here i am with my man bakurube and the enigmatic rok from rockprints (@rockprints.mv). rok, who has plunged deep into the world of indigenous design, by this i mean the designs found in the old mosques such as hukuru miskiy and dharumavantha miskiy, as well as tombstones, shrines and the like. it wouldn’t be going too far to say he has developed his own language for describing and making sense of these ancient patterns. if you ever feel like a three hour monologue on gadheemee dhivehi design, rok is your man. bakurube meanwhile is a close substitute.

anyhow, rok hasn’t slept in three days, that’s the kind of guy he is. but he is strangely coherent. and very pissed off that we have to wait seven minutes to get our rihaakurudhiya. they start dishing that out only after seven.

‘what kind of bullshit is that?’ he snaps.

the server brings the rice, thelli mushimas, fried chili, green chili, onion, and lonumirus to the table.

‘i like haru handoo,’ says bakurube, fingering his baiythashi. ‘some people don’t but i do.’

‘yeah me too,’ i say. ‘it’s great with everything. except biriyani.’

‘there’s a peculiar taste in basmati,’ begins bakurube.

‘YOU have a peculiar taste,’ shouts rok – for it is very loud here at the cafe. some might use the word bustling, whereas i would say it is riotous, being a man of the word. or is it man of the letter? saththaaru might know.

‘what are you mumbling?’ asks rok. i shake my head.

‘where’s the rihaakurudhiya?’ i ask. ‘it’s three past seven.’

‘they better be giving us a discount,’ says bakurube.

and then the server finally brings the goods to the table.

‘isn’t this the best?’ says bakurube, pouring out the dhiya and digging into the rice.

‘the rihaakurudhiya could be creamier,’ i tell him.

‘always with the criticism, eh mr critic?’ says rok. ‘this shit is excellent.’

i have no desire to argue with a man who has not slept since thursday. it isn’t bad though, this rihaakurudhiya, they were not stingy with the rihaakuru. plus i really like the lonumirus. and the mushimas is crunchy, filled with the GOOD fish flavour. as opposed to being fishy.

‘…it’s a terrible thing,’ i catch rok saying, his sharp face downcast.

‘what, what?’ i ask.

‘adhuray. we had to let him go. because the man was stealing from us,’ says rok.

‘he didn’t even know HOW to steal, the idiot,’ says bakurube. ‘just took money from the till. that’s the level of idiocy we have to deal with on the daily.’

‘how much?’ i ask.

‘couple of thousand,’ says rok. ‘but that’s not the real tragedy. we’ve been friends since childhood, you see.’

‘childhood huh?’ i repeat dumbly.

‘and he was always honest. even back in those wild days.’

‘your life’s not wild now?’ i mutter.

‘what did you say?’

‘nothing.’

‘anyway, you bring in one person and you lose two. a friend AND an employee,’ says rok, making a big suvaa from his hand. he puts it into his mouth and bites morosely into half a fried chili.

‘that’s the real tragedy,’ says bakurube, shaking his head.

‘i have no money,’ says rok. ‘lost an old friend. but at least i am happy.’

i look at that face again. it’s an expressive one, eyes widened from lack of sleep, round and shiny like new rufiyaa coins. is this really the face of a happy man? only god may know what’s in his heart.