The Janissaries (Komala Vilas)

Tall dark Chindian long-sleeved office shirt, trousers, socks and shoes in his mid-twenties. Eating with cutlery. While the big fella had as usual stopped to chat, he came across for an additional order. (Unfamiliar with the routine at Komala Vilas.) 
         That afternoon Shanmugam carried a long horizontal kumkum at an odd angle low on his forehead. From the morning's temple visit, he explained. A recent trip back home where his wife was in the seventh month of her first labour was cut short by the short-staffing at the restaurant. Shanmugam could not remain for the birth of his child.
         The deep colour of the newcomer had struck immediately
         — Chindian. India - China mix.
         Shake of the head from Shanmug.
         — What? Is! See the colour...
         Same again.
         No authorial pacing here. Chap knew all by himself how to deliver a point of view, a considered unfolding.
         Silent, casual (not sharp or rude) appraisal continuing.
         Nodding finally...But not know.
         Which was effectively the same as non-being.
         Ah. Yes, interesting. That was always a possibility, certainly. We looked some more, casual like.
         In old Montenegro we well-knew the phenomenon. The kidnapped boys taken back to Stamboul and entered into the Sultan's service; later returning in adulthood, in their full strength, often in the higher ranks of the invader. The most notable became regional Pashas and Viziers, lording it over their own people. More brutal than the Turks themselves, it was said.

         Local reports suggested Chindian unions were on the rise here. No doubt Shanmugam had fixed on manner and behavior in the present case. Nothing there in common with the other diners.