Transactional, Symbiotic, or just Convinient?

Chicken Cutlets, Coffee & the Curious Case of Relationships
— A Conversation Between Two Philosophical Foodies

It was one of those golden Kolkata afternoons — the kind where the fan above spins like a tired philosopher, the sun plays peekaboo through old club curtains, and the waiter at DKS walks with the poise of someone who’s seen more political coups over table reservations than in Parliament.

Me and Samaranand — my friend, sparring partner in abstraction, and resident metaphysician — were at our favorite corner table. In front of us: two cups of steaming coffee, two plates of golden, crisp chicken cutlet, and one intangible topic on the table — relationships.

"Relationships," I began, crunching into the cutlet like it owed me money, “have expiry dates. They start strong, warm, promising — and then one fine morning, they sour. Like milk. Or like idealism in a corporate meeting.”

Samaranand, unfazed as ever, took a gentle sip of coffee, and replied, “Or maybe it’s all about convenience. People no longer want to be emotional liabilities to one another. Like old parents choosing retirement homes, not because they’re unloved — but because they value their children's freedom and their own independence.”

Then, with a professor’s glee, he threw in his now-famous crocodile analogy.

“The crocodile,” he declared, “sits with its mouth wide open, basking in the sun after a hearty lunch. Small birds perch on its jaws, picking at the bits of fish stuck between its teeth. The birds get food; the crocodile gets a dental cleaning. That’s symbiosis.”

A thoughtful silence hung in the air. Somewhere in the club, someone was arguing about bridge rules. We remained with our cutlets and our thoughts.

“So…” I said slowly, “does that mean buyers and sellers have a symbiotic relationship too? Or in-laws?”

He chuckled. “Why not? As long as both parties benefit, it’s symbiosis. The moment one only takes and the other only gives — it’s parasitic. And when both pretend to benefit while secretly resenting each other — that's family.”

I choked slightly on my coffee.

Then, to add layers to this already flavourful philosophy, we decided to explore some literary relationships.

“Take Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson,” I offered. “Sherlock — the razor-sharp, emotionally unavailable genius. Watson — the dependable chronicler, the loyal friend. Together, they’re better than they are apart. But it’s not equal — Sherlock often takes, and Watson gives. Yet neither can do without the other.”

“Symbiosis again,” Samaranand nodded. “Watson finds purpose. Holmes gets sanity.”

“And what about James Bond and M?” I asked.

He leaned back. “Ah, authority and rebellion. Discipline and impulse. M trusts Bond with the kingdom’s dirtiest work. Bond defies orders, breaks rules, yet never fails the mission. It’s a relationship built on functional friction. Not warm — but unbreakable.”

Then he smiled, “Now contrast that with Wooster and Jeeves.”

“Ah!” I exclaimed. “The gentleman and the valet. The brain and the butler. Wooster thinks he’s in charge, but we know who really is.”

“Exactly,” Samaranand grinned. “It’s the reverse of Bond. The servant leads, the master follows — all under the illusion of aristocratic control. That, my friend, is a symbiotic deception.”

As we wrapped up our second coffee, I added, “And then there’s The Gentleman in Moscow — Count Rostov and the hotel. He’s under house arrest, yet becomes part of the hotel’s soul. A prisoner turned guardian, a relic turned anchor. He gives life to the place, and it gives him purpose.”

“That’s almost poetic,” Samaranand said softly.

The plates were empty now. The club grew quieter, except for a lone spoon stirring tea somewhere, like a metronome counting down time.

Our verdict? Relationships may not always be eternal, but they evolve — from passion to partnership, from obligation to quiet companionship. Some fade. Others deepen. A few, like the plover bird and crocodile, survive because of need. Others, like Jeeves and Wooster, thrive on gentle manipulation wrapped in affection.

As we stood up to leave, I wondered aloud, “So what are we — me and you?”

Samaranand adjusted his kurta, raised an eyebrow and said, “I bring metaphysics. You bring mustard sauce. I'd say... perfectly symbiotic.”

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