Kabootar

There I was, wearing black t-shirt with a printed over-shirt, looking around in a park to find a spot to eat my meal deal sandwich. I take a seat on the petrified wood stump, next to a wrought iron spider sculpture in this park, ready to devour my pesto veggie wrap with a Tesco machine coffee. Sinking into the cold rubbery wrap, tears stream down my face.

“Have I become one of them?… Am I the brown Karen?”

Not unlike my gaggle of London friends, I’ve been struggling to find illustration work post my graduation. In order to ease the pain of the exorbitant rent and dwindling savings, I decided to take up part time work. I signed up to an agency that doled out front of house work to students and recent graduates. They assigned me to a Lebanese restaurant in my area. If I’m being honest, I was a little excited to serve tables as a waiter. I’ve always had an odd fantasy of being that comically statuesque waiter, who serves drinks, makes small talk with the patrons, and moves swiftly through the crowded restaurant without breaking a sweat . Lucky for me, I did somewhat fulfil that fantasy. This part-time job turned out to be the perfect in-between gig for me. I got to participate in the pageantry of serving overpriced drinks to customers, while making my rent every month- I was happy. Unfortunately, my waiter pageantry was about to come to its bitter end.

Over span of a month, Ravi and Kunal started seeing me as one of the lads. While this gave me access to wildly entertaining workplace gossip, it also made me privy to how sexist, racist, and homophobic they could be when talking about the rest of the staff and management. The restaurant had a bouquet of diverse staff, ranging from Black, South-Asian, Brown, Queer, and White people. The restaurant had five staff supervisors, and one main manager. Three of these supervisors are South-Asian(let’s call them Ali, Berkha, and Rekha), and the remaining two are Italians(Adrian, Alessandro). Adrian is a campy gay man, and the main Manager is a tall, obese, Black guy (Let’s call him Olly). All the aforementioned racial, sexual, and identity markers shall make sense in a short moment.

Month and a half has passed, and I’ve become an extremely adept drinks runner. I can now hold a heavy tray with drinks on one hand, open cork bottles, and recite the drink menu to the customers with ease. What has also progressed are the racist, homophobic, and sexist comments from Kunal and Ravi. “She can’t take my humour ‘cause she’s a woman” “These black people are so bad at heir job” “This gay dude is such a mincer”- I’ve had enough. One time, Adrian walked up to the bar to grab himself a glass of water. “How are you doing?” I enquired. Adrain takes a sip of his drink, looks towards me, and responds “I’m Amazing”.

Over span of a month, Ravi and Kunal started seeing me as one of the lads. While this gave me access to wildly entertaining workplace gossip, it also made me privy to how sexist, racist, and homophobic they could be when talking about the rest of the staff and management. The restaurant had a bouquet of diverse staff, ranging from Black, South-Asian, Brown, Queer, and White people. The restaurant had five staff supervisors, and one main manager. Three of these supervisors are South-Asian(let’s call them Ali, Berkha, and Rekha), and the remaining two are Italians(Adrian, Alessandro). Adrian is a campy gay man, and the main Manager is a tall, obese, Black guy (Let’s call him Olly). All the aforementioned racial, sexual, and identity markers shall make sense in a short moment.

Month and a half has passed, and I’ve become an extremely adept drinks runner. I can now hold a heavy tray with drinks on one hand, open cork bottles, and recite the drink menu to the customers with ease. What has also progressed are the racist, homophobic, and sexist comments from Kunal and Ravi. “She can’t take my humour ‘cause she’s a woman” “These black people are so bad at heir job” “This gay dude is such a mincer”- I’ve had enough. One time, Adrian walked up to the bar to grab himself a glass of water. “How are you doing?” I enquired. Adrain takes a sip of his drink, looks towards me, and responds “I’m Amazing”.

“Iss ‘Chakke’* ko Zyada bhav mat de, nahi too yahin par tera lann choosne lagega”

says Ravi in Hindi to me, right in front of Adrian. The comment roughly translates to “Don’t chat up too much with this ‘eunuch’, unless you want him to suck you off right here”. I was stunned to hear that comment. I don’t quite remember how I responded to Ravi in the moment, but felt like my body went numb.

Growing up as a queer Indian child, you get called a lot of names. ‘Meetha’, ‘Hijra’, ’Kinner’ are among some of them. But ‘Chakka’ is that one prejoritive that I despise the most. In 2002 movie Nayak, Johny Lever- a prolific Indian comedic actor would use the word ‘Chhakka’ or ‘Chhakke’ as an involuntary tic for comedic effect. Even as a child, I remember finding that ‘joke’ quite bizarre and out of place. ‘Chakka’ or ‘Chhakke’ is a derogatory term used for an Intersex person. People would use this as a catch-all term to describe anyone as queer. My brain formed the connection in my head that anything queer or effeminate is being ‘Chakka’, and hence ‘bad’.

