Sab Phictional hain

No Entry for Me

Fiction

As I climb up the stairs I notice that the place is well done. The staircase is made of those nicer tiles called Italian marble. Italian marble, I once got flogged by chacha for breaking one of the tiles that he was asked to deliver on his auto-rickshaw as a service to Ramchand seth. I remember getting thrashed for the same mistake thrice. Once from chacha, then from mama and finally from my inebriated dad. Damn these memories! Its difficult to run away from one's past. I wish I was spared today by this crazed mind of mine. So I tell myself to shut up and I notice I am at the top of the fleet of stairs.

I see this man in his forties dressed in clean white clothes and really shabby shoes, visibly unhappy of the work he is doing. He opens the door for me. I notice his difficulty in serving me, A poor man always spots one who belongs to his creed. His eyes are reddened by the neon above that reads 'Macho! - Where Men get their coffee'. Maybe they should add – 'and women' at the end. The neon and the eyes do a good job at hinting me to not go in, reminding me of the fact I dont belong there. As I enter the place, the cool wind from the blower on the top of my head displaces my floppy hair off the arrangement that I had placed it in, with considerable effort and with a handful of brylcreem. I am pleased by the enchanting, cool air though. The cool air is akin to one of the whores on Red street standing outside their offices enticing me to walk in.

The place is dark and reminds me of a dungeon. The place has a mural with a terrain that is remniscent to the surface of a rock and blood-reddish in color. There a few comic adaptations on the wall that boast of legends like Monroe, Che, Kennedy. No Rekhas, Prabhakarans or Nehrus. Dont basket me to be a nationalist so prematurely. I am a liberal, I realise the necessity of heroes, Indian or videshi. I realise the Senas of this country would not allow a comic adaptation of anyone important, even if done in good spirit. The dhando would not allow for something like that. Indians dont undestand soft power, I think we are decades from embracing this miraculous asset, soft power, as asset in international negotiations and appeal. The place is filled with smoke. Its reminds me of an old habit of using the chula to cook food. I get the queasy old feeling, I feel a lot of people staring at me. I think they know I dont belong to the club.

I walk in with a rushed manner and occupy one of the tables at the corner. The waiter walks towards me with a scorn on his face and tells me to move to another table since I have occupied a 6 seater. I wonder if he treats everyone this way. Was he rude or was it me who perceived him to be rude. You see this is the problem. I wont know, I will never know.

The waiter gets me a menu. I scan through it, browse the various sections and subsections of the menu. I get to the section titled 'beverages' and the subsection titled 'hot beverages'. I want to order the masala chai on the menu, it costs 45 bucks, 10 times more than what it would cost in a thela right below this place. Also, it would be served with a smile and add some small talk for good measure as opposed to the scorn that seems to be a permanent fixture on my hosts face at Macho. I also pass by an Earl-Grey tea that costs 90 bucks. On second thoughts maybe I should go for the more videshi option. People who frequent such places dont have masala chai!

..... Paisa kama liya but class nahin seekha abhi tak.