I go to the auditorium for the latest announcement from the engineering leadership.
It is in a new hall in dark red cloth colors but as I enter it is very difficult to see empty spots across the dark rows of seats. Shadowy figures fill the auditorium and I bump into a person in an aisle seat that I thought was empty.
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“Sorry!”, I say.
So I go further to the back, to the second half of the hall, a section that is split out from the front.
A thin red curtain partially closed marks the divider between front and rear. And the rear consists of round tables, around which you sit, instead of the heavy theater-like armchairs at the front.
I am with a few of the Indian group.
“Hello.” I introduce myself to a younger engineer called Pavet with a small mustache.
But it is difficult to see the stage, so I stand up and go to the divider, to pull the curtain aside. And just as I do this, someone turns the light on in the back of the hall and it is blinding. People think I did it. We cannot see the front at all now.
“Turn the lights off!” someone else complains.
The lights go off again and I sit back down, next to Pavet. Another man I do not recognize sits opposite.
“Where are you from?” I ask him.
“I am from Jain.”
“So are you Jain?”
“Of course I am! My religion is Jain.” he says.
I feel stupid. I thought it was the person’s name that designated a Jain. Not that there was a named location.
“I knew a Jain once,” I respond. “We travelled the full length of New England. This was in the early nineties and it was very difficult for us to get vegetarian food.”
I thought to tell him, Indian restaurants were hard to find too, but my anecdote feels stale, and very old now.
Paintings by Id Iom via Flickr