It took years for Indian society to phase out the term from general vocabulary. It certainly took much longer for me to undo my internalised homophobia and accept my queerness. Hence, I couldn’t let a 20 something rambunctious lad get away with a comment like that. I decided that I'd tell on him.

says Ravi in Hindi to me, right in front of Adrian. The comment roughly translates to “Don’t chat up too much with this ‘eunuch’, unless you want him to suck you off right here”. I was stunned to hear that comment. I don’t quite remember how I responded to Ravi in the moment, but felt like my body went numb.

Growing up as a queer Indian child, you get called a lot of names. ‘Meetha’, ‘Hijra’, ’Kinner’ are among some of them. But ‘Chakka’ is that one prejoritive that I despise the most. In 2002 movie Nayak, Johny Lever- a prolific Indian comedic actor would use the word ‘Chhakka’ or ‘Chhakke’ as an involuntary tic for comedic effect. Even as a child, I remember finding that ‘joke’ quite bizarre and out of place. ‘Chakka’ or ‘Chhakke’ is a derogatory term used for an Intersex person. People would use this as a catch-all term to describe anyone as queer. My brain formed the connection in my head that anything queer or effeminate is being ‘Chakka’, and hence ‘bad’.

It took years for Indian society to phase out the term from general vocabulary. It certainly took much longer for me to undo my internalised homophobia and accept my queerness. Hence, I couldn’t let a 20 something rambunctious lad get away with a comment like that. I decided that I'd tell on him.

’Snitches get stitches’ or so they say.

This ‘bitter end’ came in form of a friendship. Between serving drinks, and chatting up the restaurant staff, I became quasi- friendly with the two South-Asian bartenders at the establishment. Let’s call these guys Kunal and Ravi. Kunal is a 30-ish year old, short, skinny Indian dude with glasses and a slight forward hunch. He mostly complains about the management, waiting staff, and the restaurant. Ravi is a rambunctious, stocky, 20-something year old dude, who converses in broken English and profanities in his local tongue. My fluency in the said local tongue and appreciation of the art of complaining brought Kunal, Ravi, and I close.

As I was working for the agency, I decided to complain about this to them, instead of the restaurant. I decided to withhold the names of the bartenders, as I knew that giving out their names could mean repercussions for them, which I wouldn’t find savoury. Regardless of the fact that I hated Ravi and Kunal’s guts, I still couldn’t let them loose their wages because of the incident. I understand that they deserve repercussions for their actions, but two South Asian immigrants loosing wages or employment is something I couldn’t put on my conscience. I told my agency that I’ll need to leave the establishment if things escalated. My agency told me that they’ll keep my identity safe, and they’ll conduct investigation of their own. They also asked me not to converse with the restaurant staff or the manager about this conversation.

Next day, I clocked into work as usual. Everything felt normal. Kunal seemed to be in a bad mood, but I didn’t think too much of it. Gradually, all the waiters and the staff stopped conversing with me. I also noticed Rekha(one of the South Asian manger) whispering something into everyone’s ear. I didn’t think much of it at first, but soon enough, I made the connection.

As I was working for the agency, I decided to complain about this to them, instead of the restaurant. I decided to withhold the names of the bartenders, as I knew that giving out their names could mean repercussions for them, which I wouldn’t find savoury. Regardless of the fact that I hated Ravi and Kunal’s guts, I still couldn’t let them loose their wages because of the incident. I understand that they deserve repercussions for their actions, but two South Asian immigrants loosing wages or employment is something I couldn’t put on my conscience. I told my agency that I’ll need to leave the establishment if things escalated. My agency told me that they’ll keep my identity safe, and they’ll conduct investigation of their own. They also asked me not to converse with the restaurant staff or the manager about this conversation.

Next day, I clocked into work as usual. Everything felt normal. Kunal seemed to be in a bad mood, but I didn’t think too much of it. Gradually, all the waiters and the staff stopped conversing with me. I also noticed Rekha(one of the South Asian manger) whispering something into everyone’s ear. I didn’t think much of it at first, but soon enough, I made the connection.

That’s the conclusion I came to.

This certainly wasn’t a good feeling. For one, my complaint wasn’t kept anonymous. Secondly, It felt like I was bearing the repercussions of someone else’s mis-behaviour. Rekha isn’t talking to me, and Berkha is making small talk with me about the weather. Olly and the rest of the supervisors don’t seem to be around. I felt trapped.

