn’t matter because in the darkness of the corner of the theater, he kissed my lips. The man on the screen was talking to his General about devising a killer plan. He pressed his lips against mine with force. I had mine closed and my eyes wide open. I wasn’t sure what to do. He put his arm around me and told me again, for the second time in less than a week that he loved me and I believed him. 

             I got three simple passes for my advanced level exam. I failed in English. I wasn’t that good at my writing and we never had qualified teachers for English. I ran out of time for the essay which carried a good chunk of my mark. I didn’t get entered to the university. “Told you not to get distracted with unnecessary things” Mother whined. “In vain I spent all that hard earned money on you. Should have saved for your sister. She will be a doctor for sure” Father blamed. My brother just said I wasn’t smart enough. I wasn’t like him. I decided to do my advanced level exam again. I enrolled at all the classes and promised my parents I would try harder. There was no other option for me anyway. So it was with great determination and courage I went to my new accounting class. There, after six months, I met Jehan. I was surprised that he hadn’t got through to the university either. He was sitting on the front row in the class and as I walked passed he stopped me. “I’m sorry” he said. I stared at him. “I lied. Rukshan was a cheater he didn’t love you.”I continued looking at him. He looked edgy. I didn’t find him attractive anymore. He had become fat and dark. His hair was like those other boys’ – glued to the skull. “He cheated on you with another girl”. He mumbled. “I know”. Standing there at the front of the class like a scarecrow, I remembered all the times he held my hand and made plans for the future. “He was lying” Jehan mumbled again. The moments with him, they were sweet. I never cried during the months after the day in the orange café, though I missed him and wondered what had gone wrong. I hoped at night that he was safe. I didn’t cry. It was as though I couldn’t. But standing there, where all could see me because of my slender height, listening to Jehan’s mumbles which had become senseless now, somehow I felt that I knew. I turned away and walked out of the class room. The evening sun was hot against my sweaty skin. I brushed the loose strands of entangled hair off my face. I walked with no awareness of the direction I was headed until I reached a small board which said “Breakfast and Lunch. Tasty Food”. I knew I was where I was meant to be. I stepped onto the café with gaudy orange walls and sat by the bright pink roses. Maybe he’d come today and I could ask him why.