Another stint with idle time, I had recently, made me realize I'm still no good at killing it; I mean, not if I don't have a modern-day addiction in the vicinity (a.k.a television, phone, computer, etc.). The first thing I yearned for was a computer. I did realize, though, that I'm a bit old-fashioned as well, because the second best thing felt like the book at my nightstand. I am one of those, to whom only a book can be a book - not it's printed copy, not it's soft-copy. I have tried even audio-books; nothing comes even close to an actual book.
Another weird old-fashioned streak in me, this thought makes me aware of, is my sincere liking for a coffee place in Connaught Place in Central Delhi. It's old and primitive; you can almost carbon-date it standing at its door, back to the years of black and white photography. The fact that it's located right across the street from an ultra-modern multiplex is enough to jolt anyone to the realization of it's juxta-positioning amidst the modern world, full of its flagship coffee houses, which are much too plastic in comparison to this humble coffee place.
The khaki-clad man at the kitchen counter (adorned with a khaki "neta" cap); the costliest coffee under twenty bucks; the potato fingers cut by hand and fried to home-made perfection (as opposed to the modern french fries cut in perfect cuboidals) - all shove you a step nearer to the accepting that civilization has complicated our lives. Coffee's not just coffee anymore, it's a choice one has to make from a sea of Lattes, cappucinos, mochas - not to mention the choice in sizes as well (Simple mathematics suggests that having 3 sizes, in fact, increases our choices three-fold).
Sometimes, when I wish to make life simple for myself and when there are too many choices to make, too many decisions awaiting a stand, I close my eyes and think of that coffee house. Sometimes, a cup of plain old coffee, potato fingers, a terrace swarmed by elderly reading their morning papers, a loved one by your side and a battered sofa make a perfect winter Sunday morning.
