Table at the Taj

It was like any other day, ordinary in every sense. The tapestries were tidied and the carpet was rolled to one side. The floor under the carpet was mopped clean. The carpet was then unfurled and vacuumed. The Silk cushions on the teak sofa set were brushed. A thin coat of varnish was applied on every visible piece of wooden furniture, even the slim legs of the piano were scrubbed till they sparkled. My cover was taken off and carefully folded. I knew, of course, that that would be sent for laundry and then dry cleaning. My covers were replaced every day. The surface beneath my cover, which was always out of sight, was wiped clean with a damp cloth. Then wiped again with a dry cloth. A new, freshly laundered crimson red table cover was fluttered open and thrown over my wooden body. It fit perfectly, it hung off my edges with womanly grace and completely covered my legs. Stems of freshly plucked jasmine flowers were dropped into a bluish white China vase and then placed at my centre. Origami styled bird shaped napkins were placed around the vase. Two chairs were slid into me. Altogether, it was an ordinary day, just like any other.

 

Mornings at the Taj were a silent affair, a breakfast buffet was spread across the entire dining room, stretching endlessly on both sides. A choice of breads, bread spreads, salamis, eggs: poached, scrambled, boiled, fried and whatever else could be done with eggs, was done and displayed. Teas of all kinds and flavours were available. Tea from the slopes of Darjeeling, tea from the Kenyan valley, tea from everywhere. Breakfast was attended by a limited few, well at least on weekdays, the crowd was minimal and most often I wouldn't get occupied. Not until dinner, at least.

 

On that day, the windows were thrown open at the usual hour by the maître-de, he always opened the windows when the clock chimed seven times. Usually, a beam of golden light would flood the entire dining room and light up every corner. Despite, his usual practice, that day, no golden floodlight entered the room. Instead, a strong gust of wind entered the room sending the chandeliers into a musical chant. The maître-de, ordered the electric lights on and the electric fans off. I noticed then, that the staff was wearing sweaters. It was a chilly day in November. It was a Wednesday to be precise, the crowd was negligible during breakfast, scattered during lunch and crowded during dinner. 

 

I was occupied by a couple that night. He was so tall that he couldn't stretch his legs to their entirety under me. She had worn the most beautiful black shoes I had ever seen. He kept shuffling his legs and twiddling his thumbs, he was nervous. She was at the edge of her seat, her well-shaped smooth legs were crossed.

 

I was party to their conversation that night, he had the tendency to say funny things that would send her into peals of laughter. I was hoping for some footsie, there was none. They spoke on varied topics, his ambition to float an IPO, now that his start-up had picked up steam, the success of her recent clothing line and her desire to start an accessory brand, their recent trip to Zanzibar and a how fat he was in college. They had known each other for a long time, from the looks of it, they had come a long way.

 

The wine had been served and the first course had been eaten. She hardly ate, perhaps that's how she fit into her blood red dress. They were in tandem with their choice of food and drinks. After the main course had been ordered, served and eaten. He reached out and wrapped his hands around her long feminine fingers. She leaned forward, I could feel her pulse against my wooden frame.

 

He said "We've known each other for seven years and have been dating since four years. But to be honest, I've been in love with you since the 1st of July 2001, when I first laid eyes on you. You are everything I have ever wanted in a friend, a girlfriend and now a wife. I want to be your husband. Will you marry me?"

 

Her heart thumped so vigorously against her chest, I was afraid it would tear through her flesh and land on me. It didn't, well at least, not then. She said yes and he planted a kiss on her hand and then put a ring on her slender finger. 

 

I've had business deals, betting contracts and breakups happen across my surface, this was the first proposal and I must admit, I enjoyed watching it happen. My wooden knees were weak with sentiment. Personally, I hate breakups because a lot of thumping happens on my supple surface. I mean, why should I bear the brunt of someone else's cruelty? I am more than willing to lend my table cover to the broken-hearted one though. 

 

Things took an ugly turn after dinner. The clock struck ten and suddenly there was a loud bang, followed by heavy footfalls, shouting, a gunshot and then chaos. They had left their chairs but were leaning against me, he held her close. She was scared, so was he. A shrill scream filled the room and the lights went off. People were being dragged, or shoved out by armed men. Anyone who resisted, was shot in the head. He pulled her forward, planted a kiss on her lips and then quickly shoved her under me. She resisted him, but was no match to his strength.

"Stay here" he said 

"No, I want to come with you" she argued.

