On one fine Sunday afternoon, a group of businesspeople came to our house. It was a family business. The entourage included Father, Son and the Director of the company. Along with them was a long time resident of Jakarta, a person of Indian origin.
As is usual, from the kitchen flowed mugs of chai accompanied by samosas and chicken kebabs. The kebabs of India House look like round cutlets. This significance of this detail becomes more clear as the story progresses.
Sensing, and perhaps knowing, that my guests were pure vegetarian, I invited them to have the chai and offered them the samosas. I served a samosa on the plate of the Father, an elderly avuncular gentleman. In the meanwhile, I asked my fellow Jakartan to help himself to the chicken kebab, knowing fully well that he was non-vegetarian. In the midst of my gesturing towards the chicken kebab’s I spied from the corner of my eye that the Director had already helped himself to a piece and was enjoying it wrapped up in a piece of tissue. Panicked, I didn’t dare say a word, lest he get embarrassed.
By this time, the Son had finished his tea. I quickly offered him samosas as well however I noticed him eying the chicken kebabs with visible interest. He asked me what they are but before I could answer, my Jakartan friend replied saying that they are not meant for him, and that he should eat the samosas instead. Hearing this, the Director gave a crestfallen look at the Jakartan and and came to the unhappy conclusion that that he should not be eating it either. Dejected, the Director placed the half eaten chicken kebab back on his plate. I immediately offered him a samosa with chutney to assuage his feelings.
Nonetheless, the Son wasn’t content with the samosa and gave a menacingly hungry looks towards the chicken kebabs. The Jakartan and I hurriedly tried to dissuade him, but before we can physically stop him, he retrieved and bit into one and loudly exclaimed that they are in fact vegetarian. And delicious! Both the Jakartan and I found ourselves too weak to protest or counter him. The Son then picked up one more chicken kebab for himself and as if that was not enought, he piled one on to his Father's plate. If there existed a human embodiment of vegetarianism, it was the Father. The Jakartan and I, looked on with horror, as the Son and Father both dug into their kebabs and demolished them.
Meanwhile, seeing both the bosses enjoying the chicken kebabs, the Director, didn't want to be left behind, and with a sparkle in his eyes and sheepish smile on his lips, he picked up the half eaten chicken kebab and devoured it with relish.
After they had left, both my fellow Jakartan and I were awash with guilt. It is not that we had not tried to dissuade them from eating, but the Son had acquired agency and declared the chicken kebabs to be vegetarian. As hosts, what could we have done, while also trying to prevent embarrassment?
Hoping to unburden ourselves, we narrated to the Wife what had happened. Being a vegetarian herself, she was aghast and almost accused us of blasphemy. Amidst peals of laughter, we explained that we had tried to tell the three of them not to eat the kebab, but they had been adamant. Then, the Wife's anger turned to despair. She wondered what kind of chicken kebabs was she was serving which did not even taste like chicken kebabs. Something must be wrong with them. Having already erred in her eyes, we didn't dare to invite her wrath by agreeing with her. My fellow Jakartan came to our rescue. He suggested that the guests were such staunch vegetarians that they had never tasted chicken in their lives, so how on earth would they know that the kebabs were made of chicken or they were vegetarian.
