A TALE OF TWO DOUGHNUTS

Saturday was the hottest July day in Delhi with the temperature hitting 45 C. With humidity levels ranging between 35% and 72%, the day was not just hot but also muggy. As I walked through Connaught Place that lay perpendicular to the metro station the sweat was soaking my clothes. I cursed myself for wearing underwear on such a sultry day. I ducked into the nearest shop hoping the AC would provide some relief. It was a doughnut outlet. Well, I am not a great fan of doughnuts. . . as a matter of fact I don't even know whether they are spelled donuts or doughnuts. But I like the appearance of the doughnuts…. I mean the design of it all, the sheer creative concept that went into the designing is ingenious!!!!!. . And yes, the hole: that's a master stroke.

I looked around at the multitude of loaded people in designer clothing, especially the young girls pouting and making puppy eyes while munching doughnuts. I wondered why they were sulking, then shrugged. As such, my sympathies for these spoiled brats are equivalent to my sympathies for the coronavirus. I approached the glass shelf and the man behind it.

 "Do you pack?", I asked uncertainly.  

"Sure; how many you want?"  

"Two??" I asked nervously. 

He smiled, "Okay, but we have an offer: if you buy four you get one free…. . just telling; you can buy two if you want. . "

I was in no mood to pass up anything that came free. "Okay, make it four. " I said.

He looked towards the cash counter. 

The approaching lady was awesome, with a charming smile and two charismatic tits…. .

 "How many?" She asked.

 I nodded towards the man, "He says if I buy four you'll give one free. . "

She smiled, "That's true. . . . so, which ones???"

I read the names: 'Red Velvet, Maple Bacon, Krispy Kreme, Cinnamon, Donitsi ……None of it made any sense to me. I pointed towards the chocolate-topped ones.

 "You can have assorted ones if you want. " She said good-naturedly. 

"Okay, you choose for me. " I said with a sigh. I watched as she put on a pair of gloves before picking the doughnuts with a long pick.

 "Come. " She ushered me towards the electronic device for calculating and recording. 

She looked at me, "Your mobile number. "

I was a little amazed, but gave it anyway.

"Name. . " She was punching hard. 

I gave my name. 

"E-mail id…"

By now I was getting a wee bit jittery, "Look madam, I don't want the whole world to know I bought doughnuts. I give you money, you give me doughnuts; end of transaction." 

She shook the head decisively, "It's the standard procedure here, sir "

To her credit, she didn't ask my Relationship status or my political/ religious/ sexual affiliations or preferences.  

For the twentieth time in ten minutes she smiled, "Now, how do you want to pay??"

I looked around, "How does everyone pay? "

She shrugged, "Credit Card, Debit Card, Bank Transfer…"

I cleared my throat, "Can I pay cash? "

She looked at me thoughtfully before nodding compassionately.  As I stood there watching her pack the doughnuts, the small tea shop in my native village came to the mind. I could buy any number of vadas or banana fries without anyone asking for my personal info. But there were disadvantages: for starters the guy at the counter never used to smile. Even if he smiled it never escaped the thick mustache. And he didn't wear gloves; in fact he wouldn't think twice of picking his nose or wiping the sweat from the arm-pit before handing over the hot vadai or banana fry. To make matters worse he didn't have charismatic tits.

 As I took a window seat in the south bound super-fast train a disconcerting thought struck me: . . . I was an idiot to have spilled out so much personal info; now, the Income Tax Department, IB, the Revenue Intelligence and even the RAW would know that I bought four doughnuts from Connaught Place…sadly I shook the head: total moron!!!. . Well, that's what doughnuts and charismatic tits do to you…. .