coffee with #%*! (eww)

Sunday morning I’m wakin up,

Can’t even focus on my Coffee cup,

Don’t even know whose bed I’m in,

Where do I start, where do I begin??

The weekend is here, the day of Rest hath arrived. Pumpy calleth, we decide to meet for the drink made with those beans which have a unique aroma, strangely sensual. The venue is confirmed. A short tuk-tuk ride later I reach, and sit next to her. A second later she begins, cribbing about how the outdoor seating thing isn’t happening and the afternoon is not the time of day to do things like these. She harasses a couple dozen of unsuspecting Sunday-Afternoon coffee drinkers into making way for her at the table she REALLY wants to sit at. It’s Order time!

The cappucino arrives for the All-American beverage drinker. I order a thick Chocolate shake - appetizing as it is; a rich blend of milk and chocolate and crushed ice.. heaven.. on paper.. It arrives; and its more like chocolate flavored water. What more can one ask for?! huh? This is followed by the Chocolate Excess, a dream on a regular day - chocolate cake drowned by thick chocolate sauce. On this day, the cake doesn’t quite taste like it’s been made after the turn of the millennium. Half a cappucino later, Pumpy decides to be herself and dump the cup. She orders Earl Gray. Which is awesome, but the only problem is that she doesn’t really know how to mix tea with milk. As a result, it turns out looking like she had sent up a prayer to the Earl Gods, which had in turn been rudely rejected. The expression on her face after the first sip confirms that the taste matches the way it looks. I think I derive joy from these things. I laugh away. Bindaas.

We chat about the usual (?) crap like Eminem and his profundity, and time flies by. The Chocolate Excess has found a partner to spend share the rest of its short lived life with - a scoop of Vanilla. The chemistry between the two truly is terrific. May their digested souls Rest In Peace.

We move onto Mr. Nice, and about how nice he wasn’t and how cool he IS.. sigh.. the things people find interesting at a coffee table really does leave something to be desired, especially when one of them knows nothing ABOUT Mr. Nice. A life of con. Thus we live. Oblivious to all else around.

An hour passes, it is time to bugger off to Food Bazaar. Pumpy gets set to head to Landmark. Books in the pipeline - must be bought. We step out of Barista and are suddenly confronted by a lady in her mid forties. She’s dressed like a Banjaran, complete with a bright, colorful, expressive Ghagra-Choli. She looks a little out of place on the main roads of Mumbai, but it is a rather welcome sight. Brings back memories of Hyderabad days.

Salma. That’s how she be calling herself. Comes up to us holding a tray full of stickers of all kinds - from little red hearts to help one on with his or her cheesy existence, to pictures of various celebrities who’re worshipped around the country. Most people refer to all of them as one entity - confused humans - they call them God. Priced fairly at ‘Pay-whatever-you-think-it’s-worth’ per sticker.

Salma starts chatting with us, and wants us to shop from her little inventory of goodies. She proceeds to tell Pumpy that one day she’ll be happily married and will find the ideal match who will make her life complete. Pumpy’s a little pink in the face. I, however, have no such luck. No words prophesying any form of good luck, peace, and happiness coming my way. Drat these women.. They’ll bond anywhere! After we’ve fixed Pumpy’s wedding date and determined how many children she’s likely to pop out, we shop from Salma. She tries to bum me a sticker with one of the celebs on it, but I politely refuse and pay her for it anyway. Pumpy procures a picture of the sharp tempered one with a Black Tongue.

We bid farewell to Salma and to each other. Ration shopping calls to ‘us’. Sigh.. to run a house.. and some people say its easy..