He had been coming to McDonald's every morning at nine sharp for the last 10 years. His routine never varied; he would fetch himself a cup of coffee and sit at a corner table studying the stock market. He knew all the regulars, although none were so regular as him, and would nod if he saw someone familiar. When she came and sat down at the table next to him he never got around to wondering if he had seen her before, because just at that moment one of his rare spells of giddiness overtook him. No one paid him any attention. But she noticed, and leant over to ask if he was all right. That was what he remembered about her for a long time -- her caring nature in a city of self-absorbed people. The giddiness passed and shyly he told her that it was just one of those things which the doctor couldn't explain. It must be age, he laughed. She smiled and said something, and soon they were exchanging pleasantries, oblivious of the time. They met every morning for the next few months and talked for hours at length. It was as if their lives had been full of solitude and now they couldn't get enough of words. He studied her face as she spoke and found no traces of lingering beauty. Yet he caught himself looking at her as if she was not 60, but half that age. His giddy spells had ceased since he met her. She ignored his plain clothes and nondescript face and blushed often during their conversations. This went on for six months and one day he asked her to marry him. She was nonplussed. He had never taken her anywhere -- except once when McDonald's had been closed for repairs and they had gone to a small restaurant nearby for sweet pork buns -- and she suspected he probably did not have the money to afford anything better. She had offered to pay for the coffee once but he had been so indignant she had never offered again. Her relatives and friends would mock her if they knew she was marrying a pauper. At the same time her heart beat fast enough for her to realise that she didn't want to spend the rest of her life meeting this man for coffee at McDonald's. I'll marry you, she said, but I want a good wedding and trousseau even if it means me spending all my savings. Hearing this the man took out a cheque book and scribbled something on one of the leaves. She protested, but he handed it to her and left, as if ashamed of the small amount he could offer. When she saw the sum she gasped. It was for HK$3 million. She didn't know how long she sat and stared at it, bewildered, because the one thing she was sure of was that he never played hoaxes. At last she got up and went to the Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank, where she was informed that she could have the money transferred to her account whenever she wished. I wish I knew if they lived happily ever after, but when I heard the story, this was as far as it had gone. I had gone with my friend to her lawyer's office and as we entered her cabin a man in his late 60s had come out. This was his story. He had been a newspaper vendor 10 years ago, but had given that up when he discovered he had a knack of picking the winning horse at the races. Next he dabbled in the stock market and his flair there was so tremendous he was now worth $50 million. "How utterly romantic," said my friend. "It's so very Hong Kong; she finds her man and he turns out to be a millionaire gambler!" The lawyer was a worldly woman, but even she was impressed. "I've never heard a more fantastic tale. Both of them were widowed long back and have no children. The day she met him, she had made up her mind to emigrate to Canada to try for a better life. And now she's just had a fortune left to her in his will." I was silent, thinking of the statistical possibilities of a certain event happening. Whoever thought such things could happen in McDonald's? Sujata Prakash privately admits to spending more time at McDonald's these past few weeks. Illustration: Uttam Ghosh Tell us what you think of this diary
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