An Excerpt from my upcoming Book

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He looked through the glass door of the restaurant. From the booth that he was seated in, for the past ten minutes now, the traffic signal outside the restaurant could be seen. Every time the signal went red and hordes of pedestrians made their way across the road, some away from the restaurant and some towards it, his heart began pumping faster, his heartbeat rising like a crescendo on an exponential curve until it reached Mt. Everest and then fell as though gravitational force had suddenly betrayed Newton. Somehow, the traffic signal always seemed to turn green when he was on the verge of a cardiac arrest.

At the moment, the traffic signal was green. His cardiac system functioned normally.

Pouring some water into a glass, he took a sip. For the hundredth time, his sight grazed the small paper menus, the blue and white salt-pepper shakers, the overhead hanging bulb holder and the navy blue fabric covering the seats of the booth.

He glanced at his watch – there was still half an hour to go before his guests arrived. But he did not mind waiting, not in the least. In fact, he had arrived at the restaurant a little earlier so that his sudden urges to leap from his seat and flee from the restaurant could be suppressed with a couple of coffee shots. In his mind, he knew it was lame. But he was helpless. He simply couldn’t allow his nervousness to show during the meeting or everything would be over. With that damned thought, his jitters resurfaced. This meeting had not been a part of his original plan; but then, a lot of things hadn’t.

Suddenly, without warning it seemed, the traffic signal went red. Vehicles halted at the junction and a swarm of people glided like a wave from one shore to another. As lightening precedes thunder, the sight of a woman approaching the restaurant preceded the jangling sound of the metal bordered glass door as she pushed it open. He looked on as the middle-aged woman dressed in a designer sari entered the restaurant and approached the adjacent booth. As she placed her chic purse on the table and rested her mass on the seat, he estimated the weight of the gold ornaments adorning her deadpan face, her delicate neck and her shapely hands.

Once again, the jangling sound of the glass door drew his attention. He watched breathlessly as a couple of men wearing dark sunglasses entered the restaurant - one of them, young and the other, as old as the country’s independence. His heart leapt to his mouth as the men headed towards his booth. They were early. He was not prepared. His coffee wasn’t even here yet. This was the end. Maybe he could flee through the fire exit. Maybe he could hide in the washroom. Maybe he could hide under the table.

And then, just like that, they walked past his booth to join two women, probably their wives, at another booth.

‘Damn!’ thought Ranbir, ‘These fucking false alarms!’ He wiped the sweat beads from his forehead, eased in his seat, cursed the overhead cooling and yelled at the waiter to bring his double espresso immediately.

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