Coffee Day

Café Coffee Day is a chain of coffee shops all over India, nearly 1500 of them, in more than 200 towns / cities. It charges Rs 90/ or more for a cup as against Rs 20 or rather Rs 30 (if quantities are matched) in popular fast food restaurants like Adigas or Maiyya. A Starbucks cup, at 2.25 USD and taking into account   PPP ( Purchasing Power Parity ) which is around 20, should cost Rs 45 or so but coffee at Café Coffee Day costs Rs. 90/. Twice as much as in USA.

Starbucks is my favourite in the USA. There are some similarities between the two. One, coffee is priced high; two, the shops are clean and ambience is soothing; three, one could sit there without any time limit; four, there is wi fi connectivity (only in some places in Café Coffee Day). There are dissimilarities too. Coffee day is more expensive in India than Starbucks on PPP terms; no aroma like in Starbucks; Starbucks is utilitarian while Coffee day is aspirational. Coming back to Indian conditions I should also add that toilets are clean and sitting area is air conditioned and seats are comfortable ( all are taken for granted in Starbucks ).However, coffee is not better than in  Adigas or Maiyas  although one pays three times. But still it is popular with certain sections of population. I admit I am one of its fans.

It is because Coffee Day is not about Coffee!

From a report  : ‘ The Café Coffee Day is a regular meeting place for 15 to 30 years old, both male and female, who are waited on by friendly and informed staff, and are offered the best made coffee, hot or cold, beverages and food in an invigorating ambience. It is urban youngsters’ favorite “hangout”. Its customers are mostly young college students and young professionals. It is for those who are young or young at heart. Nearly 40 % of people spend ½ hr. to 1 hr.; more than 1 hr. is common…  ’ (this is as against: stand, drink and leave in, say, Adigas)

It is interesting to note that highly priced coffee dissuades  certain section of  people – middle class , middle aged and old but retains young ( want to be different ) who are not bothered so much about money ( especially as parents pay for it ). Further, they are attracted to it because of the absence of older people (‘so boring’) and they can hang out with their friends without sneering, disapproving, judgmental eyes. So, generally the crowd is young and vibrant.

Waiters are dressed in some uniform; they look different from the shabbily dressed ones in regular restaurants. They are trained for some weeks and paid reasonably. Waiters speak to clients in some form of English; they switch over to Kannada, Tamil or Hindi amongst themselves; they are reasonably efficient, polite and smart.

I walk in with a bottle of water. My mind woke up and reminded me that they don’t serve water free; a bottle costs more than in the market (what a saving! I mock myself). A glass of water before coffee is so refreshing and prepares the taste buds for coffee. I look around and settle down on a comfortable seat with my back to the wall and entire shop is visible so also the outside road and traffic. I dislike to sit facing a wall; so was it in my office; many, particularly in Infosys, used to sit like that partly because the bosses sat that way.  

Waiter comes leisurely and before I say anything, says ‘Cappuccino without sugar? ’ and smiles – I smile in return and am pleased that he remembers and tick off in my mind to leave some extra tips. I use the fairly clean toilet and wait for my coffee. I am in no hurry and neither is the waiter. Now I have time to watch people inside and outside. Coffee arrives hot and nice with a foam pattern on the surface; there is a faint aroma but I sigh thinking of Starbucks in USA where aroma is so strong and captivating. There is no spilled coffee on the saucer. I approve and sip contentedly and continue my watch.

The crowd is assorted except that there are no old people other than me. English, Hindi (… yaar ) Kannada ( … maga ) Tamil ( … da ) can be heard.  I see two girls and imagine them gossiping about office from snatches of what I hear. More intimate scene is around the corner as some boy is trying to impress his girlfriend. Then there is a budding or fading film director with a couple of cronies. He seems to be describing some shots – long shot, close ups, crane shots and what not. He is animated but frequently, perhaps recalling his intellectual bearings, slips into bored looks.

There is a young photographer showing a wedding album to his client. The photographer is all smiles; payer is not; he cannot accept it so quickly; assumes a critical role; spectacles definitely help; but we are under estimating the photographer. He by his constant non fading smile (and also because of photographs I hope) makes his client smile and has just won his business.

A  small time interior designer ( like our Uday who did it for our house ) showing her design  ( auto cad sketches with clean and attractive images ) on a lap top which adds to her personality and makes the client  feel comfortable and a little intimidated.

A couple hoping to become somehow healthy buy some expensive red liquid. They are relaxed and feel confident that this will somehow make the bulging stomach and derrière shrink.

