Page 39 of Musafir Cafe

By the time Chandar finally finished buying books, it was half past eleven. He was feeling a bit hungry now. He went to a café near the bookstore. It was huge but had a really limited menu. There were three to four types of parathas, one or two kinds of sandwiches, tea and nimbu paani and that was it. A few tourists kept popping in to eat aloo, gobhi or paneer parathas from time to time.

Chandar started to leaf through the books after ordering tea and a paratha. Almost an hour passed by. Days are significantly longer in smaller towns. He eased into reading comfortably. As he read Shekhar: Ek Jeevani, he came across a familiar old line. ‘If every person started writing their autobiography, there’d be no dearth of beautiful books in this world.’

Chandar read this line and gently stroked the page; the page stroked him back. To make sure he didn’t lose this line, Chandar asked the boy manning the counter for a pen to underline it and started to think about his own life. If he had to write his own book, what would be the end? He hadn’t done anything like that yet. What was so different about his story that he would actually think of narrating it to somebody someday? Thinking about it, Chandar got mad at himself for the first time. Books entertain; good books slip in restlessness along with the read.

For the first time Chandar was thinking about his life from the perspective of a book. After picking his brain cells for far too long, he still wasn’t able to figure out how his story would end. What was his destination? What did he want to do? Had Sudha agreed to marriage, would that have been the end? Had he had children with Sudha, what would have become of that? His kids would have done well after growing up, would that have been the end? If he were to purchase property like his friends at work, would that have been the end? Earning lakhs from the share market, would that have been the end? Thinking about our lives like a book makes us realize how we are killing ourselves to live such a worthless life every day.

The only difference between a book and life is logic. The endings in books are logical. In life? Not so much. Those people who look for life through logic always end up with wrong answers. Thinking about all of this, Chandar realized how important vacations actually are. Thinking about one’s life as a book clears one’s head of many illusions.

Even after trying very hard, Chandar wasn’t able to find a logical end to his life. Tired, he stopped thinking about the end and ordered another cup of tea. It was almost as if there were old memories mixed in every sip of his tea. With every sip, memories of the old days began to make him anxious. Now he missed his baby more than Sudha. She would always say that we don’t actually remember our memories, we remember things that we could have made, but didn’t. Chandar tried to picture his baby; who would she take after? Chandar wanted the baby to be a girl, so he could get a glimpse of Sudha’s childhood.

Even as these things were going on in his head, he saw Pummy in the café. She said something to the boy at the counter. The moment she turned, she saw Chandar.

She came to his table and on seeing so many books there, said, ‘So is this why you left home?’

‘I don’t know about that, why do you think I did it?’

‘There are so many books here that I am sure you must have left home to read. You are probably the first person to leave home for this reason though.’

‘That’s a thought! Sitting around, just reading books all day, sipping tea. That’s all that one needs in life. There are too many books and too many memories. In fact, the memories are so many that one doesn’t need to make new ones; just revisiting the old ones is more than enough.’

‘Who leaves home after a breakup these days, yaar?’

‘I didn’t do it because of a breakup, I did it for my own craziness.’

‘What’s your craze?’

‘I don’t know; I am still looking for it.’

‘Where, in books?’

‘In myself. It has been eleven days since I left home. I will find it. Anyway, how come you’re here?’

‘The owner of this café wants to sell it off. He had given me an appointment at 1 p.m., but hasn’t reached yet.’

‘This is a huge place. You plan to run this place or do you have any other plans? By the way, I saw your shop. You are already running a travel business. Why this café?’

‘Arré, why didn’t you drop by?’

‘I was busy looking for my craziness. Anyway, what plans do you have for this place and what’s the story behind Pummy Tours and Travels? You found your madness?’

‘Baap re! So many questions at once? My family used to ask so many questions, so I left home.’

‘Then answer them one by one.’

‘I have just one hobby: travelling. I was born in Roorkee; I was good at academics and did my BTech from IIT Roorkee. I came to Mussoorie a couple of times and fell in love with the place. I worked for five years after my graduation. Went to many countries, travelled a lot. When I had saved enough money to sustain myself for a year, I bought this shop. I want to open a travel café in this café. People can come, plan their trips. You can’t have this feeling in a hotel. I want those travellers to stay here for a couple of days. I will take them on treks. If there’s a tour abroad, I want to go to a new country, a new place. Meet new people, listen to their stories. That’s my passion, that’s my madness.’

‘Didn’t you fall in love amid all this?’

‘Twice. Intensely. But yaar, I can’t bear this shaadi ka sentimentality.’

The moment Pummy said this, the cup lying in front of Chandar filled up with Sudha’s memories. The café’s owner arrived at the same moment, and Pummy moved to another table to talk to him. They spoke for a few minutes. Meanwhile, Chandar got up and left. He went back to his room to try and read. But the book started to read him instead.

Chandar spent the next few days in that café, reading and ordering chai and parathas. He had already finished half the books he had bought. Those old underlines had found him once again. The waiters at the café had started to recognize him. Mussoorie and her roads didn’t find Chandar strange now.

The hotel guy started to talk to Chandar about new places. Often, he would ask in hushed tones, ‘Sir, if you need any “arrangement”, just tell us. We do all of that at a reasonable rate.’

He would often show him girls’ photographs, saying, ‘Sir, just take a look. You’ll forget about Mumbai’s heroines.’