Chapter 6: The Senior Employee
After finishing my meal, I waited for the person who was supposed to take me back to my hotel.
While waiting, I carried my dishes into the kitchen.
I figured I should wash the dishes I had used.
After all, it seemed likely that I’d be coming back tomorrow to do the same thing anyway.
Clatter.
The old man walked over and patted my shoulder with a satisfied smile.
“You’ve got the right attitude, young man.”
Was that the smile of someone happy to have found a hardworking employee?
I smiled awkwardly before realizing I still hadn’t learned his name.
“Haha… By the way, sir, what’s your name? I’m Seodam.”
“Ah, come to think of it, neither of us asked. My name is Arjun Lal Sharma. Arjun is my first name. Though your name is rather unusual. Sir Damn? Does it mean ‘Teacher Damn’?”
“Hahaha. I’ve heard that one before. But it’s Seodam, not Sir Damn. Ah, my family name is Lee. Lee Seodam.”
There had been kids in France who joked like that too.
My father had given me the name Seodam, which had a beautiful meaning in Korean.
Unfortunately, it occasionally caused problems in English-speaking countries.
As I awkwardly explained my full name, Arjun frowned.
“That name will be difficult for people here to pronounce. How about choosing a local name?”
“A local name?”
“An Indian name.”
I thought my name would be fine since I had used it in France without issue.
But perhaps it was harder for Indians.
Since I might be working here for several months, having a nickname wasn’t a bad idea.
I’d even heard that some family restaurants in Korea made new employees choose English names.
“If you know any good names, could you recommend one?”
“Leave it to me.”
Arjun rubbed his chin and thought for a moment.
Soon, his face brightened.
“Hassan! Hassan! What do you think?”
“That sounds like the name of a servant…”
There wasn’t anything wrong with the name Hassan.
But it reminded me of a mercenary NPC from a game I had played in middle school.
The hardworking helper who followed the protagonist around.
That association made me reluctant.
Besides, wasn’t Hassan more of an Arabic name?
Though India did have many Muslims.
“C-Could I get another option? It sounds a bit too Islamic. Let’s go with something that feels more Hindu!”
“Fair point…”
Arjun scratched his head and thought again.
Then he snapped his fingers.
“Ishaan! What about Ishaan? It sounds similar to your name, minus the ‘damn’ part. The meaning is good too. It means ‘the sun of Lord Shiva.’ Since Shiva guided you here, I can’t think of a better name.”
“Ishaan? I like it.”
It really did sound similar to my real name.
And being associated with the sun sounded cool.
Just as I noddedā
Creak.
I heard a motorcycle outside.
Then the restaurant door opened.
Someone walked inside.
“Dukandar-ji…”
The moment I saw the familiar face beneath a turban, both of us froze.
“Oh, you’re here. Take Ishaan back to his hotel. Hmm? Why are you two staring at each other?”
I pointed immediately.
“T-That’s him! That’s the guy who stole my bag!”
“What?!”
The man instantly tried to run for the door.
Then Arjun’s voice thundered through the restaurant.
“SHAMBU!”
The thief froze in place.
* * *
It turned out Shambu was the thief’s name.
Before I arrived, he had been the restaurant’s only employee.
And right now, the restaurant’s only employee was being beaten with a cane.
Smack!
“Aaaagh!”
By the police.
“I can’t believe a police officer is actually hitting someone with a stick.”
I had seen videos online before.
But witnessing it in person was shocking.
Indian police felt less like protectors of the people and more like disciplinarians.
Smack!
“Ughhh! Aaaah!”
Once Shambu began rolling around in pain, the officer stopped hitting him and turned toward me.
Then he spoke politely.
A complete contrast to his earlier attitude.
Honestly, I had been prepared to forgive Shambu if I got my bag back.
He had caused me a lot of trouble, but he worked here.
However, Arjun had insisted that this wasn’t the first time something like this had happened.
He wanted Shambu to learn a lesson.