A Sardar and a local person occupy the next table. Sardar is well dressed with a light blue turban; other one is poorly dressed client. But Sardar has to sell. After some discussion on some product (industrial chemical in a bottle) Sardar goes to the counter to get something; our local immediately and stealthily looks closely at the red juice he has been drinking trying to find an answer to his curiosity.

There is a small group of 4 / 5 persons with the leader easily recognized. Either he is paying or else there is some favour others expect from him. So he talks, jokes and makes wise cracks. Rest agree quickly with smiles (ದೇಶಾವರಿ ನಗೆ). The leader with traditional marks on his forehead (ಕುಂಕುಮ ಚಂದನ ಲೇಪಿತ) orders happily and in my mind I see someone in the group twitching uneasily.

It is an interesting place – with bored intellectual looks, dreamy faces, juicy tit bits, fake concentration, ‘arrived’ people, lonely souls and compulsive talkers on mobiles, smiling small time sales people. While all these could be present elsewhere Café gives me an opportunity and leisurely place to watch.

Why does it attract? I suppose it gives respectability to people. It is considered ‘cool’ to hang out there. It also makes one feel exclusive. It is a spot of luxury, a spot of privacy, a moment of pride (often hidden), a moment of peace. More than anything it is class consciousness.

I sniggered at it when I was introduced to it in Infosys. My initial reaction was that it has snob value. I realized soon that it was more than that. I am now more sympathetic and understanding. For instance ordering something  unpronounceable  adds to the charm; take frappe or  cappuccino – not just plain coffee you see; or macchiato , frappe – pronounced  muschito ( ಮಸ್ಚಿಟೊ ) and frap by most of us  unless you are from Koramangla or cantonment  area or travelled abroad; if so then it is Makkito (  ಮಕ್ಕಿಟೊ ) and     ‘frappe’.  I hear someone say ‘ bare coffee ge eneno barithare aste ‘ (ಕಾಫ಼ೀನೇ - ಏನೇನೋ ಬರೀತಾರೆ ಅಷ್ಟೆ ; just coffee written differently in the menu card). I think it was to cover up his embarrassment in not able to figure out the pronunciation; but he orders one anyway as someone else is paying.

The success of the place is also due to the fact that for people particularly young not many places are there to meet. They cannot invite people home; no convenience, no comfort, not cool enough and to top it all disapprovals from all and sundry.

When I think of class consciousness I recall an incident that happened when I was in TCS several years back. I was staying with an old couple as a paying guest (their home was called ‘Little Italy’). It was in the outskirts of London. The man was unashamedly racist, somewhat senile, dreaming of ‘Raj’ days, was seeing or talking to God on a regular basis and was kind and liked me. His wife once told me that she had taken him to the beach the other day and he enjoyed it thoroughly. I was nodding in appreciation thinking about the affection she had for her husband when it became clear that she was referring to her dog. Coming back to the present topic she told me that every year she goes to Harrods in London when they have sales. I asked her what is it she buys. She said ‘I go to Harrods and have Tea’.

Snobbish behavior at times is touching and shows our frailties in an amusing way. Coffee day has that too.

Sometimes I wonder if a comparison with Coffee shops in Paris is really so outrageous.

For me Café Coffee Day is comfort, AC, clean toilets, good ambience, people watching- both inside and outside and some moments of peace and solitude.

Small pleasures – Then and now

I should have titled it differently. It is not small pleasures but pleasures out of small things.  I also want to examine the past as it appears now and the present. There is an element of nostalgia and because of that past comes alive.

We were living in Chamarajpet when I was 12 or 13. It means half a century back. Chamarajpet is one of the oldest localities of Bangalore and our home was close to a tank named after Kempamma, daughter–in–law of Kempegowda, the founder of the city. We were from lower middle class and most of my friends were at the same level if not poorer. Some of us, notably Kittanna, were interested in swimming. Pool was out of reach – both distance wise and affordability wise. Kittanna was from orthodox (everyone was orthodox; some more and some less) Iyengar family presided over by his mother. She was a woman of strong opinions and a voice to match and strict in her ways. She was not averse to explicitly sharing her disapproval publicly.  It was no surprise that Kittanna dare not ask her to allow him to go for swimming. So he would come with no paraphernalia- no change of clothes, no towel and most importantly no apparent enthusiasm in going out. We would go to a village three or four kilometers away called Dasarahalli where there was a large well. Large means at best the well would have been 15 ft. in diameter but it was more than enough for 4 or 5 of us. We would swim there and Kittanna would wait till his clothes were dry and hair combed to look natural. It was a long distance away and we would be tired by the time we walked the distance. Sometimes on our way to the well we would ‘place an order’ (actually request) for idlis (easy availability and easy on the pocket) with the cook (‘Bhatta - ಭಟ್ಟರು ‘ ) who ran a small eatery at his home and on our return we would eat them with relish. Only two idlis per head and no coffee as there would be no money for such extravaganza. Once after placing the order and on our way back we found to our dismay that the money, pooled from all, was insufficient for the idlis. We had to avoid  the cook and so we took a long diversion back home. 

