The Coffee Shop Culture

I am the generation of Doordarshan and Chitrahaar that evolved into DD Metro and MTV and then embraced cable television wholeheartedly... When I was in school, it was phone numbers that were exchanged, emails weren't all that common and computers were the luxury of a few ( ahemmm, I'm one of the few who did have a desktop at home that had Lotus on it. I also practised my fledgling DOS commands on it and felt thrilled when the machine responded to my commands with the 'right' answers that I had been taught to expect. Dad soon brought back MS office software from the Gulf for us and soon enough, I felt much like a computer geek, ready to conquer the world ahead of my peers.)

 By the time I was doing my post-grad, the in-thing was to share email ids, re-draft resumes with our email contacts added to our address and phone numbers. Any incoming mail into the inbox made us felt wanted, cherished and remembered. Mails would be checked every alternate day and the sense of immediacy we felt then was something to be cherished. Today, my mails are delivered to my phone, moments after the sender dispatched them. And today, I marvel over how people still do send postcards and letters to keep the craft of writing intact. In fact, I can't remember writing anything longer than a few words on a cheque in months if not years. I digress as usual..So getting back,  Greeting cards got replaced by FREE e-cards...Clever messages could be sent for free and the roaring business that Archies cards had at a relatively huge shop near our college kind of took a massive hit to its business.

Till then, going to an ice-cream parlour was the idea of spending time or treating friends. In Kochi, there was the Caravan ice cream parlour - the first one to serve sophisticated ice-creams and sundaes. It was a treat to receive permission from my mom to go there with classmates for someone's treat. It meant being an adult, taking a bus from where I stayed, getting down at the stop nearing Caravan and walking with my head held high and money that Amma had given me earlier in the morning, jiggling in my purse. Asking for the bill and then taking money out of the purse is a rite to adulthood. Much as I hate to have to go through that ritual now that I am a 'fully-matured' adult, while growing up - being allowed to behave like adults held so much thrill. Having the bus conductor, the waiter treat you the way you have seen them treat your parents makes you feel like you have finally arrived on the social scene..

McDonalds was our dream treat while in college and I'd often pamper the kid in me by ordering the Happy Meal. I must say I had a fancy collection of Happy Meal soft-toys and other collectibles. I couldn't be bothered to feel embarrassed about standing in line behind a bunch of kids, scrambling for those very toys that the twenty year old me was eyeing. I don't think the concept of stepping into a coffee shop for coffee existed in my lexicon till I began working.

I was talking about visiting coffee-shops with a friend, when she told about how her mom refused to have a seventy-bucks coffee at the newly opened Barista near her house in Delhi, more than a decade ago. Her brother had just received his first appointment letter as a new graduate and taking his mom to the swank new Coffee Shop was his way of declaring he had arrived and how. But a horror-stricken middle class mom refusing to touch the scaldingly priced coffee would have been a personal nightmare.

While growing up, the Indian Coffee House and its other local versions were our ideas of coffee shops. The liveried waiters bringing us cutlets and coffee in chipped cups and saucers was a great idea of eating out. It was a treat reserved for my birthdays. By the time Baristas and Cafe Coffee Days arrived on the scene, we had learnt that coffee-shopping was a mark of sophistication. The ability to differentiate between an espresso, cappucino and latte was a declaration that you are worldly and a force to be reckoned with among your peer group.

However, the truth is, most of us knew the cheapest priced burgers on the McDonald's menu and on the Barista boards. The idea was to be able to talk about having a McDonald meal or a Barista coffee. It didn't really matter that you had the most expensive one.In fact, by the time Costa Coffee made its presence felt in India, hanging out in coffee-shops had become a rite of passage for school and college-going kids. The bakeries of Kochi now wear a tired, shabby look. On every other corner, there is either a coffee shop or an ice-cream parlour. Most offer free wi-fi and the luxury of whiling away time without being asked to vacate like from your nearest busy Udupi hotel. Unlike the Udupis, where the number of customers served translated to profits, coffee-shop chains made money from frequented patronage and as hangout joints.

