Having clumsily dropped the unwrapped plastic straw, he turned around, and stepped back to the welcome desk, to retrieve a replacement. All fairly unremarkable, until grimacing, he heartily kicked the first straw under the desk from which it had been removed.
Of modest height, the typically skinny north Indian 20 something, hair brushed to his left from a strongly offset part, cowlicked in the same manner my host’s son’s relationships were teasing him about last night, must consider himself too high in the social hierarchy to pick up what he dropped.
Another thought breaks into my consciousness. Maybe he was keeping his hands clean. But no, he returns a few minutes later, this time taking a paper napkin from the same piece of movable furniture, before turning in the same careless manner, but this time keeping a grasp on his target.
Sipping my ginger, lemon honey brew, I observe as he follows his supervisor back into the dining room, while they trade familiar chat.
Technology, in this case anyway, is grand. You are bringing us with you on the other side of the planet. Amazing.
No matter where you go, there you are. The scenery changes but people are much the same?!