He was shy and reserved. And completely clueless. There was something endearing about him that defied expectations; may be it was his utter lack of self-awareness and decorum, or may be it was his endearing naïveté and ignorance. He has been living in this city for two years and does not know his way around. He complains that he doesn't understand anything because everything is in German even though the language is French. He slurps through his food and unconsciously picks his teeth and burps while sitting in the restaurant.
He is from a smalltown in South India and this is his first assignment outside India. He discusses his salary in public with complete strangers and is genuinely excited at the prospect of winning at a chess game.
I drink a cup of coffee and watch the players. I watch him intently because he is fascinating in an odd way. He is very young, in his mid-twenties even though he looks a lot older. His syntax and sentance construction are peculiar. I see him making his chess moves while letting his tongue dangle out.
Is it Ok to feel slightly angry that in spite of his two years here he has made no attempts to observe the local customs and adapt? Is it OK to feel a tinge of irritation at his complete lack of self-awareness?
In the end, I let the chess player dissolve into the darkness while driving away to the vast nothingness of the country roads.
May be I will meet him again.
