Specimen

There's a spring in my step as I enter my favorite Cafe.

The meeting with my guru always helps me find myself, so I spend the evenings after the meeting in solitude.

Today, however, my fav couch is occupied by a very comfortable couple, and the other one by a young family of three. So I take the corner table, dump my bag, umbrella and scarf on one of the chairs and make myself at home on the chair that has its back to the wall.

After about 10 minutes, I'm sipping on my drink and I notice that the other couch is free. So I make a beeline for it. At last. I can spread my legs and sink.

My solitude is disturbed by Audrey. "Maam, there's someone who wants to take the couch. Do you mind shifting to another table?"

I'm amazed at the audacity of the woman. I look at her up and down. This is MY couch. I FOUND it. I WAITED for it. "I'm sorry, I don't think I got you quite right. You want me to move?"

She blinks, a little uncertain, pointing to a couple of ladies at the table where I was seated earlier. I peer at them. "Wow. This is going to be so much fun!" So I smile inwardly, and say, "Oh! Sure, sure. I'm sure they need the couch more than I do!" And shift to a neighboring table.

Bubbly is wearing a short yellow skirt and a white embroidered top that stink of linking road. Red nail paint - with no gloss, and Osho slippers. Her face is innocent - she's probably 18 or 19, just discovering the "world", and oh, so excited too. Her hair are all over-the-place and very expressive. And her expressions are over-expressive. And every second word is a cuss word, as though she's just practicing how to use it. Bobby is wearing a grey over-sized T-shirt and a loose jeans. Her nail-paint is black. Her hair are short and character-less. She's wearing the same slippers as Bubbly. Looks like she's still hung-up with her tom-boy image.

Its amazing to watch them out of the corner of my eye - Bubbly and Bobby. And listen to them gossipping about their friends - who's seeing who, and who's being untrue. But every now and then, they become dangerously comfortable with each other. And I wonder. What kind of specimen are these?

Just as I was wondering, the answer seems to walk in through the door. A huge, I insist, HUGE sardar-ji walks in. And he's at least 40, if a day. And Bubbly bubbles up to him, and talks of something, just before he settles to another table with another guy.

"Oh! So that's it. They're Punjabi!"