When the police arrived, they first looked at me and reluctantly asked Arjun something.
Apparently they were asking if I was Chinese.
Because of India’s border disputes with China, they weren’t exactly friendly toward Chinese people.
But once Arjun explained that I was Korean, the officers became extremely enthusiastic.
“Enthusiastic about beating him, anyway.”
I didn’t understand Hindi, so I looked at Arjun.
He translated.
“He’s asking if you’ll forgive him now. I agree. I’ll deduct the compensation from his wages and give it to you.”
If they were already talking about forgiveness, it seemed likely I’d be working with Shambu from now on.
My phone had already been sold off and was gone forever.
But I had recovered my bag, passport, and wallet.
The money from the phone’s sale would also be returned.
So I nodded.
“Let’s do that.”
After the police left, Arjun turned to the groaning Shambu.
“Stop whining and take Ishaan back to his hotel!”
“Yes…”
Apparently Shambu spoke English too.
He slowly got up while rubbing his sore backside.
I waved my hands.
“No, it’s fine. I’ll go back by myself.”
I had my wallet back.
I could just take a taxi.
Besides, I didn’t really want to be alone with the guy who had robbed me.
But Arjun shouted from deeper inside the kitchen.
“What are you waiting for? Take him home!”
“Alright, Dukandar-ji.”
Shambu walked over to me.
Then he said quietly:
“Um… I’m sorry. My younger sibling needs money for school. I needed cash urgently. Come on, I’ll take you back.”
“Oh… okay.”
His English sounded like something he had learned purely to survive.
Combined with his shabby clothes, he clearly came from a poor background.
For a moment I felt guilty.
Maybe I shouldn’t have let the police hit him.
Then Arjun stuck his head out through the serving window and shouted:
“If he starts talking about his younger sibling, don’t believe him! It’s all lies!”
I looked at Shambu.
Shambu immediately turned his gaze toward the distant mountains.
This was definitely a man I could never let my guard down around.
* * *
Clatter. Clatter.
Three days had passed since I started working at the restaurant.
I never realized restaurant work was this exhausting.
I arrived before dawn to help wash vegetables and prepare ingredients.
Once business started, dirty dishes never stopped coming.
There wasn’t a second to rest.
The kitchen was a battlefield.
Arjun cooked.
Shambu served customers.
I handled dishes and miscellaneous chores.
If I delayed washing dishes while helping carry ingredients, plates would run out.
And if there were no plates, the restaurant couldn’t accept orders.
So I had to move nonstop before dishes piled up.
I wanted to learn how masala was made.
I wanted to know what made Arjun’s masala different from every other masala.
But at this rate, I was going to collapse before I got that far.
“Damn. I haven’t even started learning to cook yet, and this labor is killing me.”
Someone might ask why I didn’t simply learn masala somewhere else.
After all, plenty of cooking schools would teach it for money.
And honestly, I had thought about that too.
The night before, exhausted after work, I had returned to my hotel and suddenly realized something.
“Wait. Couldn’t I just learn masala from a cooking academy?”
“Hello? Room service?”
I ordered food and requested extra masala.
Then I tasted it.
But the masala from the hotel felt completely different from Arjun’s.
My visualized smell ability didn’t activate.
The spices still produced flashes of color inside my mind.
But they didn’t fully manifest like Arjun’s masala.
The same thing happened with the store-bought versions I bought on the way to and from work.
That meant one thing.
Whether I lived or died, I had to learn from Arjun.
Maybe mastering his masala wouldn’t restore my sense of smell.
But if I researched it further, I might discover a clue.
“Whew… I’m exhausted.”
Lunch rush finally ended.
After placing the last clean plate on the drying rack, I leaned against the wall.
Then I noticed the container where Arjun stored his masala.
I looked around.
Arjun was watching cricket in the dining area.
Shambu, who constantly reminded me he was my senior, was nowhere to be seen.
