EVENING AT A CAFÉ...

Photo credits:www.nelive.in & www.allevents.in
Memory tag: Written in Swish Café, soon after it had moved to its present location near Laitumkrah Beat House, Shillong.

It’s like watching a movie from my table. Raindrops, people, vehicles in all shapes and sizes pass by on the street below. At eye level across the foyer, shops selling clothes, wine and information technology make for strange neighbors. But whoever said, neighbors should be of the same cloth? On my right, a giddy bunch of youngsters strum a guitar and sing for fun and pleasure. They look   at my graying crop when the decibel level goes up. Little realizing, I have no wish to turn the volume down. The unfettered human voice still transcends the recorded music however hi-fi!

It feels like being let out of captivity! Ink on paper, tea in a pot and thoughts tripping down at will. I was always a little skeptical about muses and their madhushala/coffee house/pub; being bred on absinthe of a different order! My favorite picture of a café is a Van Gogh, Café Terrace at Night. I’d go all the way to the Kroller- Muller Museum in Netherlands to see it. If I had a magic carpet! This was the first of Van Gogh’s three painted in Arles, in France, that September 1888. I love the break from tradition where a cafe does not mean all black and eerie white lightening.  He uses blues, violets, and green in the darker areas.  Sulphur yellow and citron green in the areas lighted by the single large café lamp. In his letter to his sister, he loves the immediacy of painting in situ, oil on canvas, with no sketches to fill up on the tomorrow. I can, in my present mood, understand a little of that!  That it was first exhibited titled,’ Coffeehouse in the Evening’ (Café le Soir), in 1892, makes it even more appealing this evening. The scene, café and street   seem to leap out of the present into the painting; so well have they been retained. In 2003, this café in Arles was renamed Café Van Gogh - Don McLain’s number Starry Starry Night is so poignant, 'Vincent! How you suffered for your sanity'! First heard in college days - my mathematical wizard friend, playing the guitar, her voice echoing in the backyard  where we were bunking classes! And the miracle is we are still in good touch - nearly four decades on.

 My earliest memory of my friend was a fresher’s introduction - guitar in hand; she sang, "I’m just a poor boy, though my story is seldom told. I’ve squandered all my resistance for a pocket full of mumbles, such are promises. Still a man hears what he wants to hear and disregards the rest...", Simon and Garfunkel went onto become favorites that retained   their magic, philosophy and inspiration, down all these decades. Some of the giddy bunch is back with a puppy in basket. I silently acknowledge their chorus of, ‘how cute!’  A sudden whisper,’she’s coming, we don’t have a birthday present’. As the birthday girl walks in, friends and perfect strangers burst into, ‘Happy Birthday to you!!!!”. The moment was full of the spontaneous outflow of good wishes. At such times, even diamonds set in platinum take a backseat in value. Hey! I seem to have found my café. This is a monologue if limited to my scratch pad, a dialogue when shared with you.

The wall in the background has African masks on the wall. A young face below, beside a propped up guitar, a table scattered with newspapers, bowls, plates and coffee mugs, bordered with low wooden settees. How much separates the masks, their makers and people coming in for coffee?  Just time and distance from a set reference point, nothing more. I read somewhere,’ given time and space, a mulberry leaf becomes a silk gown.’