FOUR CUPS OF COFFEE..

She sat on a hammock in her balcony strolling through the heavy rain with “The Motorcycle Diaries”. Before she started reading the book, she could relate to Ernesto “el Che” Guevara just as a young medic who revolutionized towards united Latin America, fought and died for the cause of poor. As the pages turned and the words unfolded, the relativity ruminated towards a larger aspect of causes and consequences concerned to his legendary life which very few men are constructed with.

All thoughtful, she was positively agitated as she came across lines about his narration of the journey that read, “…Quixotic in its semi-unconscious style and, as for Quixote, had the same effect on the scope of his consciousness.”  Deeper through the words and craving to explore the world, she marched into her own life and experiences until her mother walked to the door with a mug of dark coffee.

She sipped the coffee while clicking the rain drops which were beautifully aligned on the metal wire. She realised out of no bloom that rain water harvesting is a reasonable solution to water deprived areas and lack of awareness is a social problem. The fishes in the fish tank would surely agree to her on this. With such weirdness of her brain’s frontal lobe, she finally called off the balcony and entered the slumber.

As the siesta ended and the next day begun, she hurried to the office hanging amidst the crowd of public transport. Commuting was strangely the best part of her daily routine as a circular exploration. That day the bus broke down half way due to continuous heavy rainfall and she planned to meet her friends for a change. “Cuppa Bistro” was the venue and she was all excited for the bumper ride with the four budds that made her an extrovert from the introvert she was.

Gleaming with smiles, a table of four was occupied with cappuccinos, sizzling brownies and croissants. They planned to sit and spend some time playing a word game near the glass wall that gave a perfect view of people walking in the mall. They collectively thought about most of them having unheard stories and dark secrets of their own. As time passed by, the word game soon turned the flow towards conversations that unrevealed the unnoticed experiences of their lives.

Lional was the hippiest amongst and his pockets were always stuffed with the Mary Jane. He had a heart with a always blown aura. He started to speak about how it happened that he and his friends were sitting on the terrace, smoked up in the dark and planned to go on a random long ride. As they rolled the tyres on the road, the head lights from the vehicles on the highway hit his psychedelic nerves as they gave an obvious colorful beam to his eyes. To state, it can be the worst and the best experience for a doped rider. High, hyper and hippie he was pacing his RX100 towards an unknown destination that could have surprised many of them. Jolting the mind and body they stopped by a dark abandoned house to smoke up again and hit the bull’s eye. It was a cold place with hardly anybody around. He exclaimed suddenly on narration that a young man appeared there and asked for a lighter. Not yet baffled, they shared the joints with him, simultaneously the man informed on how everyone who stops by the house gets webbed in a story to remember for a lifetime. On the turn of events, they were abrupted by a fast approaching jeep that was almost losing control through the steering wheel. They thought that they are on a mass hysteria until the jeep haulted in their vicinity. The gang standing there couldn't understand who stepped out of it due to darkness. A masculine figure was seen walking towards them giving goosebumps to almost all of them on the suspense. On discovery, the fugure turned to be a casually walking police wala who shouted, “aur bhai!!, chillum hai!?!?” and they all busted out laughing. They finally could relax their butts that contracted due to extreme fear. After a short conversation and happy blues, they all headed back for a new ride.