Today, on a Monday morning, I'm seated in a cozy Mocha, waiting to catch up with a friend for lunch even as I get some work done in the three hours before I meet her. The fact that there is no wi-fi currently available at this coffeeshop is a downer, but I'm armed with my own internet dongle. We cannot afford to be disconnected from the cyber-world for long. So we make our own provisions for wi-fi now.
Someone gets me a beautifully brewed cup of chai along with some bun-muska. As I munch on breakfast and compile my to-do list for the day, I realise ek post toh banta hai. After all, life as we have known it is changing fast. One chronicle of the lost times and the new life we are forging is necessary. However, I am one to embrace change. There is little that is not good and lots that can be bettered. So here is to Coffee Shop Culture and working out of them and not being bound to stuffy, cribby offices... :)

Have a happy week my bloggies ( shortened version of blog buddies ;)

The Malayali Me - Stereotypes and More

The fact that my surname screams my Malayali roots loud and clear often means that people have pre-conceived notions about me and my preferences!

The standard dialogues I usually encounter are " How can you be a Malayali and not eat fish?", "What, you are allergic to prawns?? Ohh what a waste of a good Malayali life" and the most hilarious one is "What?? You don't eat rice?? Don't you people eat rice all the time with coconut in it? " The answer to all this used to be No, now it has been diplomatically amended to "I know, I'm pretty strange that way, aren't I"? Now it's not like my family is also a strange one, I'm the only aberration. The others enjoy their meat and their rice. My sister longs for home for a home-cooked meal while my cravings are for either specific dishes like the killer avial  or homemade dosas...Now a true blue Malayali won't be caught dead calling them dosas...We call it doshas..the way a south indian says dosa can help you narrow down whether he's from the coconutty land ( that is if he hasn't said college or simbly till then!) Well I told you this piece was about stereotypes...My friends fall over themselves every time they see a Mallu joke - which often centres around how a Mallu pronounces a certain word or their affinity to work in the Gelf where their ungle already is... To this too, I nod my head in jaded resignation!

Those who don't begin by asking me my name or talking to me in Hindi don't immediately take me for a Malayali...And my poker straight black hair has been pointed as the reason for it, other than my 'unaccented' Hindi...Did you know that all Malayalis are expected to have springy curly hair that is maintained shiny with coconut oil glistening through the strands and the traditional kulippinnu - which literally translates to how your hair is tied after you have had a shower. This is essentially a few strands of hair taken from both sides and braided into a thin line to keep the rest of the hair in place! For easy reference to all of the above - think Lolakutty of Channel V fame - the bane of my life - (there are certain North-Indian friends of mine who nicknamed me that half an hour after meeting me for the first time!!!) And as you would have correctly guessed by now, I'm a far cry from this stereotypical depiction.

However, after living for the first twenty years of my life in Kochi, I don't think of it as much of a compliment when people say "Ohhh I didn't realise you were a Malayali till you mentioned your name!" and the other smart-assed observation is "Are you a Menon or did you marry one?"...I have been thinking about the reason why there is a clear mould in most people's head about Malayalis. Moulds are often about South Indians in general and then if they are informed enough to know there are four different states among Madrassis where four distinctly different languages are spoken, then more specifically Malayalis! The moment you identify yourself as a South Indian, there are people who start speaking jibberish and tell me that's how I speak my language. Well, how come I haven't seen you pull that fast one on a Bengali or a Gujarati? Our script is likened to jalebis squeezed out in rounded shapes into a bubbling vat of oil. Hmmm, if I think about that, there could be some geometric similarity. But if you'd tried to decipher the script, you'd realise we have far more letters than you'd care to memorise!

Lampooning is alright, all communities need to learn to take a few jibes, but to think all Malayalis have a few nurses hidden in their family tree or that all the rich ones grew rich by robbing the Arabs of the Gulf are stretching the stereotype a bit far. Our surnames too are generic caste names. So if you know a Menon does not mean that I'm automatically related to that one..Kind of like expecting all the Singhs to have come from the same big family banyan-like tree!

