Tender Coconuts.
It was probably a stupid idea to go for lunch with a stranger in a faraway kingdom, but it was totally worth it!
2:00 pm. Hippie Island, Hampi, South India (My first solo trip)
I was headed to a cafe down the street for breakfast, a small bag slung over my shoulder, a book in hand, and a cap perched atop my head.
“Madam, would you care for some coconut water?” I heard him call out. Turning to the right, I saw him standing by his stall. Clad in ripped jeans, a faded orange t-shirt, and slippers, he was busy serving customers. He looked quite young — around 18, I estimated.”
“Actually yes, I don’t mind some!”, I claimed, grabbing a chair. After all, the heat was scorching.
“How old are you?” I asked, watching him skillfully slice open coconuts for water.
“17, madam,” he mumbled, skillfully peeling the coconut with his large knife. His dark skin glowed under the harsh sunlight.
“Do you go to school?” I inquired further.
“Not currently, madam. Perhaps starting next month,” he replied.
I was struck by his eloquent English. As the last customer drifted away, we were left alone.
“Why? What’s special about next month?” I asked, puzzled. He handed me a large coconut with a straw. His nails, untrimmed for over a month, caught my eye as he spoke.
“Madam, the tourist season starts next month,” he said, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. “I’ll earn enough to cover my school fees for the following months. Schools are expensive, you know,” he explained.
My gaze drifted toward the rocky mountain with the river flowing below. I remained silent, overwhelmed by a strong mix of emotions — guilt, melancholy, and despair.
“How old are you, madam?” he asked, perhaps noticing the change in my expression and seeking to shift the conversation.
“How old do I look?”, I tried to be playful.
“19.. maybe?”, he was trying to scan me from head to toe.
“Aah, I am 23!”, I admitted.
“Really, madam?”, he grinned.
“Call me Aditi”.
“Call me Karim.”
“What’s the school fee?” I couldn’t shake the topic off; I felt compelled to help.
“7,000… I only earn 1,000 in the off-season and about 5,000 during the tourist months, which last only three months,” he explained.
I handed him 50 bucks, feeling a mixture of concern and helplessness. “What about your parents?” I asked.
“My dad left when I was young, and my mom works as a cleaner. I also take care of my younger sister… She’s adorable. You’d love her!” His face brightened as he spoke of her, his affection unmistakable.
“For sure,” I replied, though the weight of our conversation returned that sinking feeling. What had I done to deserve standing on this side of the stall?
“Do you have a girlfriend?” I ventured into lighter territory, hoping to ease the mood.
“No, Madam. But someday… though not an Indian one,” he replied with a mischievous grin.
“Why not? Indian women are so beautiful,” I argued persuasively.
“Yes, but I often see Indian men spending so much on their girlfriends… whereas foreign girls, well, they might spend on me instead.” We both laughed heartily at his candidness.
“Do you want to join me for lunch?” I asked, not wanting the conversation to end. Not every day you get to speak with such an insightful 19-year-old.
“Really?” He seemed genuinely surprised.
“Yes, wherever you’d like,” I offered, realizing that perhaps a delicious meal and engaging conversation were the best gifts I could give him at the moment.
“Alright. Let me ask my friend to watch the shop.”
As we walked toward the central area of the island, his enthusiasm was palpable. “There’s this place I’ve always wanted to visit since I was a kid… Let’s go there!” he exclaimed excitedly.
“What else have you always wanted to do?” I inquired, holding onto a sliver of hope that I might fulfill another of his wishes.
All of us are inherently so similar at the core.
“Thank you, madam,” he smiled appreciatively.
“For what? And please, call me Aditi.”
“I don’t know… for talking to me, I guess.”
A silence fell between us again, only to be broken by his cheerful announcement: “We’ve arrived!”
The sign read ‘Welcome to Banyan Tree!’ We took a central table and ordered an abundance of food. The meal was delightful, enriched by conversations about Hampi, his childhood, and his family. It was all fascinating.
After we finished eating, we rose from our seats. “Will you visit my shop again?” he asked.
“I will, before leaving the island tonight,” I replied.
His expression clouded over with disappointment. “You should visit Delhi sometime,” I suggested, hoping to lift his spirits.
“No, madam… I have an aversion to cities. I can’t stand them. Instead, you should come back to Hampi. It’s so peaceful here.”
“I know. I will. And I’ll see you again soon,” I assured him.
“Goodbye, Aditi.”
He didn’t turn back.
There was something poignant in the way he said my name. I returned to his shop in the evening, but he was nowhere to be found. Perhaps goodbyes aren’t his thing.
Note to myself: It might have seemed foolish to have lunch with a stranger in a land far away, but it was absolutely worth it!
