A crowd of people started trickling in as the time drew near. There were the McLeod Ganj regulars, always an eclectic mix, including people I knew from Jokhang. Mrs. Trinci arrived, fresh from the hairdresser, where she’d had her dark hair specially coiffed in honor of the occasion. Wearing a black dress, gold jewelry, and kohl eyes, she had added to her characteristic drama a certain Continental je ne sais quoi.
Chogyal also made an appearance in his capacity as Kyi Kyi’s former guardian. Franc had soon led him over to show him the basket under the counter where both Kyi Kyi and Marcel, immaculate from the dog wash, wore red-and-gold bows around their necks.
As the drinks flowed freely and canapés circulated, the noise in the room grew ever louder. In the crowd I spotted Mrs. Patel from Cut Price Bazaar; these days, she greeted me, plateless and somewhat mournfully, whenever I passed her shop.
Sam was also there, positively debonair in a dark blue shirt and white linen sports jacket. In recent weeks he’d been a constant presence in the restaurant, as he and Franc managed the frenetic activity going on behind the screens. Since accepting Franc’s offer, he had made a real effort to reinvent himself. Taking charge of the bookstore, he had summoned a succession of publishers’ sales reps, had been quite clear about how point-of-sales gifts were to be displayed, and had directed tradesmen with newfound assertiveness. I had even seen him jab his hand emphatically at a carpenter whose workmanship hadn’t been up to scratch.
Tenzin was in the crowd—a diplomatic presence talking to a pair of visiting academics from Harvard. Geshe Wangpo was standing at the front of the room near the ribbon, in a circle of senior Namgyal monks.
Franc was in his element, circulating throughout the room. But, unusually, today he had a very attractive, 30-something woman on his arm.
The metamorphosis of Franc had continued since that first encounter with Geshe Wangpo, reinforced by his visits to the classes at the temple every week. The golden Om earring and blessing strings had long since gone, the ascetically bald head now sported a surprisingly thick thatch of fair hair, and the clothes were less tight. And less black.
The biggest change was not visible. Gone was the hectoring bully who made life hell for the kitchen and waitstaff. There was no covering over his bursts of impatience, but instead of building to a frenzy of righteous indignation, now he seemed embarrassed when they happened. Gone, too, were the constant references to Dalai Lama this and Dharma that. The origins of Rinpoche were no longer mentioned, and I hadn’t heard him even say the word Buddhist for weeks.
But exactly who was the young woman by his side? She had been in the café twice this week. The first time, she and Franc had spent more than two hours in earnest discussion at one of the pavement tables. The second time, he had taken her into the kitchen, where she’d spent a long time talking to the Dragpa brothers, as well as to Kusali.
Tonight she was resplendent in a coral red dress, long, dark hair swept straight down her back and jewelry glittering at her ears, throat, and wrists. I thought her the most exquisite woman I’d ever seen—there was such energy, such compassion in her features. As Franc introduced her to people, they seemed almost to melt in her presence, she conveyed such warmth.
Resting on my lotus cushion between Vogue and Vanity Fair, aware of the occasional movement in my distended belly, I looked out at the gathering crowd with a feeling of deep contentment for this moment, now, and all that had led me to it.
Kyi Kyi, lying in his basket under the counter, had arrived in my life at the same time as the self-development guru Jack. Through them I had come to understand the foolishness of being jealous of others’ apparently wonderful lives, and to see that the true cause of happiness is the sincere wish to give happiness to others and help free them of all forms of dissatisfaction—love and compassion defined.
From Mrs. Trinci I had discovered that simply knowing these things was of little value. Our awareness of a truth needs to deepen to the point at which it actually changes our behavior. We call that a realization.
From the many people around me who practiced mindfulness, I realized how essential it is to attend to the present moment if we are to experience the rich variety of everyday life. Only by being fully awake to the present are we able to put our realizations into action—not to mention make every cup of coffee count.
Franc had been my teacher on fur balls—the danger of thinking about me, myself, and I to the point of becoming sick of myself. It was also because of him that I had discovered that the Dharma isn’t about mouthing high-
sounding principles, dressing in attention-seeking clothes, or calling yourself a Buddhist, but about expressing the teachings in your every thought, word, and deed.
And while the enormity of trying to become a more enlightened being might seem daunting at times, as Geshe Wangpo had explained, there is no room for laziness or a lack of confidence. Leading an authentic life calls for big eyes and a strong voice!
There was one guest notable for his absence on this occasion. The Dalai Lama was on his way back from the airport, after a brief trip overseas. Nonetheless, his presence was palpable, abiding with every one of us in the room, along with his message, “My religion is kindness.” As Tibetan Buddhists, our central purpose is bodhichitta, arising out of a compassion to help all living beings find happiness.
People continued to arrive at Café Franc—I’d never seen the place so full. It was reaching the point of standing room only when Franc made his way to the front and onto a small platform set up for the dedication ceremony.
Someone tapped a glass loudly, and the hubbub in the room quickly diminished to a hush.
“Thanks to every one of you for coming,” Franc said, glancing around at the assembled faces. “This is a very special day for all of us in the café community. And I have not just one announcement but three.
“The first is that because my father’s health has taken a turn for the worse, I am leaving Café Franc to look after him.”
There were gasps of sympathy and surprise.
“I could be in San Francisco for six to twelve months.”
Geshe Wangpo, I noticed, was nodding approvingly.
“When I first realized I’d have to go, I wondered what to do about the café. I didn’t want to have to close it down”—dismay rippled audibly through the audience—“but I knew it couldn’t run on its own. Then, just two weeks ago, it was my amazing good fortune to meet Serena Trinci, fresh from managing some of the finest restaurants in Europe.” He gestured toward the young woman in red who he had been introducing all evening. She smiled broadly in acknowledgment.
“Serena has managed a two-Michelin-star restaurant in Bruges, the Hotel Danieli in Venice, and just recently was running one of the smartest society brasseries in London. But she couldn’t avoid the call home to McLeod Ganj, and I’m delighted to tell you that she has kindly agreed to be caretaker while I’m away.”
The announcement was greeted with a round of enthusiastic applause and a bow of appreciation from Serena. Mrs. Trinci looked on, glowing with maternal pride.
“For a long while I’ve been wondering how best to use the space behind here,” Franc said, gesturing to the concealed area behind him. “I’ve had a few ideas but didn’t know how to implement them. And then, in another spooky ‘coincidence,’ just the right person showed up at the right time.” He nodded toward Sam, who was standing nearby.
“What I’d like to do now is ask my teacher and honored guest, Geshe Wangpo, to formally unveil our new addition.”