I grabbed a spoon and secretly tasted a little masala.
The moment it touched my tongueā
A storm of fragrance exploded inside my mind.
When the burst of light and color settled, I saw something I hadn’t experienced since losing my ability.
Rainbow-colored fragrances rose from the bowls of spices prepared for cooking.
Dark black energy drifted from the trash can in the corner.
It was the same sight I used to see before losing my gift.
Just as I smiled in happinessā
A voice shattered the moment.
“Ishaan, what are you doing?”
The visualized scents instantly scattered and disappeared.
I turned around reluctantly.
A turbaned man stood there.
Dark skin.
A mischievous face.
A worn turban.
Shambu.
Apparently the turban was proof he was Sikh.
“N-Nothing.”
I waved dismissively.
But Shambu walked over and checked my hand.
His eyes landed on the spoon and the traces of masala remaining on it.
Then he crossed his arms and spoke sternly.
“Ishaan, as your senior, I need to say something. Even if you work here, you’re not allowed to touch Dukandar-ji’s masala outside meal times. There’s an Indian proverb: whether a thief steals a diamond or a cucumber, a thief is still a thief.”
I stared at him in disbelief.
This was rich coming from him.
An actual thief lecturing me about stealing.
When I continued staring, Shambu even complained about my attitude toward a senior employee.
The commotion drew Arjun into the kitchen.
“Why are you two fighting?”
“I wasn’t fightingā”
Before I could explain that I was the victim here, Shambu launched into a rapid explanation.
“Dukandar-ji, a thief is a thief whether he steals diamonds or cucumbers. Ishaan was secretly stealing masala from the kitchen, so I corrected him. Then he looked annoyed.”
Arjun immediately smacked him on the head.
“You worry about yourself first, you actual thief!”
“Ow!”
Shambu clutched his head and dropped to the floor.
Then Arjun turned to me.
“But why were you eating the masala by itself?”
It felt like the perfect opportunity.
So I explained everything.
“The reason I came to India is…”
Why I had come.
Why I chose to work here.
What made his spices different.
I downplayed the supernatural aspects, only mentioning that I had lost and partially recovered my sense of smell and was trying to restore it through taste.
I also added a little praise for his masala.
Arjun listened carefully.
Then he asked with genuine interest:
“My masala is different?”
“Yes. I can’t explain it exactly. It just feels fundamentally different.”
“Oh?”
Arjun rummaged through the kitchen.
Soon he returned with several unground spices and placed them before me.
Then he pointed.
“Can you identify which one is the oldest?”
Professor Norton had said my sense of smell probably hadn’t changed much.
But my abilities to visualize scents and read emotions through body odor were gone.
Still, this much I could do.
I nodded and immediately began smelling the spices.
Fresh grass.
Sun-dried herbs.
To find the oldest spice, I focused on one thing.
When unsaturated fats oxidize, they become rancid and produce an unpleasant smell.
All I needed to do was identify which spices had oxidized the most.
My visualization ability was gone.
But my nose still worked.
I lined up the ten spices one after another.
“I think this side is oldest. These two are almost the same age, but this one seems slightly older.”
“Oho!”
Arjun’s eyes widened.
“I only asked you to find the oldest one.”
Apparently my arrangement was correct.
He smiled with satisfaction and patted my shoulder.
“Starting tomorrow, I’ll teach you cooking.”
“Really?!”
“Of course.”
“Yes!”
I practically shouted in excitement.
Then Shambu, who had been watching the entire time, looked horrified.
“Wait! Dukandar-ji! You told me learning to cook only happens after one year of washing dishes and one year of serving customers! You said you had to become a senior first!”
Arjun looked at him casually.
“Can you arrange these spices in order of age?”
Shambu immediately fell silent.
I smiled at him.
I had endured his nonsense for days.
It was finally time to get a little revenge.
“Shambu.”
I grinned.
“Now who’s the senior employee?”
His face twisted as if he had just bitten into something disgusting.
