Boisterous

Boisterous! I looked at them, and thought.

I was trying to enjoy my small meal of mushroom soup, salad, baked potato and fried chicken as they had entered the restaurant. The captain had showed them a table that was close to where I sat. Eager to occupy the closest chair, as only little girls can do, they had sat with a sense of victory and looked around. Only, they were no little girls. They were definitely on the wrong side of fifty. All four of them. If they had seen me, and they could not have missed me, they had taken no notice of me. They had slung their coats and bags over the chairs with urgency, cracked some joke, and laughed. Midway, someone among them had passed a comment, resulting in eruption of bigger laughter. And, before this fresh wave of laughter could die down, another storm of laugher had risen from the aged throats. Shaking all over, they were controlling themselves with difficulty, wiping tears from their cheeks and continuing to laugh like mad.

I munched. Looked at the wall in front. And then my eyes drifted towards them. I could not be accused of staring. After all, the world appeared to have ceased to exist for them. Only four of them existed. No one else mattered.

Their laughter subsided, and they looked at the menu in amusement. It appeared to be full of jokes. They read the entries aloud, and laughed. I looked at them carefully. Perhaps they were from the working class. Most probably, they were janitors. Their black skin was dull. Their hands were rough. They wore little, and cheap, jewellery. Their clothes were nothing extraordinary.

They passed the menu around. Only the best appeared to be acceptable to them. And they wanted to be doubly sure before ordering. The captain entered the scene again, explaining each entry in detail, while the ladies giggled and playfully slapped each-other.

The first course arrived. Colourful liquid in tall glasses, with straws of unique shapes. Each lady had offered a different drink. They looked at the drink in front of them, looked at other drinks on the table, looked around, and put their lips eagerly to the straw. Happiness oozed out of them as they drew their first, rather long, sip. Their eyes became brighter. Another sip, and some exclamation. A third sip, and the burst of laughter hit the ceiling. The talk became more animated. The decibel level rose further.

It was time to order the next course. They consulted the menu. This time, more on the right side, where the rates were printed. The tone assumed proportions of conspiratorial whisper. They agreed and disagreed. Bags were opened, wallets were retrieved, and cash was carefully counted. Some quick calculation followed, and there was agreement again. The next course was ordered.

My dinner was over. And what a fantastic dinner it had turned out to be! I had never seen a happier bunch of grown ups. I smiled, casting a last look at them. They did not bother to look at me. They were happy eating, talking, and joking. It did not matter to these women if they had a moustache, if their shoes were not shining, or if they reeked of poverty. It was their day, and they were relishing it to the full.

Boisterous? Who cares?