Of coffee and conversations

Last few evenings have been great. Post work i.e. :)

A colleague had come over home one of the evenings and stayed over. We (room mates included) sat and spoke till may be 2 am. Another evening, I was invited for dinner to a friend's place. We ( a bunch of us) stayed till late enjoying conversations over beer and dinner.

Both the nights, I don't remember what we spoke about, as there was nothing specific. The conversations were free flowing moving deftly from economy to religion, oil industry prospects to Tendulkar's innings in Chennai in 1999 to election strategies. We poked fun at each other, cracked some silly jokes, caught up on each others lives, took a couple of snaps and later reluctantly called it a night - courtesy 8 am meetings.

Both the evenings left all of us with a warm fuzzy feeling. As I reflect back, it is not just the conversation but the people who made the difference. Genuinely nice, warm, no hang ups, willing to listen and share and most importantly able to convert just-being-together-time to I-had-a-great-time. I am lucky and privileged to have such friends and acquaintances.

It took me back to college days. I like coffee houses. A lot. In fact, one of the books I am reading currently is 'The Coffee House – A Cultural History’ by Markman Ellis. Quite a good read. A friend of mine from college and I shared this fascination for coffee places. We would always be on the lookout for new coffee places in Madras.

This one time, we went to an old 1940s mansion, in a small by lane. The ceiling had these huge heavy wooden bars running across painted in deep dark brown, the walls painted in rust and earthy brown shades. There was a woody smell to the place, the nostalgic type. We were there for a private movie screening. I don't remember the movie a bit but what I remember is the coffee place in their balcony. I rarely hear of houses these days (let alone see) which have huge balconies.

We sat in the balcony, post the screening sipping our cuppas. Our conversation was lyrical amidst the operatic cacophony of bird -chirps. They were returning home, just as the sun enjoying its little swan song, was painting the sky crimson and brown and orange and finally black. It was beautiful. It was so beautiful that that evening scene is photographically etched in my memory. I can close my eyes anytime and remember all the details.

This other time we visited a coffee place that overlooks the sea. We sat in the open air balcony, sipping our coffees and chatting till way past midnight I think, till they closed down and asked us to leave. In fact while the orders closed much earlier, we cajoled the staff to let us stay while they cleaned up the place. It was a full moon night. The moon was right above the sea and it formed a path of light, as if showing the way to some place. The waves washed up tirelessly thus providing us a rhythmic backdrop. Peace!

I nurture this tiny dream of setting up a coffee house. A place where one could meet new people or catch up with old friends. It would be a place that enables and fosters conversations - from intellectually charged discussions to gossips and friendly banter. A place from where when you walk out, you feel warm and fuzzy. Inshallah!

Of coffee and conversations

Sandeep sat alone, staring out, at the traffic. Sheets of water slid down the window pane, blurring his vision of the road with disconcerting regularity. There seemed to be a rhythm to the sudden Madras rain. The rain had caught people unaware. It was January for heaven’s sake. People were scampering across the road, to find themselves a shelter. It all seemed so chaotic, yet there was a purpose in everyone’s movement. A method in the madness.

His thoughts led him to the previous night's conversation. Megha was getting married. This was the first ‘news’ he had heard about her , ever since they had broken up three years ago. It was a strange feeling. He was over her. He was seeing Priya now and was quite serious. He had rarely thought of Megha in the past year. Yet, when he heard the news, he was at discomfort, to say the least. He registered no part of the conversations that followed on the dinner table for the next hour. He could only hear Megha say ‘Look, if you want to make it formal, then mark today August 29th, as the day we called it off’. She could never muster up courage to look into his eyes and tell him that she no longer loved him. He wasn’t the perfect guy ofcourse, but who is perfect these days anyway?

His coffee arrived, the aroma bringing him back – to now. The cream on his coffee had been poured in the shape of a heart. How ironic, he thought, for cream on coffee was never among his favourites.

He looked around as he sipped his coffee. The place had a nostalgic feel to it. It wasn’t too old, may be three to four years. But the dark heavy mahogany furniture, bound heavy books by the corner and smart white-clothed waiters moving around with slothful indulgence reminded him of a time gone by. The empty table next to him, with a cup of coffee left half drunk and a cigarette still burning away in the ashtray reminded him of half left conversations; of unspoken words.

While his eyes scanned the surroundings, his mind was populating the scenes the eye saw with known faces and replacing floating voices with recognizable conversations.

Sandeep pulled his cell out, paused and then dialled Megha.

‘ I am getting another call on my cell, I’ll call you back. I love you, bye.’ There was a click and then ‘Hello’.

‘Hi , Sandeep here’.

‘Oh’. The discomfort in Megha’s voice was palpable. She had been caught completely offguard.

‘I just heard about your wedding last night. Congratulations!’

‘Thanks!’. The 'thanks' was measured. The tone ensuring that conversation would end and not continue.

‘I am sure you have a great life ahead of you. All the best! I should hang up now…’. Sandeep’s voice trailed away. He was half hoping for a Megha to say, ‘ No, don’t hang up yet’. Just like the old times. He looked up from his feet. Priya had just entered the coffee shop. He smiled at her and raised his hand indicating that he needed a minute more. Priya smiled and sat, wiping the thin layer of dew that had settled on the chair.

‘ Ok Megha! Take care, Bye!’

‘Sandeep, Sandeep! No don’t hang up yet’.

‘Yeah?’

‘Sandeep, Thanks for calling. Thank you’ . The 'thank you' was measured. The tone suggested that the ‘thank you’ carried with it the purport of all conversations in the past and of the future; of all words spoken and possibly better left unspoken. The words ‘thank you’, had never meant so much ever before.

‘Sandeep, you take care too. This is not the best time for us. Our lives will cross again, I promise. Bye!

‘Thanks Megha. I would wait for that. Bye!’

He looked up at Priya. She was in the midst of an animated conversation with the waiter. Sandeep got up and walked around the table and hugged her as she got up and planted a firm kiss on her cheeks.

He held her around her waist as the separated, and whispered, ‘ Priya!’

‘Yeah?’

‘ Will you marry me ?’