They were holding hands at the next table.
I have nothing against holding hands, I’ve held my own fair share and more during the springtime of my youth, but these two at the next table seemed to have hands meant for nothing else but each other! Danny who was sitting next to me, appeared too embarrassed to look and I don’t think it pleased the man from Wales, who I suspect thought that Asians should be Asians in their expressions of love. Now I’m only assuming he had these thoughts since he never looked even once furtively in the direction of the couple, or maybe he was just polite!
Robin, whose back was to the couple, tried to read the expression in my eyes, but mine were guarded, I had no intention of sharing this 70mm love scene with all and sundry.
It was a strange holding of hands.
One, it was across the table, so the hands were placed on the table top like those of two free arm wrestlers. To hold hands well, you need to sit next to each other. To stretch across the table, is I feel a tad uncomfortable, and doesn’t help much in body closeness, which the holding of hands is generally a forerunner to; huddling and cuddling, and come on you know what I’m talking about!
Two, they were not placed lying down on the table. You get what I mean? Well, a good holding of hands requires you to rest your arms completely on the table top, so each muscle and nerve ending is involved with the muscle and nerve ending of the other hand and not with keeping or maintaining your balance.
These two were doing it all wrong. Robin meanwhile had managed to edge a look sidewise, to the complete embarrassment of the young couple who hastily untangled their fingers from each other and brought them back to their own side of the table.
The hands slowly crept back: The girl looking shyly in our direction more often than the man. I left the table and went to the cloak. I stood in front of the mirror and soon found the young fellow next to me. He was washing his hands.
“You are embarrassing us,” he said.
“You mean you are!” I said angrily.
“You are staring at us,” he said, hurt.
“I’m sorry,” I said, “but it’s a free country!”
“A rather crowded one isn’t it?”
“Yeah?” I asked with surprise.
“We are newly married, ” he said simply. “We stay in a joint family. There are eight people sharing our bedroom, or rather, we share the bedroom with eight others. This is the first time I am being intimate with my wife!”
I walked back to my table, my head bowed, ashamed of myself. I did not look at their table any more. Who was I to rob them of their only moments of passion..!

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