‘how’s everything going?’ idris asks me as we hurry up the stairs to the first floor of roohi lanka, the (obviously) sri lankan restaurant near the FDA building on sosan magu.

‘not bad,’ i say. ‘the usual. it’s going. going going.’

‘right,’ says my friend. ‘still meditating?’ as you may not recall, idris is the one who got me into meditation via sam harris. now, whatever else sam may be, the man makes some salient points when it comes to quietening your mind.

‘still,’ i say, taking the single empty table in this busy restaurant. it’s lunch time and the place is a-buzz with activity – servers performing impressive balancing acts with plates in their hands and on their forearms, patrons chatting and clinking their cutlery. also, it smells like spices, pungently, as the first floor is air conditioned.

‘i haven’t been meditating,’ says my friend after he orders a beef curry and rice for us.

‘how come?’ i ask, a bit taken aback.

‘it’s just not very easy for me at this time,’ he says. idris is a numbers man by profession and has a family, unlike yours truly. he’s fairly well adjusted but there’s something within that is not quite right.

i wait for him to go on.

‘i think i need therapy,’ he says.

‘why?’

‘i don’t think i am able to express my emotions very well,’ he explains, grinning sheepishly. ‘i haven’t been able to cry at times when i think i must.’

‘ah,’ i say. ‘yes, this is concerning.’

‘yes, will therapy be helpfu – ‘

my friend breaks off mid sentence when the server brings our food. there’s sides of carrot and coconut sambol, a dry yellow pumpkin curry and brinjal moju along with beef curry. idris begins to gobble things up.

‘it’s really very good husenfulhu,’ he says between mouthfuls.

‘i know,’ i say. ‘look at all the sri lankans here, man. they won’t be here if it’s not delish.’

‘this rice, too,’ says idris. ‘what is it? it’s not normal haru han’doo, dho.’

i ask a server and he says something but i can’t quite make out what it is. then, he shows me a photo on his phone.

‘premium keeri samba rice,’ i read out, dumbly, and the server smiles before turning away.

we finish our meal and talk about how the government’s running up the dollar rate and ruining the economy before returning to more serious matters.

‘did therapy help?’ he asks me.

‘yeah,’ i say. ‘it was really life changing in some ways. cleared some major blockages.’

‘that’s exactly how i feel,’ idris says. ‘blocked.’

he toys with his fork for a bit and says:

‘but i don’t want to see therapists here. i have heard they gossip.’

‘yeah, i’ve heard the same,’ i tell him. ‘i’ll pass on my guy’s contact.’

the bill is 162 MVR.

‘wow,’ says idris. ‘not even the price of one at shell beans.’

‘i’ll get it,’ i tell him. it’s the least i can do. idris appears calm, maybe even collected but who knows what’s going on in a man, really? even deth has fallen, life proved too brutal for even him with his monkish demeanour. everyone needs help sometimes, and some more than others.