Rosejill was a passionate travel writer who was fierce and always a sport for adventures. She had been to Madikeri recently to attend a wedding with few folks. Famously known for its coffee estates, the place is a gigantic source of nature and adrenaline rush. Any travel junkie would die for Madikeri. It was an overnight journey on roads that seemed twisted and turned. The roads had huge trees on both the sides and as the destination came near, the air started smelling of life. Tired through the day she drowsed off for a while to open her eyes to the most tranquil and picturesque habibat ever imagined by her in South India. Laying on the front seat of the car, she saw a deep valley, a vast spread coffee estate and herself surrounded by clouds. She was told that they are on a mountain where the home-stay is booked for the journey. As the day unfolded, she was supposed to attend the church formalities before the real goodies surfaced. Home-made wines, pandi curry with akki rotis, married couples dancing salsa-ramba-jive to the grace, old men laughing their weak lungs out, old women flaunting all the greys with glamour that could fade away the youth-marked the beautiful things in the art fair. Not being specific on the tourist destinations, she went for a car drift towards the family coffee estate. This mentioned estate was deep through the forests and raw mud elleways. With a small river running out of nowhere and a dense lush green canopy, there were local men singing songs and fishing on baits. Voila, it was what being a coorgi was. Joining the band wagon, she was just learning fishing as the men jumped straight into the water to catch fish with hands. They displayed their heads-down-in-water stunts which categorised their swimming talent. There was abundance of splendid madness which was as much as of the hospitality towards guests by them. A small bonfire was lit as the sun set, fish was cooked and merry was made with neat rounds of local rum along traditional dance on songs of a cultural delight. She had to turn back the next day clinging on to the memories. She still has the genuine thrusts of emotions beating for the place.

Ruhi was the favorite and lovestruck amongst them all. She always had something to tell about what her relation which was meaningfully wasted in a way held. With many universally considered shocks and blunts, the couple always had something happening between them which could be termed hilarious, sad, ironic, unrequited, flaunting, passionate, adventurous, exciting, sometimes violent and deep with matched and unmatched wavelengths. She always believed on words by Ted Mosby, “Actually, there is a word for that. It’s love. I’m in love with her, okay? If you’re looking for the word that means caring for someone beyond all rationality and wanting them to have everything no matter how much it destroys you , it’s love! And when you love someone y-you just don’t stop. Ever. Even when people roll their eyes, or call you crazy, even then, especially then! Y-you just don’t give up, because if I could give up, if I could just take the world’s advice and move on and find someone else that wouldn’t be love! That would be some other disposable thing that is not worth fighting for….” He always believed on contrast that, “Man's happiness today subsides in 'having fun'. The world is one great object for our appetite; a big apple, a big bottle, a big breast." On seamless and lavish commitment, it is best to keep their bond under conscious secrecy and respect, as not many are born so figuratively for each other and yet running out of speculated misunderstanding of incompatibility.

Mervyn was crazy atta buoy and full of energy. He loved to sing and stunt on bikes. His passion for stunting was so over-boarded that he used to roam around with his biker jacket, knee caps and a big dashing helmet always, and slept with them on his bed at night. To him being on the roads was either a wheelie or a stoppie and greeting the patrol on highways with a sexy “Christ”. Sitting on a pillion with him, Ruhi had this starstruck habit of creating sparks by rubbing the bike stand on the roads with her feet as Mervyn drove with dark laugh on pride. They both loved it together to laugh their guts out and high five with “Disorders Forever”. They had this deep unusual friendship that very few can share. She was a physiotherapist and he always had something to get treated for, anyways orthopedically. Happy to have received his salary, Mervyn went for a ride alone, attempted to stunt between two moving trucks and on elation he succeeded too. To realise on the extreme elation, his wheelie accidently broke an old man’s arm who was trying to run between two ends on the blessed road. A police complaint was filed against him and rewards were allotted for all the respectful sexy ‘Christs” which he bestowed hilariously to patrols all this long. But as they say, a dog’s tail would always be the same with the madness that comes with an unmoving element, his passion for stunting still remains the same. Guess the love for riding is in his genes because his single mother stunts as well and understands the whole biological system behind his dramatic love towards his bikes-the babes. The very fact of his rider obsession lies on the ground that he proposed his girlfriend by stunting on a beach. He managed the proposal wearing the bike gear which very much looked like a robot running behind laces.

For some it is about mere random words and for some about relativity, and as not every individual ever born is individualistically same, some prefer coffee and some nothing on caffeine. As they talked and listened, here was time to order another four cups of coffee again.