Often I catch myself trying to justify that I'm not a stereotypical Malayali, perhaps because I'm sick and tired of the number of jibes or the subtle change in accent to match my lilting tones that follow. But as I grow older, I have come to wonder why am I defensive about who I am? Every community has its own quirks. The bane or in many sense the boon of being a Malayali is the ability to adapt oneself into any environment and flourish there ( so long as it is not one's own state - we reserve the lowest priority for Kerala!) Now here comes another quirk that few have observed enough to stereotype. Put two non-Keralite Malayalis in one room and they will crib about how Kerala will never see development like other states till the cows come home. But no one dares point that all the capable managers and enterprising youngsters flee the state at the first opportunity and return only when the call of home grows louder in the years closer to retirement! Take a Malayali out of Kerala and incentivise him to be a diligent, conscientious worker and you might have a good prospect on your hand. But leave him in his state and he will figure how to get a full month's salary out of you by citing Worker's Rights without working more than ten days of the thirty in all!

I have been a non-resident Keralite for over twelve years now and over the years I have realised I look for ways to connect with my home state and root for my Malayali brethren. I have come to realise that I instinctively look for indicators that could suggest the person I'm interacting with belongs to a place close to where I am from. This is not to say that I discriminate against people from elsewhere - my closest people are all from the non-coconutty lands. Need I add, I'm usually the butt of a lot many cliched, over-used and under-thought jokes! But I have realised and now must admit that as I grow older, the need to appreciate my heritage is growing stronger and along with it, ways and means to break a few stereotypes.

Like for instance,

• Men don't wear wrap-around skirts, they wear a mundu. And no, you can't call it a white lungi. We consider that sacrilege! 
• We don't eat, drink and wallow in coconut oil for every meal, snack and as a daily ritual. It is a practical livelihood choice, coming as we do from a land of bountiful coconut trees!
• Not all Malayalis have weird sounding names - many of us have pretty run-of-the-mill names, I pity the others, for they would have had scarring childhoods in Kerala or elsewhere! 
• Cows are not slaughtered every day in every household. Yes, we don't have a religious taboo on eating beef, but fish can be considered a more endangered specie were it to be an option alongside beef before a Malayali.
• Because we are known for our deep-rooted affinity to spirits, does not automatically translate to everyone having Herculean abilities to gulp down unlimited amounts of alcohol, those that do it are merely trying to prove they are self-destructive too! 
• We are not all prone to practising and performing Kathakali moves or instinctively understanding the glorious artform enough to hold discourses on it. With those that do, take it with a pinch of salt!
• and the last, for now, elephants are expensive acquisitions. Every house does not have one as a pet. In fact, those ancestral houses that boast of owning an elephant, talk of it, much the same way you'd boast if you had a Ferrari parked in your garage! 

Comprende?? 

Life in the City - Cheap Comforts

Chapter 4: Mumbai survival 24x7


I am a gypsy at heart- to date no city -across the world- has screamed HOME enough to make me dig my heels in, thrown my anchor down and declare that I have a city to call my own. The truth is now I have several and like a global citizen holding multiple passports, I make multiple claims depending on company and context as to which city I'm loyal to. 


The reason is, in the thirteen years since I first left the home I grew up in (the distinction is made deliberately) I have moved cities eight times. In all fairness, I must admit that Mumbai and Kochi have seen me return a couple of times, my love-affair with the other cities have been rather brief and fleeting at best - a year and a half being the longest period of dalliance.

Looking back at what took me back time and again to Kochi and Mumbai, meant facing some uncomfortable truths. The logic with my love for Kochi is simple. Home is where parents are, however old you grow. When I go to Kochi, I go for pampering. Amma would certify to the embarrassing fact that I have never lifted a spoon or done my laundry while 'at home'. Also, psssstt...I have bundled several of my whites (I have an obsessive compulsion to buy them even if I can't maintain them)back to Kochi while visiting so that between Amma and her maid, it can turn sparkling white again. ( If Malayali daughters are obsessed with buying whites, Malayali moms have this obsession to launder and bleach them brutally till they surrender their yellowing selves and turn pristine again!) So there, in a nutshell, Kochi is about regressing back to a time when parents did the 'taking care' and you exploited it for all it's worth. 


