Tea on the rocks

A few days back, some friends and I decided to go for a ride in the country, out of the city, gas fumes and general stink, which we also contribute to. We visited a nearby quaint old village just outside of Guwahati, recently on a sunny afternoon. Around teatime we came across a little tea garden that attracted our attention by the size of the crowd that was gathering to enjoy light refreshments under the huge magnificent banyan trees.

But this was a restaurant with a difference. It was buffet style, but with no cashier in sight. You just put what you wanted on the tray and enjoyed it in the garden. On your way out you were expected to take a detour through the neighbouring gift shop, see the cashier there and declare to her what you had to drink or nibble.

The place's income depended entirely on the trust system.

I thought to myself that times being what they were the people running the place could no doubt get short changed. After all there is a reasonable possibility for some ravenous but perfectly honest individual to finish his food, take a few deep breaths of fresh country air and forget just how ravenous he actually was.

He or she might just miss that obscure detour to the gift shop while in this state of euphoria. Alternatively when asked by the good cashier, he might simply say, "Oh yeah, I did have some tea, I think."

But a strange thing happened. I noticed that the patrons bent over backwards to be honest. Actually they more than bent over backwards.

Firstly I observed a distinguished elderly gentleman who walked over to the cashier after consuming only a beverage. The cashier asked him what he had purchased and he declared a cup of tea. When asked if he had anything to eat, he said, “I’m not sure. But those pithas looked delicious. Why don't I pay you for a pitha too."

The gentleman paid for the phantom pitha and left appearing very content.

A couple of minutes later a young couple sauntered over to the cash. Neela and Mriganka as they apparently called one another, each had bought a cold drink and a pastry. I am certain that's all they bought because they had stood in line in front of us and they scooped up the last two fluffy home made pastries depriving me of the pleasure. And I remembered being annoyed at them for hoarding the pastries as I had a sweet tooth, or rather sweet teeth to be more honest.

They too were suddenly hit by an overdose of honesty. Without even being asked by the cashier, Mriganka said, "We had two cold drinks and four pastries. The pastries were superb, out of this world."

Like I said the guy was an obvious glutton.

The cashier rang up the tab for four pastries which no doubt included the two I would have bought had they been in existence. I thought to myself that on the other hand at least this guy was treating. A gentleman indeed.

As they left, the man said to me, "Have you tried the pastries?"

I noticed that the honour system was working overtime as by now massive and inexplicable integrity was becoming contagious, affecting even non-customers.

One man came right off the street, walked over to the gift shop, selected a couple of post cards and paid for them. As he was about to leave I said to him, "The tea here is excellent."

"Really?" He remarked. With that comment he took a tenner out of his pocket and handed it to the cashier. "That's for the great tea," he said.

Our turn to pay came up. I did not know what had overcome the other patrons but I was determined to just pay for what we had ordered and to make our escape. After all we hadn't eaten any magic lotus seeds, which might bring on a sudden surge of generosity.

The cashier, an old yet spry lady, gave us a radiant smile. Her face was saying something like, "This place is run by an orphanage. It is here for your benefit so that you can enjoy a refreshing respite in the country. Be our guest. Payment for the refreshments is secondary really."

I told her we had had two teas. But suddenly I was overwhelmed with a sudden burst of guilt. I said, "I'm really sorry that's all I had. I would have had the pastries but Mriganka ate them all.
She nodded understandably.

I added, "I will however buy that five foot Japi from your gift shop. And give me a dozen bamboo decorations as well. You pick them. Is that alright?"

She indicated that it wasn't really necessary but that my patronage was appreciated.

After we left I had a thought. As we are all probably honest at heart, wouldn't it be interesting if the spirit of that tea garden would infect all witnesses taking the stand in our courtrooms? It would certainly make the job of lawyers easier. We'd never have to cross-examine. The presiding judge would always comment, "I find that both sides were credible."

Pastry anyone?

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