A table for ONE? [That’s subtly provocative, as we shall see…]

"JUST one?", asks the maître d' [note how the emphasis shifts to ‘just’]. And the solitary diner abashedly concurs. Or, if her/his mind is decidedly fixed upon wrapping up some half-done job on the laptop, barely comes to notice the puzzlement (a range of emotions, actually: from being just surprised to being visibly annoyed during busy hours) on the interlocutor's face. The rebel diner (a rare sight), for that matter, may retort (just) with a curt "So?" and would be duly corraled into the single-seater booth at the far end of the restaurant. Hopefully, it won't be right next to the toilet door!

A friend of mine once told me that she'd rather go hungry than eat alone. Dining alone – unless eating itself is not the primary activity (as in when one's simultaneously tapping at the keyboard, reading, fiddling with the phone and the like) – can be quite embarrassing, even painful. For some, it may come across as burdensome as a forced performance under the scrutiny of a legion of invisible eyes – a task most oppressive in the course of which food ceases to be the source of pleasure. But sometimes the 'ordeal' is unavoidable – these are the times when veterans fall back on 'props': newspapers, magazines, laptop, phone, you name it.

Perhaps, it is only by luck that one may ever chance upon a solitary diner, treating herself/himself happily to a scrumptuous meal – taking all the time in the world, ingesting every morsel with a singular fervour – with not an ounce of savor eluding the delicate tastebuds until (to borrow Samuel Taylor Coleridge's analogy in a different context) s/he is completely imbued with the savor so as to make the food vivid even in her/his "minutest fiber."

But, that's a rare breed. VERY.

Going solo need not be worrisome. For it (of course, for those interested in assuming diverse perspectives) offers ample scope for catching up with oneself; watching others (more on this later) eat, talk or just be AND (most importantly) focus on THE FOOD. For food, in a communal dining setup, is often obliged to share its glory with cheerful palaver and voluptuous cajolery. And in less happy moments, even with a gnawing silence. What can be more irksome? This is certainly not to underplay the pleasures of communal dining, but only to emphasize the rare gratification one can possibly experience when dining alone. Unfortunately, solo dining is generally stigmatized as an action in which the diner's (supposed) inability/unhealthy or 'abnormal' reluctance to communicate with others is taken to be the primary assumption and worse still, the only one. The wretched fellow must be a friendless psycho to be dining all by herself/himself. However, this very same 'wretched psycho', by her/his imaginative bent, might just as well effect a complete transformation of all gapers (in the cloistered privacy of the mind of course, teeming with wicked thoughts ). A friend, who is also an exceptionally talented people watcher, once told me that everyone comes with a less-apparent animal personality and that a bit of pulling and stretching of the muscles of one's imagination opens up the certain doorway to wonderland! So, people randomly (or not so randomly) came to be qualified (privately, of course) as avine (bird-like) murine (mouse-like), hystricine (like a porcupine) etc. Look, look. Look around and look hard. And you, too, can figure it out for yourself That dainty lady over there perched imperiously on her seat, eating her pizza with a fork is so pavonine! I mean, 'like a peacock'!!! Get it?

Although, I am not half as talented as my friend (he is blessed with an uncanny ability to hit upon the perfect-est parallel from the animal world), I am nonetheless guilty of practising this intriguing craft on the sly. And, restaurants (also shopping malls, railway stations etc. on a larger scale), with their motley crowd, are good to begin at. Although it's not much fun being 'lonely', 'aloneness' has its own rewards. Stretch the muscles of your imagination, sit back and watch the fun with a poker straight face.

Wish the disdainful maître d' (that ranine fellow in a chichi bowtie) away – far, far away and focus on the food on your plate. Isn't it gorgeous? I'm sure it is. While eating with a fellow gourmand does not, in the least, tarnish the joys of dining – oftentimes, even doubling and trebling the rewards – eating alone proffers the quiet pleasures of entering into an impeccable epicurean harmony with the food that is not just eaten but is also savored and appreciated.

Bon Appétit!