Waiting at Koshy's...

Hate waiting as a rule, but somehow waiting here is not bad at all. It’s the place where the kind of time that you don’t want to move, gets frozen and the kind of time that you like to fly away doing something you like does really fly away. Even the waiters in white all seem to be your friends, they are ready to help, be there, only if you call for them. Else, all leave you undisturbed.
I mean, there are so many tables and chairs around me, mostly all occupied. More getting vacant, getting filled, by bearded men, non-bearded men in kurtas, men with tousled hair, women in smart formals, the coolest of casuals, alone, accompanied.. all sorts. People of all sorts. It’s the kind of place where one gives a damn about you or what you say or what you do, cos each one is happily busy lost in their own world, where conversation ceases only cos its so loud, and so the place seems absolutely silent, the kind of silence filled noise one is comfortable with, at-home in.
People meet up here for a purpose, looks like, even if, no no, especially if the purpose is to just unwind and chill. It’s the kind of place where probably newspapers like those campaigning and championing the cause of youth, by revels, for the rebels, those who think they are making a difference to the way ideas are shaped and people’s thoughts turn, the kind of place where such folks meet and discuss, whose heads churn up these newspapers; storyboards for the most creative ads get ideated here seems like, the place where one needs to be by himself or herself, undisturbed, with a toast and a beer. Haven of comfort, everyone is comfortable with everyone else, and the lights, a mix of sodium vapour and those tube lights I think, make you feel the world’s not so bad a place after all, and there are nooks for escape, right in the heart of the city.
It’s the place where you can wait for a friend sipping away at the coffee, keep cleaning up your wallet which has been untouched by the human hand for the last few months, except to draw cash or card out, pile up so much of junk and lay it on the table, and just look up, and look around, the man in white is there, by your side.. you don’t feel one bit odd to tell him to please burn up the junk you are handing over to him.. Its service with a smile seems like all these guys got their training from Jeeves and should be definitely a member of the Ganymede Club, or have one of their own where the Book of Guests is maintained!