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‘A lot can happen over coffee.’ has been taken quite seriously by a few of the urban lot, it seems. You can find coffee shops being thronged by people of all dimensions, colors and moods, gossiping around with sugar and cream filled extra-large portions of coffee. Amidst all the chaos, you will always find someone, sitting by himself, eying for a piece of life in his otherwise uneventful life. I decided to have a feel of this whole fill-in-the-void concept, not in the desperate hope of an event or a date to spice up my life, but just to sit back with a book and a cup of hot coffee in a quiet surrounding.
To my dismay, I had chosen a public holiday for the experience and the place was jam-packed with our small eyed neighbors and a white family. Hey, this is not intended to be a racist comment. It immediately transported me to a recent conversation with my dad. He called me up with a concern about the rumors of violence leading to the exodus of thousands of north-east people from all the major cities. His worries were justified as I, to an extent, share a slight physical resemblance with them, which till date is an ancestral mystery. Anyway, we had had a hearty laugh over the phone that day.
I ordered a black coffee, pretty unusual of me, but so was this visit to the cafe I occupied a table for two, with a chair holding the power of leaving your arse in a state similar to a moment of pride after winning a free ride from a truck driver, fooling him with a puppy face, and later, cursing yourself for being a miser. The black leather sofas were already occupied by the giggling girls and the spiked haired blokes, the downside of visiting a supposedly hap place on a festival.
I took an extensive look around the room to find a bunch of girls, all dressed up (and nowhere to go), giggling endlessly, making me wonder if something can be hilarious of a sort that makes you chuckle and not guffaw. I have started considering the possibility that I lack lot of inherent qualities the fairer sex holds, for which I don’t have the tiniest of regret.
A couple, with A4 size papers lying all over the table seemed to be trying their luck on some kind of a report, immensely stressed and on the verge of bursting out on the other. The story of life.
A gang of cute guys were scattering their charm, talking in a language I couldn’t decipher, but I definitely wouldn’t allow that to act a spoilsport, coming in the way of my rights to appreciate the good looks.
My eyes fell on a girl occupying the table next to mine. With her laptop and headphones plugged in, she was savoring her alone time. I could say that from the expressions on her face – at peace, with a tender smirk once in a while. Suddenly, out of the blue, an Indian guy, dressed in casuals and blurting out English in a fake accent approached her. They seemed to have met before but barely knew each other. With no hint of invitation, he made himself comfortable. He was loud enough not to be overheard, considering the level of concentration I am gifted with. He bragged about every possible possession he had or hadn’t, to the recent break- up with his girlfriend, which clearly was an intention to declare himself single. Poor girl’s desire to be at peace went haywire. I assume he had been following her and landed up at the same place, at the same time with no company. Or he may be the kind I mentioned in the beginning, the desperate kind who visits cafes to have some action in order to make his life interesting.
I ended up reading a single chapter of the book I had expected to finish the very same day, but I won’t complain. This entire episode reminded me of Peter Frampton’s song:
People Over The World
We are the same
Just different colors
We have one life to live
So much to give and so much to share
There is love to be found
Just look around
There’s happiness there.