it is almost the end of the day, and what a day it’s been. i’ve done nothing but shiver fearfully, reading headlines on the screen.

‘you should get out of the house,’ says sampaafulhu.

maybe i should. and maybe it’s fitting that i’ve asked alihokko, my childhood friend, to book us seats at food bank. yes, the restaurant still exists, and alihokko is convinced they do the best indian in male. btw, it’s 231 MVR per person, all inclusive.

my friend picks me up on his bike, which is a bit of a monster and very unsuited to the man – he is one of the most docile people i know. but even he might have a wild side, god knows.

we pass by the munnaaru – it stands out against the silvery sky and its mountain of gold lined cloud. a grand metaphor for something.

alihokko parks his bike on chaandhanee magu and we wander into the goalhi opposite iskandhar school, moving towards the restaurant. i tell him the last time i had a food bank roadhaveellun was in the late 2000s and he chuckles quietly.

there’s a large group of people on the ground floor, and the servers check our booking and tell us to go upstairs. and up here, there are two other groups taking up maybe a fifth of the space and the rest is eerily empty. and on our small table sits essentially all the food except the naan and roshi.

‘wow,’ i say. ‘so this is why they won’t accept orders late in the day.’

‘think they make just enough for the bookings?’ asks alihokko, taking a seat.

‘definitely,’ i tell him. the alfresco bit of the restaurant would have been nice on a breezy day but this evening the air feels a little heavy. sombre.

i take a look at the spread: it’s not bad: there’s roasted chicken, devilled beef and fish, a vegetable fried rice, small slices of pizza, dates, a vegetable curry, a barabo mashuni and faiy mashuni. but they are all very compact and fit neatly on one table. nothing grand.

‘really like the dinner plates here,’ says alihokko. ‘they seem very homely.’

and they are with quaint floral decorations around the rim.

‘everything about this place seems out of sync with the times,’ i say, examining the pizza. it’s like the stuff we had at scoop as kids.

then the prayer sounds and we begin. alihokko hands me a dried date (how nice), as is customary, and as i chew, it re-awakens my appetite. a server brings us our roshi and naan – the roshi could’ve been thinner and the naan a bit crispier, but it’s not too bad.

the barabo mashuni is inedible, it’s too acidic from the lime and lacks sweetness, but i like the rice and the devilled fish.

‘not fishy?’ asks alihokko and i shake my head.

‘the rice is very thai, there’s a nice lemongrass and basil taste coming through,’ i tell him. i don’t even eat rice for RV but no reason why there can’t be exceptions.

‘RV?’ alihokko says. ‘oh, roadha veellun. do you want the drumstick or the thigh?’

he’s asking about the roast chicken. i pick the drumstick. it’s more like a dry-curried chicken but it tastes spicy and sweet, like a kukulhu musamma.

later, the server brings our ice cream with fruit. it’s really cheap vanilla ice cream and the fruits taste bland. well done, food bank. on point.

‘so fitting,’ i tell alihokko who nods.

‘unrelated but do you know the guy who owned steak and coffee bar in hm?’ he asks.

‘yes, what about him?’

‘he’s opened a food truck in dubai,’ says alihokko.

‘ah, good for him. but probably not the time for new ventures in dubai, eh?’

‘probably.’

putting his elbows on the edge of the table, alihokko lights up a cigarette and blows a puff of blue smoke into the warm twilight air. much has changed, and so quickly. it’s as though we’re suspended like an object in a museum, seemingly insulated from everything but the shock-waves are coming, we’re starting to sense a shift in the air.

just when you think you have a grip on everything.

‘do you want to stop smoking again?’ i ask alihokko who quit for a few years before taking it up recently.

‘nope,’ he says.