Chapter 2: The Mess Table
We reached Chennai around noon and took a taxi to the Air Force Station in Tambaram. It was my first time inside any defence establishment, and I had no idea about the rules or the discipline such places followed. But what I experienced there stayed with me long after—it was something I could never forget.
As soon as we got down at the airmen’s mess, a staff member hurriedly told us to have lunch before it closed. Our early morning flight had been delayed, and by the time we collected our luggage and reached the station, we were exhausted and starving..
Dressed casually in capris, sleeveless tops, and floaters, Priya and I walked into the mess. It was nearly empty. We quietly had our meal and were later allotted our billets. Since the course was to begin the next day and it was a Sunday, the mess remained quiet even during dinner.
The next morning, however, was different.
The moment we entered the mess, conversations paused. Eyes turned. It was one of those uncomfortable silences where you suddenly become too aware of your presence.
People began asking questions.
“What course have you come for?”
“PRCN for ANOs,” I replied calmly.
“Where are you from?”
“Delhi.”
We found our seats and continued with breakfast, trying to ignore the attention. The atmosphere strangely reminded me of my hostel days—except with a twist. Back then, we girls used to stare at overly dressed newcomers. Here, the roles were reversed.
At that point, we didn’t know why.
That afternoon, we arrived late for lunch—around 2 PM. The mess was crowded. We took our plates and stood near an empty table, waiting for seats to free up.
I was just about to place my plate down when a mess staff member rushed toward me.
“Madam, stop!”
I looked at him, confused. He was an elderly man, tall, slightly balding, dressed in loose pale trousers and a cream shirt.
“What happened?” I asked.
He hesitated, then said softly, “Madam… the officers are upset. They are asking why civilians are sitting with them. That corner table is for you. Please don’t sit here.”
For a moment, I was stunned.
So this was the reason behind all the questions. The stares. The curiosity.
Then came the anger.
“Anna,” I said firmly, “first of all, this table is empty—and we weren’t even sitting yet. Secondly, there are 19 of us and only 10 chairs there. Should we stand and eat? If there’s a problem, increase the number of chairs.”
I placed my plate down deliberately and asked Shuchi to do the same.
“You and your officers can have the food. We don’t want it.”
The entire hall fell silent. All eyes were on us now.
The staff member looked nervous. “No, madam, please have your food…”
But we walked away.
About forty-five minutes later, a voice called out, “Madam…!”
We turned. It was the same staff member, standing near the stairs.
“Madam, please come. We have made arrangements for you.”
“Why?” I replied. “Serve your officers. We don’t need it.”
“Please madam… just come once.”
Priya looked at me and nodded. We went back.
What we saw surprised us.
Two large tables had been joined together under the fans, with nearly thirty chairs arranged neatly around them.
“Don’t be angry, madam,” he said gently. “We only follow orders. In the morning, we were told that officers will not sit with civilians… so we were asked to separate you.”
I took a breath.
“Can you tell me who said this?”
“I don’t know his name, madam. He is new. But I will point him out during dinner.”
I nodded. “Alright. Now please give us food—we are really hungry.”
And just like that, the tension dissolved into laughter.
Dinner, however, was even more interesting.
We arrived on time. By then, the other male ANOs had already been informed about the “separate table” and were seated there.
As the mess filled up, something unusual happened.
All the seats at the officers’ tables were occupied. But at our table—meant for just 19 people—there were still many empty chairs.
Yet, not a single officer came and sat there.
They stood, holding their plates, waiting.
Waiting… rather than sitting with us.
Priya and I exchanged amused glances. I deliberately chose a seat that gave me a full view of the mess. It was a scene I didn’t want to miss.
After a while, the mess boy came over with chapatis and subtly signalled toward a man across the room—the one who had raised the issue in the morning.
I looked at him.
He was already looking at me.
For a second, we just stared at each other.
And then I burst out laughing.
That moment taught me something.
Arrogance isn’t about rank. It’s about mindset.
It’s not just high-ranking officers who expect special treatment. Such attitudes exist everywhere—in every field, at every level.
This silent standoff continued until the next day.
Finally, during dinner, two officers walked up to our table, pointed at the empty chairs, and asked politely,
“Can we sit here?”
I smiled.
“Of course, sir. Please. We don’t discriminate. After all, we are teachers.”
And believe me, a day came—about a month later—when the same person invited me to his table for lunch.
But that’s a story for another time. 😉
