Oh! the smell of coffee makes me feel wanted. Feel hope. The coffee brewed here is a metaphor for good living. Filled to the brim, Full of Life, Rich and inviting... I'm in Love. With Coffee apparently.
The coffee I sip brings me to a realization. Its not just the coffee , not just the people, not just the tables and walls. Its all these things put together - and more
The Coffee House is a place where our collective consciousness- as a people and as a culture- resides. Every culture, Every City has its cultural nerve center. The coffee house is one of such places for Bangalore. Visiting the Coffee House is entering the inner sanctum of the city's collective memories. To experience this, all we have to do is sit down and listen carefully.
What do I find?
A group of businessmen discussing trade over the same coffee that is slowly working its magic with this new couple who sit across from me. I see the girl sipping coffee slowly and stealing loving glances from the boy she's with. Its the same coffee thats helping the girls sitting behind me form such tight bonds of friendship and camaraderie. Lunch is served to the Salesman who's sitting in front of me. And slowly he beings to feel lighter- confident. Probably his prospective customer bailed out on him and was feeling despondent. having lunch here has made him realize the fleeting nature of setbacks. I see a Mother telling some story about her times at the coffee house, to her daughter who's just reached adolescence. I think when this girl experiences Love for the first time- she'll visit here as a symbolic gesture letting in a guy into her life. This old man sits in a group reminiscing fondly about his life and his times with his wife who's passed on- to his group of really old friends. They all Laugh- full throated- and most of them don't even have teeth left. I think of the time when these men came here- maybe decades ago. They weren't this fat. They had Hair, Teeth, and companions. Now they have each other- one of them may leave us all today evening. But this memory would live on passed through them, through me. It suddenly feels like divine hands are working their way to me.. and before I know it I'm smiling too.
I am all these people- The old Man without Teeth, The Girl who might find love, the despondent salesman, the group of friends, the doting mother and Just-Fell in Love- couple. All these people are a part of me just as i am, of them.
Then the realization dawns on me. The coffee house doesn't just serve coffee. The coffee isnt an end- its the means to an end- its the magical fount of self realization. A mirror to my soul and simultaneously the hand of hope.
Everyone has a different picture of hope. For some its their husbands/ Wives. For some its their Lovers or friends. My picture of hope is a pot bellied, mustachioed man with no name. He wears the spotless Red and White headgear and a spotless white uniform. His red belt is the widest belt made ever and his shoes are white and polished. With a genuine warm smile he ambles along like Baloo the Bear and brings me my order of scrambled egg Toast and coffee.
We live schizophrenic lives- especially in the cities- Memories shift like sand dunes of the desert. In this shifty world of Maya, I see my picture of hope- as he comes walking to me smiling and conveying at the same time- "I'm here now- and I'm here for you"
