The Artsy cafe is a modern place. The customers are probably quite wealthy Indians. My homestay fellow guest, Steve, had recommended it.
When I went in, most people were sitting on the wooden tables (for food). Some were sitting on the side, outward facing high tables with stools. They were using laptops.
I sat on one of two comfy three-seater sofas facing each other. These cream sofas were unoccupied. I had my coffee and read The City and Its Uncertain Walls by Haruki Murakami. I’d bought the book in Thiruvananthapurum. It’s just come out in English.
Given this was an “artsy” place, I was expecting to see “unconventional” people.
Sure enough, before too long, an Indian couple walked in. The man was wearing a Stetson hat with a silver studded fringe and the woman had a flamingo-coloured top. They looked stern and were somewhat unfriendly in the way they addressed the staff. Once seated, Flamingo kept looking around in my direction. Stetson was on his phone straight away. He got up to go to the toilet. He had close-fitting jeans with a tight belt. His shirt was tucked in, and his belly was pouring out of his jeans over the belt.
Flamingo crossed her legs, ankle over knee, figure-four style. This was quite something with her legs under a table. It can be difficult enough crossing your legs knee over knee when sitting by a table. She was confident, assertive.
There was a woman on her laptop to my left. She looked around. We looked at each other briefly. She then tied her long hair into a bun. I looked at Stetson and Flamingo. They were both on their phones now. So far, neither had smiled.
A single earnest-looking man was sitting diagonally opposite me. He was on a table a couple of metres away when I walked in. He put his book down. Someone had joined Earnest. She too went to the toilet and looked in my direction.
By now, I’m used to being an item of curiosity. It’s only a matter of time before someone asks me which country I’m from. I look Indian but not fully. This puzzles some people here and is a conversation starter.
I looked to Hair Up. Her hair was back down again. She was indecisive.
Stetson and Flamingo had been served dinner. They were eating. Stetson’s face was practically above the plate, Japanese style. The little eye contact between them was now reduced to no eye contact.
Some people who know each other don’t look at each other. They could be talking to each other and looking ahead. Or, sometimes, one person is looking at the other and the other is looking into the distance.
When Stetson walked in, I’d noticed his watch. It was big and shiny and must have been expensive. This reminded me of my trip to Hong Kong. I went to an expensive mall. I was looking at some watches in glass cases. A salesperson came to me. I said, “These watches look far too expensive for me but how much do they cost?”. Someone once said to me if you must ask the price of something, you can’t afford it. I like telling shop assistants I can’t afford what they’re selling. It saves time. The watches on display were something like $30,000. There were more expensive ones inside. This was a mind-boggling amount to spend on a watch. If you’re extremely wealthy, expensive watches are one way of spending money and showing off your wealth.
Finally, Stetson and Flamingo were talking — and they were looking at each other! I might have even seen a smile. At this point, a man sat diagonally to my right on the opposite cream sofa. He was Sikh and had a laptop. I could see he really wanted to be sitting on a stool facing the wall on the side.
Hair Down was now Hair Up again.
A man and woman walked in. Having walked past Flamingo, the woman doubled back. They knew each other. The woman approached Flamingo as if it were a duty. They put one arm around each other in the most flimsy way possible. Their faces moved closer. I thought they were going to kiss each other’s cheeks. But neither face got anywhere near the other. It was more a Grand Canyon kiss than an air kiss. They couldn’t greet each other more insincerely if they tried! All that remained was to part with smiles that disappeared the instant they stopped looking at each other.
Sikh man moved as soon as a stool became free. A new woman took his place. When I looked up, she asked if the seat was free. We started talking. She was a regular. Born and bred in Kolkata, she came to the cafe at least once a week. As we were talking, her husband appeared. He sat next to me, opposite her. A coffee table separated them. During our conversation, she was distracted, looking around the cafe, checking out other customers. She was engaging in our conversation in the most perfunctory way possible. Someone else appeared. He sat next to her, opposite me. She turned to welcome him. I took it as my cue to get back to my book.
Keeping track of everyone’s clothes, hats, communication styles, body language, eye contact frequency, hair, and belt tightness was quite taxing. As a result, I’d done very little reading.
It was also getting close to dinner time. Chef Rabindra would soon be wondering where I was. I called a taxi and returned to another tasty Rabindra special.