The trick to holding a tray on one hand is to balance the heaviest object in the middle of your tray. If you are carrying a wine bottle and 5 wine glasses, you’ll plant the wine bottle in the middle, and place glasses on the periphery. You place this arrangement on your left hand, so that you can serve with your right hand. Be careful of the stairs- try looking at where you are going, and not your Trey, or you might trip. When you get to the table, place the heavy wine bottle first, and then the lighter glasses.

The conclusion I came to.

This certainly wasn’t a good feeling. For one, my complaint wasn’t kept anonymous. Secondly, It felt like I was bearing the repercussions of someone else’s mis-behaviour . Rekha isn’t talking to me, and Berkha is making small talk with me about the weather. Olly and the rest of the supervisors don’t seem to be around. I felt trapped.

The trick to holding a tray on one hand is to balance the heaviest object in the middle of your tray. If you are carrying a wine bottle and 5 wine glasses, you’ll plant the wine bottle in the middle, and place glasses on the periphery. You place this arrangement on your left hand, so that you can serve with your right hand. Be careful of the stairs- try looking at where you are going, and not your Trey, or you might trip. When you get to the table, place the heavy wine bottle first, and then the lighter glasses.

“I think Rekha is instructing everyone to not talk to me.”

“I’m so sorry, could you please clear the table, we’ll need to clean the glass before we serve you.”

“Is everyone okay? Did anyone get injured?”

“Please keep away from the food, we’ll have replace it, as it may have traces of glass shards in it.”

“ let me clean out this table- I’ll have my colleague set up another table for you.”

I collect the glass shards, replace the meals, end my shift, and buy a meal deal from Tesco and take it to the nearby park.

A Mediterranean wrap with mozzarella, a machine coffee, and an energy bar. I munch onto my meal deal wrap and tears roll down my sweaty face. I told my agency about what happened, and that I’m quitting the restaurant. “ The restaurant has its own procedure, and they were trying to figure out who made them remarks that you mentioned. If you’d like, you can speak to the manager on your next shift.” My agency explained. I decided to keep my mental peace and quiet. While I liked the pageantry of serving drinks, doing so isn’t why I came to London. I cried into my meal deal, thought about the ways I'm a horrible brown person who snitched on another brown person, took my bus back home and went to sleep.

I was also informed by my agency that everyone at the restaurant is getting sensitivity training. A part of me is a little happy that i sounded the alarm, and hopefully the future employees wouldn’t have to endure what I had to. My retaliation cost me a job that I was enamoured by, but ultimately didn’t care for. Although, I'm unsure if I was responsible for anyone's loss of wages, regardless of their actions.

“What did you tell the managers? And why did you quit?” Ravi texts me, two months after I quit the establishment.

“If Kunal and I made you uncomfortable, you should’ve told us.”

“If Kunal and I hurt you, I apologise"

I didn’t feel the need to respond back.

I collect the glass shards, replace the meals, end my shift, and buy a meal deal from Tesco and take it to the nearby park.

A Mediterranean wrap with mozzarella, a machine coffee, and an energy bar. I munch onto my meal deal wrap and tears roll down my sweaty face. I told my agency about what happened, and that I’m quitting the restaurant. “ The restaurant has its own procedure, and they were trying to figure out who made them remarks that you mentioned. If you’d like, you can speak to the manager on your next shift.” My agency explained. I decided to keep my mental peace and quiet. While I liked the pageantry of serving drinks, doing so isn’t why I came to London. I cried into my meal deal, thought about the ways I'm a horrible brown person who snitched on another brown person, took my bus back home and went to sleep.

I was also informed by my agency that everyone at the restaurant is getting sensitivity training. A part of me is a little happy that i sounded the alarm, and hopefully the future employees wouldn’t have to endure what I had to. My retaliation cost me a job that I was enamoured by, but ultimately didn’t care for. Although, I'm unsure if I was responsible for anyone's loss of wages, regardless of their actions.

“What did you tell the managers? And why did you quit?” Ravi texts me, two months after I quit the establishment.

“If Kunal and I made you uncomfortable, you should’ve told us.”

“If Kunal and I hurt you, I apologise"

I didn’t feel the need to respond back.

On this lovely day of silent treatment, I’m carrying the said tray, along with the a bundle of tension. I make it across the stairs, to the customers table. I place the wine bottle on the table. As I do so, one of the wine glasses swings forward and shatters onto the table. Shards of glass scatter everywhere, into the food, onto the customers, onto the furniture.