My note: i have been meaning to write many short stories
with the title just coffee.. so here is the second installment to it.. hope you
like it (cross my fingers)
The only constant in my life seems to be coffee. My life
till now has been like the rickety shack that is on the main road, surrounded by
the buzz and hum of the on going traffic but still afar from all the hustle
bustle, within it’s own private bubble. And such is a place i frequent to. I am
a working girl in a different city almost every year i have to shift my base. Do i mind? Not yet..
am i a loner? Not by choice! And my coffee?? Such a loyal friend.
I frequent a place just like the shack i mentioned. Middle of
nowhere and everywhere. Its location is very convenient for me. Somewhere on
way to work. Not the CCDsa nd Baristas, but a typical Indian Nescafe doodh marke
with diabetic inducing levels of sugar. It went light on the pocket and its
location, perfect. Like every tea and paan shop located in India this was run
by a man being the namesakes of half of India , Ramu kaka. I was his favourite customer.
Needless to say i was the only women visiting his shack on a regular basis and
taking compous amount of coffee. Ramu kaka’s place was frequented by all types
of people.. the “shehar wales” (city people) dropped in for some cigarettes,
the drivers for paans, the passengers for chai, the kids for wafers and
chocolate, the teenage girls for juice and the rich brats for mountain dews. You
named it and ramu kaka had everything one needs when it comes to road trips. During
the shaddi season you would see truck, bus, tempo loads of people in eye
numbing glittering attires climbing down these oven hot boxes and pilled over
ramu kaka. You could see whole of india just sitting in this blow away shack.
Ramu kaka is like all other ramu kakas in the world. Tanned dark
with sun, a small man with flashing white smile and eyes that crinkle in the
corners. He had a missing a lower tooth and if ever asked how he would fall
into a different stories each time.I never knew which one was true or if all
together had bits of truth in it. But he was a man of the world. Happy and
content at this moment with a wife and 3 children all married. He had a lame
dog too whom he had named Hitler.When i asked him does he know who he is. He simply
shrugged and said someone told him it’s a german shepherd. And all he knew
about Germany was Hitler. Yes, you might think that’s a bit estranged piece of
information for someone named ramu kaka. But that is ramu kaka to you, a man
full of tit bits.
I was an esteemed customer for ramu kaka. He had a special
rickety stool set aside for me which seemed to come from baba adam's era. my orders were always taken first, tho i rarely had
to even ask him. I was his only customer drinking coffee and he showed me off
to any new regulars who would drop by. I loved sitting there in dirt and filth
of the main road and watching cars pass by. It was like spa to me after a
tiring day at office. With the warm cup cuddled in my hand all the memories
floating up from it with every wiff of the sweet smell. Sometimes when it was a
slow day ramu kaka would sit and ask me all sorts of questions. At times i had
a book in my hand and he would want to know the whole story! He was inquisitive
by nature.He was a father in a far off distant land to me.
My parents were dead against about my stopovers a ramukaka’s
chai shop. The news they hear all day long about all kinds of heinous crimes. They
are not to blame. Inspite all that i never left going to the place. Another regular
was shakti ji. Given to his herculean
name he was nothing but it’s opposite. A man in his 50s with scanty grey hair,
a hooked nose and bulging eyes. In the first look you would think he is the
middleman of some smugglers ring passing up messages inconspicuously. But in
reality he was a band member in barati.. Those who play loud instrumental
versions of bollywood nos like munni badnam hui, sheela ki jawani (my knowledge
lacks on tacky nos) for the dulhe raja
(groom) barat to dance to the doom of two people. He was a man with worries, a
man you often see buying desi daru from a wine shop. Thankfully shaktiji had
enough shakti to have come out of the alcoholic red zone. A man who played the
trumpet and made music for happy people to become even more happier, himself
suffered from deficiency of happiness. He had two daughters. One married and
the other yet to marry. His fingers had rhuetism so he couldn’t play much of
the trumpet without killing himself with pain. But yet he did and everyday he
came back to ramu kaka a confider and friend ,his guardian angel. To his chai. Ramu
kaka sympathised with him and nodded sadly at his worries.. about the dowries
one must pay.about the inevitable evil that is society. But as he said wisely“hum toh aam adami hai, humra kaam hai
jhelna” ( we are the common man, its our duty to suffer)
As the days went by, shakti ji chattered about the upcoming
marriage. Even after the mega shock he was about to receive financially for the
marriage there was sunrays of happiness and hopefulness for his daughter. This cheered
him up considerably and i wondered how easy is the heart. All was settled and
set to go for the big wedding of shaktiji’s daughter and he politely invited me
to the wedding, which flattered me to some extent. But there was one element
missing in the marriage. It was the band baja. The “ladki wale” (bride’s party)
are suppose to arrange for the band. And it so happened that shaktiji had no
money left. The irony. No band for the daughter of the band wala. He was in
pieces. The ijjat and even the marriage was at stake. Yes, they are so fragile.
Confessing about his new found troubles to ramu kaka. Kaka silently
contemplatively gave shakti ji some chai. His eyes watching me , watching him. Like
he was looking for some approval. Then he suddenly leaves having a quick chat
with his wife, who lived just behind the shack. He returned with some money
apparently sufficient for the band and forced it into shakti ji’s hands. A reluctant
shakti ji accepted the money and
promised to return it full aware of the uncertainty of the promise and the
depth of gratitude.
Sadly, i had to shift my camp again and would not be able to
make it to the wedding at the cost of humanity. I bid my farewell to my dear
ramu kaka and left. A few months later i was passing by ramu kakas chai shop
and thought of having that old sweet coffee once again and of course to chat up
with ramu kaka. On my arrival i saw her wife recognise me and immediately make
me a cup of coffee and clean up my stool. Even hitler came wagging his tail and
sat by my feet looking longingly at the biscuits. I glanced questioningly at
ramu kakas wife whom i always addressed as ramu kaki. She gave me a pained
expression with watery eyes and i knew. Ramu kaka had caught the dengue. There was
no money left after he offered his help to shakti ji and no hospital would take
him. He was too proud to ask back for his money.
He was now just a
spec in the memories buried somewhere dusty in the minds of the many travellers
he served. The chai shop witnessing an act of benevolence and generosity , of
humanity against the stringent rules of society. In its own private bubble. Going
unnoticed by the speeding cars. As the whole india past by it few knew the
stories that makes human humane. Of so many stories of bravery we read this one
finds it’s own niche. his fervent soul now inscrutable matter on earth. My dear friend ramu kaka.. “aam admi such as you are
never aam” ...
alone in the cramped bus