Coffee

It was the smallest big toe I had ever seen.

That was the first thing I noticed as I was picking up the milk packet.

Crooked toes with veins running like highways and by lanes on a map. Jagged, irregular nails – chipped and twisted.

I stood up, slowly, to bowlegs and thin knees. The kneecap, visible and twitching. They were that thin.

A wrinkled cloth, dripping wet, covered his bony waist that supported a sunken stomach – bare. The water trickled down and into the wrinkles across his stomach. They ran along his ribs, this way and that and cascaded down like a Feng-shui waterfall.

His chest was wet, frail with extended and prominent collarbones that held his bony shoulders up.

Bent back. Arms, bent, that ran down to his long and thin fingers – crooked and shivering. The water ran down along his veins, gathered at his fingertips and awaited gravity.

He saw me seeing him and into him with his twinkling big eyes. The water slid along the wrinkles on his forehead down to his high cheekbones and seemed to form a pool in the hollow of his cheeks. They were that hollow.

His shivers made the water hide down into his thick pedestrian-crossing moustache. The water emerged to line his blackened, thin lips and moved down to his most prominent feature. His jutting and bony chin before the end of which the water stopped… for a bit. To choose which way to take to move on.

That was Madurai – my ‘paalkaaran’.

* * *

With the unmistakable swipe of his ‘veshti’ round his hip and into a knot, holding it tight, Madurai swung the door open.

Madurai – My ‘paalkaaran’.
Barista seemed cold. Aloof.

He shivered at the gust of freezing air. It was cold inside. Already bent at the back, he huddled in. Feeling cold and lost.

Barista – 1. Madurai – Nil.

Today was Match day. The day of the Battle.

Barista beckoned like an adversary’s “Va Da Dai” with its tongue curled downwards and in.

“Yes Sir, how may I help you?” the boy in brown asked as if his mouth was filled with coffee beans.

“Aaaa…. Hmmm.”

Madurai didn’t know English.

Barista – 2. Madurai – Nil.

Already all eyes were on him. All around. All eyes. The tension was mounting.

“We have Café Latte, Espresso, Mocha, Mocha Fizz, Café Italiano, Brazil Berry, Raqhwa, Black Coffee, Espresso Café, Café Margarita, Fizz Italiano, Black… Smoothie… Cooo… ffff…eeee…”

Madurai’s head spun. He was numb. The crowd, all around, waited. Holding their breaths and coffee mugs in mid-air.

“Chudaana Filter Degree Kaapi, Shtanga, Chakarai kami.”

“Uhm… Sorry Sir. I am afraid we don’t have that, Sir. But I can…”

“HmmH… Washt!”

Madurai turned back with a flourish, swung the door open the other way and walked out. Proud.

Barista was stunned.

Perfect Three-pointer shot from nowhere.

Barista – 2. Madurai – 3.

Time-out.