The Coffee Shop

This is an account of an evening spent in a Coffee Shop in Ahmedabad. I wrote this essay as part of an assignment. But felt that its ok to blog too...here goes..

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The waiter has now decided that I must be some kind of a journalist. Lugging my laptop, a notepad and 2 pens, and with 3 café lattes ingested, he no longer bothers me. Which suits me just as well. I had taken up position against the backlit wall with some kind of a modern art painting with blurred coffee beans. It’s been 2 hours in the coffee shop now and with the passage of time, I had seen a family have a boisterous, loud party, two couples who broke up, and two others who seemed to weather the ravages of time. Destiny seemed to be on their side. There was this gentleman, also with a laptop and the financial times who was probably passing time before heading back to his hotel. No doubt, he was checking his stock positions. He was the only other person in the shop who nodded his head at me and smiled. Undercover agents acknowledging a secret mission!!

In the beginning I don’t notice the kind of drinks that people are ordering. There is very little hot coffee being ordered. There are 2 young boys at the counter. No girls at all. I always imagined that in the place like this, surely some girls would have been employed. There is a bored expression on the faces of the kids. Wearing a smart uniform and uncomfortably mouthing Au Lait’s and Macchiato, I could sense their discomfort. The gap that exists between their world and an alien world where a cup of coffee costs more than their daily meal.

No such hesitation for the young couple who order an iced coffee and a frappucino. University students I reckon. She carries a canvas/jute handbag embroidered with beads, some kind of zari work and carries off the ethnic look very well. There is kohl in her eyes and confidence in her bearing. Her escort is well dressed, smart in t-shirt and frayed jeans. They sat opposite me and for a considerable amount of time, engaged my attention. In my view they represented young India. They took about 45 minutes to finish their drinks, and must have spent about 7 minutes talking to each other. The remaining time was spent in fiddling on their cell phones and calling up a few more friends. The long suffering café coffee day waiter came up again and again trying to first sell some cookies that no one seems to want and checking if they could be persuaded to have another drink. While this story developed on my left hand side, there was yet another couple who weren’t sharing any love or harmony. They sat down and the girl ordered a brownie and the guy a lemon tea. So much for a coffee shop!! A heated argument then ensued and voices were raised. Interestingly, not a single soul in the coffee shop (about 15 others), raised their head. While I was lamenting the general loss of curiosity and interest which is such an endearing Gujarati trait, lo and behold, our fearless waiter decided to foist his cookie spiel on this couple. The poor chap needs to do something about his timing. The girl actually stood up in anger and the guy had to pull her down. Within 5 minutes this meeting concluded with the girl storming out of the shop. The guy paid the bill and left.

With all this drama unfolding, I hardly had an eye on the details of the place. The colors were neutral. Shades of blue and beige, with molded chairs in a dark chocolate color. There was some kind of music, which to my untrained ear sounded like some kind of a Michael Bolton love ballad.

I often wonder as to how many times the designer of the shop even comes and observes human life in a place like this. The music was not quite right, it was meant to sooth, but it was a bit on the louder side. The colors on the walls clashed with the furniture. Chairs and tables are arranged in fours on one side. A complete waste of space in a place which is frequented by couples.

The servers of course can’t be blamed, but they could do better with their smiles and inject some warmth. Of course, when I compare it to some of the rude baristas of the starbucks in NYC, these boys and girls are downright nice and friendly.

I’ve again fallen into the habit of criticizing the place. It’s an old habit I’ve been trying to break. I pull myself together, and check off my list – Place, covered. People, covered. Ambience, done. Anything else left? I feel a sense of loss when I leave the place. People came, had coffee and snacks, and left, but they left behind some happiness, ideas, unrequited love, arguments and feelings. The atmosphere hangs heavy with these human emotions. I couldn’t get a handle on that. Maybe I should just come back and be the observer once again.

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