There’s a special kind of restaurant in India. Not the five-star, ‘shhh-we’re-too-posh-to-talk’ places where you feel guilty for just breathing. And not the chaotic roadside dhabas where everyone’s fighting for a plate of Idly like it’s the last meal on Earth.
I’m talking about the family restaurant. The middle ground. The place that’s always ‘just about right.’ The lighting is decent, the food is consistent, and the prices don’t require you to sell a kidney. It’s a stage for all of life’s little dramas.
You see it all here. The young couple, holding hands over a sizzler plate, lost in their own little bubble. The large family, dressed in their Sunday best, celebrating a birthday with a lot of noise and laughter. And then, there’s that one table.
The table with the middle-aged uncle and his family. The teenagers are glued to their phones, exchanging memes they find far more interesting than their parents’ conversation. And the uncle… he’s the star of his own one-man show.
“The dosa I ordered half an hour ago is still not here!” he’ll bellow, even though the waiter just took the order ten minutes back. “Every time I come here, it’s the same story!” he’ll shout, making a theatrical gesture to his long-suffering wife.
And you sit there, sipping your chai, and wonder: “Wait, every time? If it’s always this bad, why do you keep coming back, uncle?”
It’s a genuine question. The restaurant hasn’t changed. The service is the same. The food is the same. So why the repeat performance?
Because for some, the complaint isn’t a problem to be solved. It’s the main event. It’s their entertainment. The anticipation of something being slightly off, the chance to point it out, to declare their displeasure with a flair worthy of a Bollywood villain—this has become their new form of fun. They’re not miserable. They’re enjoying being miserable. They are a connoisseur of complaints, a connoisseur of chaos.
They even bring friends sometimes, just to prove a point. “See? I told you this place sucks,” they’ll whisper, a look of triumph on their face. As if their terrible experience is proof of their superior wisdom.
But here’s the thing. We always have a choice. If a situation is truly unbearable, you have three options. You can change it. You can accept it. Or you can leave it. You don’t have to stay there, in that little pocket of misery, replaying the same scene over and over again.
Unless… that’s exactly what you want.
We all have to pause and ask ourselves: Am I complaining to solve a problem, or have I started to enjoy the show? Am I genuinely unhappy, or am I just getting a kick out of the drama? Maybe we’re all just a family restaurant uncle in the making, looking for a dosa to complain about.
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