OF THE SOCIALLY AWKWARD COFFEE-AND-TEA-AVOIDER AND HIS SURVIVAL

“Come, let’s have a cup of coffee at Starbucks”, said a friend of mine and I had to refuse politely stating I don’t drink coffee and tea. Thankfully, he smiled and left it as it is. But a day does not pass without me getting a stare from at least one person that seems to say, “Go jump off a cliff and die. RIGHT NOW. Because you don’t drink coffee.” I would want to hit back by smacking, “Dude, please. It is not like I am impotent or something just because I don’t drink this chicory-mixed, brown-colored beverage.” But then, the reality about my physique - and the effect it would suffer from if being stuck by the staring person - would sink in, and I would fake a nervous smile, trying to be diplomatic, gauging the situation and eventually moving away to a place with less awkwardness.

I hesitate to visit day scholar friends because all their moms would invariably ask two questions.

1.    What is your CGPA?

2.    Want some coffee or tea?

Some of the parents go to the next level by asking, “Coffee kudika maatiyaa? Avlo nallavanaa daa ni?” Again, words would start getting framed in my mind. “Hello, excuse me. I am trying to become the don of my college, and you are giving ‘nallavan’ title and all to me. This is injustice.” However in reality, I would be smiling (in this case, I cannot even leave that place, because it is a friend’s home and I have been taught to be civil towards elders).

I have justified reasons for not liking coffee and tea (or any beverage other than milk and kanji). First of all, there is this Complan flashback that haunts me till date. I had been drinking this Completely Planned food from the day I remember, but this was not the only drink I used to be fed with daily. I drank, and still drink, this kezhvaragu kanji for which mom really does a lot of background work (like handpicking various cereals and mixing them in the right proportion, leaving them to sprout and then giving it to the rice mill to get the flour out of the mixture etc.), I drink plain milk (sugar added, of course). Why? I even had booze more than most of my mates when we went to “Industrial Visit” to Goa (and did not vomit even once).

So coming to the flashback, “Dude, this guy is tall because he drinks Complan daa” became a common word in the school where I studied my primary classes. I would always be like, “Bloody bastards, are you guys sure? Why could it not have happened naturally? See, my great grandad was about seven feet. It might be the genes”, but all this would ring upon only in my mindvoice. Being the poor soul with the lean physique that would resemble Raghuvaran or Balaji (the guy who complains about a thousand diseases in a famous comedy in Vaali with Vivek), I got used to just smiling meekly and getting lost out of the offenders’ sight.

While this is the friends’ side of the flashback, the neighborhood comments were even more incinerating. “Jayashri, stop giving him Complan. He is becoming too tall for his weight.”

Neighbor: Dei Giri, always remember. More rice than Complan.

My mindvoice: Mr. Bawsthaord (decency maintained), did you see me eating a quintal of Complan powder yesterday? Or the day before?

Neighbor: Don’t stare at me. I am telling for your well-being only.

My mindvoice: Alright, thanks. Now, drink the coffee for which you came here and please fuck off, well-wisher.

Neighbor: Why are you looking at me like that? I think Complan is making you grumpy.

My mindvoice: Your face is like the ass of a God-knows-what creature. So please. The exit door is over there.

With each passing day in my high school, this “coffee-cat” phenomenon started hitting me harder and harder, and finally, I took the plunge to try drinking it once. It was in my 11^th grade. I used to go to a friend’s place after school hours (because his home was near the tuition center where I studied. Dirty minds, please stop your thought process), and his mom served me great chapathis (better than my mom, literally. Note to mom: Amma, this has been included within braces to mean you should not read it) daily. Her coffee was also being constantly praised by a lot of my classmates and hence I tried drinking it one day. I don’t know why, but the taste did not go well with my tantalizing buds in the tongue; when I spat it out, his mom – I call her “Maa” too – was clearly offended, and this made me averse to coffee forever.

I can never forget a betrothal, where I had to face a hell of a scene. First of all, my physical condition does not literally translate to the amount of food I eat (Where did you make a mistake, Lord Brahma?). So in this buffet, I tasted almost all the itineraries at least once and as a result, nature was calling. When I tried to rush out towards the restrooms, one server blocked me politely and said, “Sir, this exit door is under construction. Take the other exit over the opposite side.” I had to hurry my way towards the other side, which was some fifty light years away, before noticing that there was a long queue near the exit door. A sudden panic attack ensued on the imagination that all of them were waiting to respond to nature’s call. Only when I neared did I come to know that the queue was for coffee. I tried to by-pass the line when some random person said, “Sir, what is the hurry? All of us are waiting for coffee only. Don’t we look like human beings?” I could hear myself swearing at me for stuffing in so much into my belly, when I began asking “Excuse me” to everyone.

Just when I was about to reach the door, a server blocked the way with a smile and said, “Sir, coffee kudichitu ponga.” As I stood helpless, he thrusted me a cup of coffee and went away to oblivion. I had to grip my body tight so as to maintain the equilibrium between nature’s call and my lanky stature, and as I managed to step towards the door for one last time, another man blocked me.

Man: Sir, please place the cup in the tray over there

(points to a tub-like thing kept at 200 meters from the place I stood, directly opposite to the direction of the lavatory)

Me: Can you please do me a favor by keeping it there?

Man: Am sorry, Sir. I am afraid I have some work

(walks away)

Me: (muttering Thamizh swear words)

(placing the cup at its destined place)

(blitzing towards the restroom, overtaking Usain Bolt’s record in the process)

Thankfully, all was well and it ended well. But after that, I became very conscious about eating at buffets.

As this evergreen incident refuses to go out of my memory, another part of my brain starts processing a second happening. This happened in the month of January, and I, along with a few seniors, was supposed to meet someone from a startup to discuss certain things for a college function. I was fretting not because I was anxious about meeting those people, but rather because this meeting was scheduled at Café Coffee Day. As the discussions went on, all but myself started ordering Cappuccinos and Frappes, while I had no other option but to go for a veg puff. As I started crunching it, one of the CCD people came in.

CCD guy: Sir, would you like to have something to drink?

Mindvoice 1: Yeah, right. Give me a liter of salted buttermilk with some asafetida, dumbass.

Mindvoice 2: Sudu thanni eduthu en moonji la oothu daa venna.

Me: (smiling) No, thanks. I am good.

Eventually, the meeting turned out to be futile both personally and professionally. Personally because I was irritated and did not eat the veg puff fully (the seniors paid). Professionally because the startup did not agree to the terms put forth by us.

But thinking of all these, I guess my hate for coffee is more of a psychological thing triggered by societal happenings rather than the really awkward taste it has (yeah, it has an awkward taste only). So my love towards coffee and tea has stopped with admiring the beauty of the plantations and estates at Munnar and Ooty. This is also the reason I care more about eating at Rotiwala than at Rathna Café. This is precisely why I exert that peculiar, out-of-the-world stare when I see a group of people sipping coffee at a hotspot with that surrrr noise that comes out as the liquid passes on from the cup (or saucer) to their mouth.

Whatever it is, coffee and tea aversion and the really annoying situations that arise out of it has made me kind of resilient towards facing problems in a way. One bothering aspect that pains me somewhere at the bottom of my heart is that, though I have drunk all the juices at CEG canteen, I have not tasted coffee or tea even once. Man, it is just five or six rupees; one day, I might get the courage to taste it, spit it out and the person sitting opposite to me would slap me for dirtying his Peter England shirt.