The swimming was basic and rustic and devoid of any skill, style or grace. It was beating water by feet and hands as vigorously as possible to stay afloat. The swimming, idle chatter and idlis after a tiring trip were all so pleasant. Even more- the sharing, bonding and immense pleasure in going out for forbidden adventure was delightful. 

Cricket was the game we played all the time. If there was a match (India vs. any other country; or Ranji trophy matches Mysore vs. other teams) there would be a commentary on the radio. We would crowd around a set (not easy to locate one) and listen. Most of us could not follow the details as our English was inadequate but scores would be easy to decipher. My reputation was high with my friends on such occasions. My English was distinctly superior to that of others and I would interpret for them some nuances of the commentary such as when the new ball would arrive , catches dropped or off drives executed or some reference to Bradman or Vinu Mankad. There was a commentator Vizzy, Maharaja of Vijanagaram, who was one sided, long winded and would frequently go off the tangent from what was happening and return later to announce the fall of a wicket. Then I would be very handy to tell them  what was happening. I was also the one who could read the newspaper, even as formidable as Hindu, and understand the column say by Fingleton or someone like that.

We played Cricket everywhere- in roads, in play grounds, in small alleys and at all times. It was Cricket with a capital C. There was a place nearby (called  ಮಂಟಪ) which was earmarked and used for performing ceremonies (post death). During that time it was forbidden for anyone other than the required persons to enter. Rest of the days (not everyday people- particularly Brahmins- would die) it was free. My mother, when she came to know about us playing cricket there, was furious and also scared. She coaxed, cajoled and threatened, but I was sulky and adamant. She finally relented and did not inform father. Looking back, with the revulsion, fear, strong traditional beliefs etc. attached to such places, allowing me (10 – 12 years old) to go and play there was unthinkable. Only her love for me must have made her agree. I feel so thankful even today.

We collected cricket memorabilia diligently and with fondness.  Chiefly it consisted of photos of cricket heroes in the context of the game. We cut newspapers, sports magazines and pasted them in used (written but now discarded) note books. Harveys, Oneils, Worrels and Weeks, Mankads and Subhash Guptes all came home and occupied their allotted slots. Triumphs (a few in those days) and tragedies (plenty) of Indian team were all captured.  It was more than adequate for an afternoon of reverential study. My friend had one such collection. He would give it to me to go through but stay around to keep a watch on me !

Before we graduated to cricket we played local games such as goli, buguri, kuntata, chinni- dandu (ಗೋಲಿ, ಬುಗುರಿ , ಕುಂಟಾಟ , ಚಿಣ್ಣಿ – ದಾಂಡು ) . Sometimes we played kuntata with rewards. The winning team would get a pencil (not for everyone though) as a trophy. It was played with all the seriousness it deserved and would be the topic for discussion before and after the match. I really feel you do not need sophisticated games or equipment to enjoy. What all you need is freedom from elders, understanding friends and bright sun and some space.

Indoor games were also absorbing. Carrom and dice (ಪಗಡೆ) and sometimes snakes and ladders (ಪರಮಪದ ಸೋಪಾನ ಪಟಮು) were our popular ones and chess much later. I remember when I had my leg in plaster for two months during a summer vocation four of us friends would play from morning to evening with a short break for lunch. Sometimes when the number exceeded four, we  had to wait for our turn. I wonder how  people at home tolerated the constant clatter of dice rolling. Why was it played in our house? I did not think at that time but later it became clear. Because only we had space and more importantly only we had the carrom board and needed things for the game of dice ( others could not afford them ). We imagined us to be characters from Mahabharata I suppose.

I wonder if nostalgia is making these memories so attractive. On deeper reflection I do not think so. Even in those days when they were actually  happening all these were extremely pleasurable. So pleasure was then and the lingering  memory  of that now. Occasionally I also wonder if those days of finding joy  from simple and small things and events have gone.

 I start thinking about simple, basic things, events and experiences that happen now.  Then I realize with a smile that fortunately joy still springs from these.

 As I thought about this I was sitting in a coffee day café and sipping coffee ( what else in a coffee shop ! ) . I look out – winter sun though bright is still pleasant. I am sitting in an A/C room and watch  lazily the outside traffic and in particular people in various degrees of urgency. I must admit that there is some vicarious pleasure in watching people moving around when you don’t need to.

