50 Cups of Coffee by Khushnuma Daruwala

50 Cups of Coffee by Khushnuma Daruwala

Author:Khushnuma Daruwala [Daruwala, Khushnuma]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9789386495532
Publisher: Random House Publishers India Pvt. Ltd.
Published: 2017-04-12T00:00:00+00:00


Grandma’s pet didn’t take it too well when I pointed out that Tibetan mastiffs were too hairy and ugly to attract even the scraggliest of dingoes. It was his grandma’s metaphor but suddenly I was the disrespectful one for calling her hairy. I guess blue blood didn’t come in a combo pack with a sense of humour. In fact I’m pretty sure they are inversely proportionate—bluer the blood, blacker the mood. Maybe they are even trained to be super surly lest someone gets too close and drains out a pint of the precious liquid while they are asleep. I was half tempted to change my personal ad to make a jibe at the blueies—‘Red blood cell girl looking for red blood cell boy. Blue-blooded boys need not apply.’

But for all my indignation at animal-cussing, I’ve noticed whenever I judge others, sooner or later I end up doing the very same thing. Do I unconsciously envy what they are doing or was it the universe’s way of rapping my knuckles—don’t judge until you walk in someone’s shoes; I don’t know.

After a long lull, I finally went on a coffee date. And hit jackpot. My date came dressed in a suit. Blue pin-striped shirt, a midnight blue tie and a gorgeous charcoal-grey suit. I was impressed. This man obviously took marriage seriously. He was the first ever suited coffee date I’d been with. I had seen my share of scruffily dressed men, landing up in bermudas, Hawaiian shirts, monsoon slippers and frayed tees. To me, a lack in attention to appearance meant a lack of interest, which is why Mr GreySuit was a refreshing delight. And then he turned to the moon and howled. Sort of. In my head.

Within minutes of being seated, GreySuit started leering—at women around other tables, at women who entered the cafe, at women who left the cafe, at women that served at the cafe, at women outside the cafe. Barring the woman he should have looked at, there was no female in the 10-mile radius that escaped his supersonic roving eyes. Eyes blazing, hands folded stiffly, I cornered him in my most frigid matter-of-fact voice, ‘You are ogling at women.’ To which he shrugged his shoulders and continued leering as he whined ‘What to do? I can’t help it. I just love women.’ ‘Wolf!’ I spat under my breath, turning away from the despicable sight of the grey Siberian howling at the florescent cafe lights.

Never a favourite child of the universe, my ‘walk in their shoes’ lesson continued. My brain and tongue seemed to have been taken over by the higher powers as I started animal-cussing all the time.

He: ‘If you want to keep working post kids, carry on. I’ll retire and sit at home.’

Me: ‘Sloth!’

He: ‘All my friends’ wives are on online dating sites. Who is exclusive these days?’

Me: ‘Hyena!’

I see him return from the washroom with drought-dry hands.

Me: ‘Pig!’

He: ‘I enjoy meeting you . . . but ummm . . . ya . . . well, it’s kinda difficult .



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