Carrying my purse of prejudice, listening to adults shout their opinions for the benefit of the cafeteria when their child interrupts them, “Mumma, can I just say one thing?” O dear child, I assume you will be asking the party to turn down the volume. Alas, I am disappointed.
So naturally, I preferred the quiet, quaint, soulful café, tags we find populating pictures. But when I found one, I sat there happily, thinking, “aah! No one can disturb me now”.
Then I heard a screeching, dragging noise, begging my senses to rescue whoever is being tortured. I saw a few tables. And the café employees putting their full force in joining them in one long piece of rectangle, right in the middle, like a beauty spot.
Widening the vision of my eyes, peripherally, I saw aged people getting up from nearby tables, shifting towards the new structure and near me.
I thought, it must be some family event. I was curious.
My friend was irritated. He too had lost his favourite café recently. He was recovering.
They gathered around and asked us to join them in cutting the cake. I was listening to their conversation just before this. They were talking about a Rasmalai cake. I wanted to eat that.
God heard me.
His name was Dr. Sanjeev. The man looked humble in his blue sweater with a T-shirt collar and sleeves. His eyes behind round glasses had a smile matching his mouth as he introduced himself to us.
He cut the cake, we sang the song, my friend recorded the video and asked him to make a wish.
But as all this was happening, I felt guilt. I did not have any gift on me. An old adult or a young child, birthday comes once a year. Every birthday boy should get gifts. It’s a right. I do not like it when my family does not get me separate gifts, one or as many as the heart wants, per person.
The festivity was simple on a wintery noon. As soon as the cake-cutting ceremony was over, I left to quickly buy a gift. All I could find were kites.
Big neon’s, transparent panni’s, dedh kanni’s, flashy tails and celebrity PRs on rectangular pieces I wished to buy and for a moment, just forget about everything and hold a charkhi between my knees, knit the threads in the kite and ask the shopkeeper,
“भैया, थोड़ी दूर से छुट्टी देना!”
But I was on road and there were no kites flying in the sky.
That was not the reason I turned back my footsteps to trace back to the café.
No. My piece of cake was waiting on my table and I was afraid that my friend would eat it all without feeling a single pang of remorse.
I was scared. I drove fast. Only because the roads were empty…
My friend gave the recording to one of the iPhone carrying member of the birthday party and deleted it from his phone.
They were a group of people belonging to the age group of 65 to 90. They are never seen out just to celebrate as friends. They were neither loud nor in your face (like a lot of young adults I see). These people, you see them with younger members of their family in a restaurant or relatives at a wedding, taking care of children or being taken care of.
I used to miss such cafes where old and young people hang out together, just having a cup of coffee.
Maybe then, we would be more accepting of each other, when we become friends.
I found a dried heart-shaped leaf from Keral in my bag, an artist had converted it into a piece of micro art with its fine exposed veins, visible on its skeleton dipped in paint colours, the yellow shining above the green. All sticking together to draw a home, a road, a coconut tree, some birds and mountains on a flag from the Peepal.
I gifted that to him. My friend wrote a note on a spare and drew a birthday boy on it to attach with the leaf.
I wish such memories existed every day.
The Rasmalai cake was so yum.
Uttarayan,
14.01.2023