Then there are experiences that are simple but with richer overtones. Morning coffee we (my wife and I) have sitting in a corner of our sofa. Day is yet to begin or just begun.  It is generally cool and aroma of coffee and idle chatter likes ‘did you have good sleep’, ‘what about today’s lunch ’,‘there is pain in the elbow’ are good enough for half an hour to one hour. Sometimes they are laced with stronger ones such as Gundu’s heroics. Or recollections of our children’s deeds.or about TMKrishna,GNB or MS . Or after a good lunch (most of the days it is) and beetle nuts I slip into a delightful nap. Winter, rain or summer each one has its own beauty as I close my eyes.

Lest I deal only with eating and drinking let me recall the Nirgun Bhajans of Kumara Gandharva I heard the other day while walking. It is so beautiful, touching and strangely I get the feeling of a long distance runner!  I do not know the connection but the closest I can think is what my friend Galagali told me once. He felt strange but very happy running on a bridge (SFO) while listening to classical Hindustani vocal recital of Bhimsen Joshi.

Or watching unusual movies – the experiences of the characters that are not ours, treatment of the story that is much different from what we would see here. But in spite of the strangeness something takes over and I watch with growing interest. Somewhat similar to the days when as young we watched Hollywood movies of heroes and their exploits , spectacles and fancy locations while speaking in a language we understood only in fragments.

Sports are still captivating. The fours and sixes, leg glances, scoops, helicopter shots, googlies and doosras in cricket; inn offs and canons in Billiards; passion of football (non-American variety!) and tennis and tales of chess are often delightful.

While I write this I am at rest both physically and mentally and know that awesome moments happen all the time . Life is still beautiful. 

There are plenty of things replacing childhood pleasures. The sun, moon, stars, wind, rain, different seasons have remained the same and continue to give the same pleasures. There has been the mystery world of   books, music, paintings, photographs; wonders of science and mathematics; complexities  of management and business; power of technology; kaleidoscopic  politics; great pleasures of travel; delicacies  of food and drinks – so many have poured into life. Broader and deeper and richer relationships have enhanced the earlier few. No definitely life is more charming.

What was new and fresh in childhood and flavoured now by nostalgia is replaced by variety, affordability and most importantly the urgency to experience as I hit the home run.

Spring in the steps has diminished but sparkle in the eyes remains. Fortunately eyes and ears and more importantly the mind have retained the wonder.

Sri Ramanavami

Today is Ramanavami – birthday of Rama.

We collected a list of songs on Rama by various singers like MS, Balamurali,  Ariyakudi,Pattammal,TMKrishna , Rajan and Sajan Misra. We heard them in the morning. Some of them more than 50 years old and  composed hundreds of years back about a great man , myth or history hardly matters, who lived perhaps thousands of year back.

After that the usual ಪಾನಕ, ಕೋಸಂಬರಿ etc.But as poet Adiga says :

ಶ್ರೀ ರಾಮನವಮಿಯ ದಿವಸ ರಾಮನಾಮಾಮೃತವೆ

ಪಾನಕ,ಪನಿವಾರ,ಕೋಸಂಬರಿ;

 

It was very pleasant both from a musical point of view and from cultural point of view.

Treating him as a great man, pinnacle of humans (ಪುರುಷೋತ್ತಮ ) required a mind set that is admirable and says something about the culture. A kind person who considered a promise as sacrosanct, treated his subjects as his superiors ( leave aside differences in perception and disagreements ) does not belong to ordinary mortals. As Tulasidas sings :

Shri Ramacandra kripalu bhaju, mana, harana bhava bhaya darunam ।

navakanja-lochana kanja-mukha, kara-kanja pada-kanjarunam

I feel sad that in his name we want to kill, maim people,violate women and not spare even children. It is cruel irony that one of the pillars of his character ( as a King ) was to  listen to grievances of people ( however humble in origin  and uninformed they may be ) and to protect them – called ‘Raja Dharma’ is precisely what was missing by willful intent in our rulers. And one such is Modi who might be the prime minister soon. His party wants to build a temple in His name whatever the consequences.

No ... we do not want to clean up say Yamuna, create clean and sanitized conditions even in ‘ holy and sacred’ places of worship, make Himalyas or Kanyakumari unpolluted – no these are not as important as building another temple so that we can fight and spill blood.

I feel sad and share anguish  with the poet

ಹುತ್ತುಗಟ್ಟದೆ ಚಿತ್ತ ಮತ್ತೆ ಕೆತ್ತೀತೇನು

ಪುರುಷೋತ್ತಮನ ಆ ಅಂಥ ರೂಪ-ರೇಖೆ ?