Now Mumbai...Mumbai is another story altogether. Why is life in Mumbai so much simpler? It's something I mooned and moaned about the first time I picked up my bags and traipsed off to live in Brighton, England.( In case, you are interested in that post, click here). 


All the reasons why many people consider this city to be unliveable, I must admit, are all valid and VERY TRUE. It is a nightmare for anyone not used to the Mumbaiyya kind of life - all about living by the clock. If your clock goes awry and the alarm didn't wake you on time, your day can be screwed in ways you can't even imagine. Everything, just about everything happens by the clock. 

The kachrawallah rings the doorbell at dot 6.30, the cook walks in at 8AM and the maid at 10.15AM. If the cook does not walk in at dot 8, she gets late for the next household that anxiously waits her arrival like I do and my sister gets late to leave for office and consequently if she loses more than half an hour extra on the road in traffic, she loses a half-day leave. 


The traffic chaos in this city might mean losing several hours, but that's not an excuse for arriving late for a meeting. Instead, you also factor in an hour extra if you are travelling at peak-time. Indian Stretchable Time, as I have come to fondly refer to it while in the UK, is least applicable in Mumbai.( I must add the 'least', because Mumbai is after all in India and all the characteristics of Indians across the country do tend to get reflected here too, however rare) 


However, what has me enthralled is that the city works 24x7. The maids in Mumbai don't believe in union-baazi ( working by union-stipulated hours). Work schedules are flexible provided adequate notice is provided so that they can juggle their work-charts around. Everyone is contactable via a mobile phone and they are very happy to share the number with you ( none of the Brit-snootiness when it comes to divulging a personal number). So on my phone, I have convenient categories - three Brokers ( or call them Estate Agents), two electricians(one also doubles up as a plumber), stand-by maids if mine decides to take unexpected time-off and has not brought in her aunt or cousin or sister or daughter to work till she gets back and two istiriwallahs - one who does my regular ironing and another when I need some urgent pressing done and assorted numbers for beauticians who swing by to help you look less wild. I have a category for just about everything and they are all filled. Efficient, no fuss, disciplined enough to pander to my weird form of OCD. 

And it is not just the people, the services provided in this city are also equally appreciable and in a way that respects their time and mine. The kirana store delivers just about everything home and also brings in the required change, if you want to pay for a packet of crisps and diet coke with a 1000-rupee note. You can decide on the menu of what take-out food you want to serve your guests after you have set the plates on the table. In the time, they have had their first glass of wine and warming up to eating, the delivery boy would be at the door with food wonderfully packed to keep it hot. Even the ice-cream outlets offer individual ice-cream scoops, packed cleverly and not just family-pack of ice cream slabs as home delivery. Sunday is just another day, unlike in my red-state Kerala where everything including the neighbourhood stray dogs take it as their rightful day off.


The work-ethic of Mumbai is admirable - prompt, very polite and rarely shoddy. Yes, money power does hold sway like in any other metropolis, but isn't that a universal truth? 


For a single girl in a big bad city, this one is a blessing. The nights aren't unsafe, the comforts aren't back-breaking expensive. It affords you your little corner, even if it is no bigger than a handkerchief. 


Mumbai is home today, I'm not sure if it will remain that tomorrow. As I grow older, the need for space and for a more relaxed way of life is growing too. But this city has kept me young, alive and on many occasions soothed, healed and put me back on my feet. Wherever I go, irrespective of my criticisms of its dirt, dust and dinginess - I shall remain a loyal Mumbaikar. This city has character- flawed or otherwise. 

