I long for my coffee house

Chapter 6

I read this morning in Times of India about the cynical comment of the recently retired St Stephens  Principal Thimpu about the samosa stall in his college. Some people don't know how to retire gracefully. They want to remain in headlines. Thimpu carries a chip on his shoulder. He smacks of a pucca sahib, a toady of British days. He couldn't stand a samosa stall in his domain. I still remember watching Hamlet and Othello staged by the Shakespearean society of that college. They had used the tall historical wall of the college as a backdrop. The night guards walking with an oil lamp, still lingers in my memory. Samosa and Shakespeare don't jell but there is still a place for both.

This news took me back to my school and college days. I was introduced to the Indian Coffee House ran by the workers as a co-operative opposite Kirori Mal College on Bunglow Road. I was a tea drinker. I found coffee rather bitter. But I found the atmosphere different, if not interesting. It was a democratic space like a chopal. Teachers, students, journalists sat across a table and discussed the world around us. No other friend of mine was exposed to this. That give me an identity.

Soon I graduated to Law faculty and Arts faculty coffee houses. I met Swadesh Mitra Mahajan who had topped in higher secondary examination here. He was a jovial and friendly guy. A teacher in top of that. I was surprised that one could have coffee with teachers and students in the same space. DU had many coffee houses. It still has. The difference between a tea dhaba and a coffee house  was that it served South Indian stuff and didn't mind how much time you spent here. One table could order one coffee and spend hours.

Once, I was caught reading a Hindi detective novel by my Maths teacher M.C.Puri. He came and caught me doing the blasphemy. I got one slap and he asked me to bring my father. I was non-plussed. I had a teacher friend Vijay Moray, who later migrated to Fargusan Pune. I took him as my uncle. The Maths teacher gave me a dressing down. The teacher friend kept on listening for a couple of minutes. Half an hour later, the same teacher, found me and Moray smoking and sipping coffee in Bunglow Road joint. That was the force of coffee house.

A few years passed and I joined Delhi Press in Jhandewalan. After the office, I would rush to Mohan Singh Place coffee house next to Rivoli Cinema hall in the CP It had a sprawling terrace full of tables and chairs. The crowd was organised and friendly. The faces were similar and familiar. everybody knew, everybody. Anyone could join any table. There were discussions and no arguments. Generally, people with a leftist bent of mind zeroed in there. I had a slight exposure to the RSS and ABVP but I had left them behind. Now I was a so-called objective journalist who was agnostic and iconoclastic. These sessions gave me a different perspective of life and the world at large.

There was a tea house also at the other corner of Regal building. It was patronized by literary authors like Vishnu Prabhakar of Sharat Chandra's biography Aawara Masiha.

I saw Devdas, yesterday on Zee Classic channel after a long time. It sent me on an nostalgic trip. I couldn't reconcile such a Greek tragedy was made by Bimal Roy. Suchitra Sen and Dilip Kumar were larger than life. So was Moti Lal and Vyjantimala. Boman Irani was an anchor. An emotional trip that didn't me realize that it finished at midnight. Such films are not made any more. sad.

I hadn't started drinking till then. But as I became a full-fledged journalist I joined Press Club and the IIC, in that order and my life changed. But I still long for my coffee house.