He hushed her and allowed the table cloth to completely conceal her. She sat under me and huddled against my legs. She took off her beautiful shoes and began to sob. There was nothing much I could do except conceal her and I promise you that is exactly what I did. He was dragged out unceremoniously. He took one final look at me. Well actually, at her, his eyes pierced through my linen cloth.

 

She curled up and kept still, her ears deciphered every sound. Her heart drummed against her chest. A masked man wearing thick cargo pants with a haversack saddled to his back walked several times around me. He was armed with a rifle. She sat, motionless, perhaps she had sensed the man’s presence. He brushed past me, his rifle sent ripples across my crimson cover. Luckily the cloth was long and thick enough to conceal every trace of the woman hiding behind it. Also, my cover blended well with her dress. 

 

The armed man rushed out, his footfalls grew distant and then there was agonizing silence. The woman mumbled softly under her breath, she was praying perhaps. A very unwise thing to do out loud when in hiding. Tears lined her eyes, her cheeks were moist. She’d occasionally sniff and then run her hands across her nose. She could have used the table cover to wipe her moist cheeks and damp face. I wouldn’t mind. After a while, I heard several gunshots, she bore her fingernails into my legs. 

 

The sound of gunshots was followed by screaming and then the scent of something burning. She sniffed and broke into a fit of coughing. The room was covered in smoke. She lifted the cloth and peered out. The room was dense with smoke, nothing was visible. She made her way to the nearest window but retreated at the sound of firing. She fell back and crawled towards me. The doors of the dining room opened and the masked men re-entered. She scampered under me. 

The men may have heard her scream, because they began firing at random. Bullets pierced the wall clock, shattered the window panes and brought crockery down. A bullet pierced my cover's fabric and severely wounded her arm. She held her bleeding hand but didn't let out a scream. Her blood spilled across the Crimson cloth, over the carpet and her red dress. 

One of the masked men started checking under the tables, I was worried. Anytime now, our cover would be blown. Someone rushed into the room and tackled one of the armed men. I looked carefully, at the tall, lissom figure. He punched the masked man's face several times before he was dragged off by the armed man's armed accomplices. He threw his arms aiming blows at them, he kicked his feet in the air. One of the masked men slapped him and forced him on the ground. A bullet was fired into his head. He writhed for a moment and then lay still. 

 

She was motionless under me. Had she heard his voice? She was frozen solid. I couldn't even hear the hum of her breathing. There were several gun shots from outside the dining room. The masked men ran out. He, however, lay still. His blood was splattered across the floor, his handsome face was stiff and his eyes were devoid expression. 

 

She lifted the cloth and looked at his motionless body on the floor. She crawled towards him and ran her fingers against his torso. "Wake up" she begged. He stared back at her.

"Please say something" she said folding her hands and sobbing into his chest. 

 

She held him and wept. There was nothing I could do to comfort her. She lay there, clutching him, looking at his face. I hoped for her sake that he would say something, anything. He remained still and motionless. 

 

She remained there, for as long as I can remember. It may have been a day, a few days, I cannot say. Had she died? Or simply fainted? I did not know. She lay there, holding on to him. She wouldn't let him go that easily. Death had a tough fight ahead of him. 

 

She was eventually carried off by a man in a black uniform. He was armed and masked too, but he wouldn't harm her. I knew it, from the concern in his voice. He said "this one is still alive" 

 

Days turned to weeks and weeks to months, I saw no sign of her until three years later. She walked into the dining room and halted a few steps ahead of me. She gradually walked up to me and ran her fingers along my wooden frame. Her eyes lingered over the bare spot on the carpet where he once lay motionless. Her eyes glistened with moisture as she surveyed the room. She still had the ring on. After all this time? Perhaps always.

 

A waiter greeted her and asked her if she'd want a table besides the window. 

"No" said she 

"But it's a sea facing table" said he.

"I'll sit here, this table saved my life"

 

With that she caressed my cloth almost as if she knew that I recognized her.

 

I've had business deals, betting contracts, breakups and even a proposal happen across my surface. I've been a part of wedding banquets, ballroom dances and corporate dinners. I've had CEOs, sportsmen and politicians sit at me. I'll let you in on a secret, I've even had a deal happen across me that overturned a certain government. Hell, I was present when India received her independence. A radio was placed at my centre and the words "Long years ago, we made a tryst with destiny" echoed across the dining room. But this was the first time, someone showed me recognition. Now I understand why they say, acknowledgement is the best form of flattery. After serving as a piece of furniture for nearly 108 years at the Taj, I finally know, how it feels to be greeted like an old friend.