Memories are Always in Exaggerated Technicolour

I'm heading to India for a short summer break at the end of this month. I already have a set of things planned out. Quite high on the list of priorities is watching a Malayalam film at one of the theatres in Kochi. Reminds me of an old post made during my last trip to Kochi. Reposting it...

Just when the black clouds gathered to send a bolt of thunder down...to warn those who had no business to be out on the roads about an impending thunderstorm.

I was in the throes of making elaborate plans for the day. A movie, I decided was on the cards. The weather be damned..what were rickshaws for after all? And it was to be a family production - get my mom and her always gungho sisters together, lure them with the promise of a movie and lunch out. And as we stepped out, it was pouring as if there was a massive cleaning operation happening up in the sky and buckets of mucky water were being splashed down on earth...

But then I was determined to relive the good old days of watching movies in theatres. The old fashioned way, come rain or shine. So there we landed, dripping enough to make the theatre manager wonder what sort of dementia drive women to movies in a pouring thunderstorm . In fact, my mom even apologised to the rickshaw driver for our lunacy, explaining to him how the tickets had unfortunately been booked in sunnier times and then tipping him a twenty extra to hide the embarrassment of willing participation in her daughter's mission..

There you go - small town living . Everyone deserves an explanation. No matter that you will never see that bloke ever in your life again. But all this was forgotten as soon as I entered the theatre. Like most ones in Kochi, they too are named after women- set of three - Savita, Sarita, Sangeeta. Trust Malayalees to come up with rhyming names for siblings -so what if they are theatres? Sangeeta is more like a preview theatre by any big city standard - seats about a seventy - has a tiny screen compared to its more preferred siblings. But to be fair, I have watched a lot of good movies here. Today too, I saw a very good one...Ruthu( Seasons).Hope I spelt it right..( psst...for those interested, a film review can also be attached) But for me the movie wasnt the only attraction...

It was all about revisiting an old haunt - a swanky theatre complex of my childh. The popcorn stalls looked the same, no tampering with layouts here - the coffee machines were new. Different from the huge coffee filters kept then. but otherwise, it looked like I was in a time warp.The huge elephant's head carved in wood looks a hundred years old and its still there where it hung from nearly 25 years ago, my first memory of the theatre, the woodden balustrade,the chandelier. Nothing has changed. The ticket rates were a hoot -40Rs ticket - the best of the best on offer, printed on cheap purple paper.

My nostalgic nose couldn't have been tickled more. Walk into Sangeeta and you realise why they still charge the same. The red carpet running through the length of it, hadnt been changed since the time I toddled through there blackmailing my dad to get me peanuts to keep quiet through the climax. The seats looked the same too -narrow, uncomfortable with woodden handles. A raddiwala's treasure trove in these days of plush multiplex comfort. But I put it all down to those oft quoted 'walks down the memory lane' and sat down...

And as the movie began, and the lights dimmed, started the real live action. Rats scampering up and down with little animated squeaks to make their presence felt. At first, we laughed, till I felt a furry body scamper past my toes. Or did I imagine it? I can't speak with total authority, but there I was watching the film for the next two hours with both my feet cramped into the narrow space on my chair. And then, I realised I wasn't the only one. Wonder if it was one of those creative minds watching the film who started mimicking the sounds of a tabby cat. For a while the movie was forgotten, half the audience had their feet up, waiting for the cat to advance till one of them spotted the rat scampering across the theatre screen and there was spontaneous laughter....

The film's director would have been crushed were he there. The scene was a teary one, that was to hold his viewers in its grip and here was a little puny rat stealing the thunder.  Add cockroaches and a generous army of mosquitoes to the mix and we had quite a number of characters off screen too. I don't think I'd thought of rats and cockroaches back then. There were the popcorn packets and the other munchies to look forward too and bottles of fizzy drinks to chase the fear of little creepy crawlies away. Or is it that all these theatres have now gone to seed? Dont know if the dirt and grime is more obvious to me now that I too am a visitor seeking the same rich colours- from the screen to the carpet.

The movie to be fair was a really good one...another one I'll be proud to claim is from Malayalam stables. But the 'holistic' experience I'd say was more memorable...

