Read about this on Arun’s blog yesterday and my heart sank 😦
Only a couple of days ago, I was nagging the hubby to let us grab a coffee at this place – like I’ve done several times, while in its vicinity. No matter how many swanky new coffee shops sprung up in and around MG Road, this small little nondescript hole-of-a-place with its characteristic faded board and paint peeling off, was the one that I gravitated towards as the first choice. But as it most often happens, we ditched the idea considering the nightmare that parking would turn out to be on a crowded weekend evening.
And now this… I am ready to blame the husband for snatching away what was probably my last chance of sipping the insipid brew – savourless it might be for some, but the warmth of the memories and the fuzzy feel-good factor it carries for me is unmatched. Was it our gang hang-out or adda for a group of us special friends? Nope, I never was part of any gang with their addas for that matter. The corner this establishment occupies in my memory is just as nondescript as it is – the image conjured up by the eye is of a school girl on a cold evening, out with her dad on the bajaj-scooter for a treat of sorts – a visit to the book-haven Gangarams for his official book purchases (while she feasted her eyes on bound copies of Jane Austens and the lovely colourful illustrations of PGWs); followed by a snack at the aforementioned. It wasn’t a routine affair either – at most, might’ve been sporadic visits of some 2-3 instances – but that memory – of soft, white perfectly diagonally-cut bread slices and the taste of the yummy salty, scrunch-y cucumber and tomato slices on biting into the sandwich and the aroma of the hot, crispy masala dosa – is still fresh, fresh, fresh in my mind! This, followed by a wholesome cup of my favourite drink – freshly brewed strong filter coffee, was all that was needed to satiate the simple needs of a middle-class school-girl. The waiters who looked ancient with their maharaja-style petas and white uniforms completed the picture of the homely setting.
It is this small memory that pulls me towards the place even this day – funny isn’t it – how some memories are made of the most mundane, seemingly unimportant events and contexts? Well, cutting back to the present, this place is shutting down – read more about it here – the story behind and thereof. Tomorrow it is – their last working day – before the shutters clang down and the page turns on another of the chapters of dear old-Bangalore’s history. Sigh! 😦