Dear cousin, a hundred years! Only few minutes back I was thinking of you! Your message came just as I was sipping my first tumbler of life-giving brew. What a coincidence! A sure sign that in your direction good winds will blow. Good luck will befall you! You might trip and fall, but you won’t break your toe. I read your lengthy message, and thank you very much for your kind concern.
Contrary to any news you may have got by word of mouth or by a chit written I reiterate that I am hale and hearty and enjoying my coffee very much. If anybody has told you otherwise, give my regards to the old such and such Ah! This coffee is first class. Every sip is invigorating and giving me new life. You know, no one can make strong South Indian filter coffee as my wife! So tell me, how are you, how is your dear wife, how are your dear children? I am sure all are well but these are questions we have to ask now and then. I recall that in your childhood, you never liked coffee but asked for weak tea. Are you still like that? I mean, do you still prefer weak tea over strong coffee?
I wonder how you can handle life’s vicissitudes without strength and energy If I don’t get my usual coffee every hour, I would shimmy up the nearest tree. I haven’t seen you in donkey’s years; I won’t know you if we met by chance. If we passed each other on the street, I wouldn’t give you a second glance. But with a tumbler of this excellent coffee inside me, I’d know you in a jiffy. I’d shake your hand and enquire all about your welfare, history, geography. So let me have one more sip of this wonderful coffee before I smile or laugh. Marvellous! I must remember, when I cross her path, to praise my better half. Now ask away!
I can answer your questions truthfully or at least with a smile. What is it you want to talk about? Something you wanted to ask all this while? Eh? You want to meet me now in the nearby darshini for a coffee and a chat? You want a small loan from me? You must be thinking I’m full of the butterfat. You are mistaken, my dear chap! You know my hands are tied behind my back. All the income I get is a retired man’s pension, of which my wife keeps a track. Look, thambi ! My pension’s a subsistence allowance that barely lets me spend. You think that I, of all people, have spare money or indeed any money to lend? Knowing you for so long, I guess that with wrong information you’ve been fed.
I feel that our cunning maternal uncle is behind this, putting ideas in your head. Let me clarify; if you think that you can buy me coffee and touch me for a lakh. It means you have forgotten the rules of the game and completely lost the knack. When cousin meets cousin, they share one-by-two coffee, maybe some gossip. No money talk. And always, one pays the bill, while the other shells out the tip. Let us meet at my friendly neighbourhood darshini around the corner in an hour. It is across the road from my house and adjacent to the bank near the TV tower. The roads are crowded, there are many mad-caps driving around, so take care. Make sure to carry enough to pay for the coffee or tip and for your return fare.
Eh, changed your mind? Urgent work has come up suddenly? You have to go to Ambur? The chap you have to meet is available today only? What can I say, except that I’m very disappointed! But let’s agree now. That when we meet next, you must buy me tiffin and good, strong filter coffee!
suddenshiv@gmail.com