MEMORIES ARE ALWAYS IN EXAGGERATED TECHNICOLOR...

Just when the black clouds gathered to send a bolt of thunder down...to warn those who had no business to be out on the roads about an impending thunderstorm...

I was in the throes of making elaborate plans for the day.... A movie, I decided was on the cards...the weather be damned..what were rickshaws for after all? And it was to be a family production...get my mom and her always gungho sisters together, lure them with the promise of a movie and lunch out... And as we stepped out, it was pouring as if there was a massive cleaning operation happening up in the sky...and buckets of mucky water were being splashed on us...

But then I was determined to relive the good old days of watching movies in theatres....the old fashioned way...come rain or shine.... So there we landed, dripping enough to make the theatre manager wonder what sort of dementia drive women to movies in a pouring thunderstorm ...In fact, my mom even apologised to the rickshaw driver for our lunacy...explaining to him how the tickets had unfortunately been booked in sunnier times..tipping him a twenty extra to hide the embarrassment of willing participation in her daughter's mission..

There you go...small town living...everyone deserves an explanation...no matter whether you will never see that bloke ever in your life again... But all this was forgotten as soon as I entered the theatre....like most ones in kochi, they too are named after women...set of three...Savita, Sarita, Sangeeta...trust Malayalees to come up with rhyming names for siblings....so what if they are theatres... Sangeeta is more like a preview theatre by any big city standard...seats about a seventy...has a tiny screen compared to its more preferred siblings...But to be fair, I have watched a lot of good movies here... Today too, I saw a very good one...Ruthu( Seasons)...Hope i spelt it right..( psst...for those interested, a film review can also be attached) But for me the movie wasnt the only attraction...

It was all about revisiting an old haunt... a swanky theatre complex of my childhood.....the popcorn stalls looked the same...no tampering with layouts here....the coffee machines were new...different from the huge coffee filters kept then...but otherwise, it looked like I was in a time warp....The huge elephant's head carved in wood looks a hundred years old...and its still there where it hung from nearly 25 years ago, my first memory of the theatre..the woodden balustrade...the chandelier...nothing has changed... The ticket rates were a hoot...40Rs ticket - the best of the best on offer...printed on cheap purple paper....My nostalgic nose couldn't have been tickled more... Walk into Sangeeta and you realise why they still charge the same...The red carpet running through the length of it, hadnt been changed since the time I toddled through there blackmailing my dad to get me peanuts to keep quiet through the climax.....the seats looked the same too...narrow, uncomfortable with woodden handles.....a raddiwala's treasure trove in these days of plush multiplex comfort.. But I put it all down to those oft quoted 'walks down the memory lane' and sat down...

And as the movie began, and the lights dimmed..started the real live action....Rats scampering up and down....with little animated squeaks to make their presence felt... At first, we laughed, till I felt a furry body scamper past my toes..or did I imagine it? I can't speak with total authority, but there I was watching the film for the next two hours with both my feet cramped into the narrow space on my chair.... And I realised I wasn't the only one....wonder if it was one of those creative minds watching the film who started mimicking the sounds of a tabby cat....for a while the movie was forgotten, half the audience had their feet up, waiting for the cat to advance...till one of them spotted the rat scampering across the theatre screen....and there was spontaneous laughter....

The film's director would have been crushed were he there...the scene was a teary one, that was to hold his viewers in its grip and here was a little puny rat stealing the thunder... Add cockroaches and a generous army of mosquitoes to the mix and we had quite a number of characters off screen too... I don't think I'd thought of rats and cockroaches back then....there were the popcorn packets and the other munchies to look forward too...and bottles of fizzy drinks to chase the fear of little creepy crawlies away....Or is it that all these theatres have now gone to seed? Dont know if the dirt and grime is more obvious to me now that I too am a visitor seeking the same rich colours- from the screen to the carpet...

The movie to be fair was a really good one...another one I'll be proud to claim is from Malayalam stables...But the 'holistic' experience I'd say was more memorable...