...And The Promises That I Make

But through it all, one foolishly offered invitation has continued to cast a shadow in the happy life of the Singhs. Having lavished high praise on the Dum Pukht restaurant at the Maurya Sheraton, and been told by my hosts of the evening that such high cholesterol eateries were damaging to the health of their dangerously depleted bank balance, I said, rather foolishly, that I would be honoured to extend them an invitation to dine there with us.

The morning brought its hangover and no memory of the invitation. My hosts complained of hangovers too, but their memory, it seems, was none the worse for it. So when was it to be, they asked. I parried for time, but since then, they have never failed to remind me of the grievous omission.

The Dum Pukht is indeed a wonderful restaurant, and I have had the pleasure of dining there often, on company account or on the invitation of others. But to pay for it personally, to pay, in fact, for two other people, and their drinks, when it can by no means be considered an affordable restaurant, is something I have not been able to brave yet.

Our friends complained to my wife, and she said should she get the job she was then applying for, she would do the honours (this, with a withering look directed at me). She got the job, and that was a year ago. She is still trying to reconcile herself to the high cost of dining there with a stupidly reiterated promise.

We have discussed this between ourselves. Ill ask for a discount, she said, and of course we know the management, and can take the liberty of doing that, but even with fifty per cent off, it will set us back by more money than it costs to put two kids through three months of school.

Fortunately, at the hotels annual wine and cheese bash, we bumped into Imtiaz Qureshi, the restaurants celebrated chef, who circulated through the diners with a glass of Beaujolais firmly in hand. He welcomed us like long lost friends, admonishing us for not visiting him at the Dum Pukht. After all, he said, his arms taking in the scene around us, Lukhnavi food is like French food, and didnt we agree, and we should come as his guests and find out for ourselves.

Yes, of course, we chorused, but French food is never enjoyed in isolation, is it? Company is so essential to it, didnt he agree? When I am there, he said, was there need for other company? No indeed, we said, crestfallen because our plan had fallen through, but cheered nonetheless that we would dine in splendour on some future occasion.

Meanwhile, our friends have decided to take things in their own hand. Having called Dum Pukht, they have reserved a table for four for dinner tonight. The bill, they have informed us, will be paid by yours truly.

I am left with two choices now: to pass the hat around at the end of the meal, or to renege on the credit card payment. Perhaps I could actually pay, but do you know anyone who will be interested in buying an old computer, cash down, before the day is out?