Coffee and Cruelty...

As I was reminiscing and writing about my days in KV some weeks ago, there was this one disturbing incident that came to my mind but it didn't quite fit into the subject of what I was writing about. In fact, its an incident which does not even fit into the person I believe I am today. Well about that last bit I could be wrong and you can always tell me so :)

I was in Standard 5 (in Medak, near Hyderabad) when we were given a science group project and I was assigned to a team of 8 members. I don't exactly remember everyone who was a part of it; but there was this one girl - Saroj, who I distinctly remember. That day we drew up our plan and decided on the stuff we needed to buy for our project. After school we met at my house at around 4 pm and walked down to the only stationary shop in the only little huddle of stores that existed in Medak - called Tower (because it was situated next to a TV tower. How creative??!!).

Now Saroj used to live very close to Tower and met us directly at the shop. After we had bought the stuff we needed, she invited us home for coffee. She said her dad made the best filter coffee in the world. This invitation threw us off and we started making our excuses immediately. The thing is, Saroj's father was a cook and server at the Inspection Bunglow (guest house) of the Ordnance factory where our fathers were employed. Many of us being officers children had been served by him in the past on many occasions and to meet him as our classmate's dad wasn't very appealing. But Saroj insisted aggressively and we gave in.

Once we reached her house our discomfort only rose. She lived in a one room house with her parents and siblings. As it turned out, they had no seats/chairs to offer and we had to stand outside the house and wait for our coffee to arrive. And coffee seemed to take way longer than usual. The awkwardness of the whole situation brought out the worst in us. We started off by whining about how we couldn't stand around like that for too long, to how the locality looked hostile and unsafe, to how late it was getting and how our parents were disapproving of such tardiness. One of us even asked if she was a Bramhin or not - else we wouldn't drink the coffee. Saroj bore all this with the patience and maturity of a statesman! She tried to douse every "concern" with genuine reassurance - one of which was "Of course, we are Bramhins. Else how would my father cook at the IB?"

At some point during these exchanges our awkwardness slowly changed to horrible embarrassment as our own cruelty dawned on us. To make matters worse, Saroj's father stepped out especially to meet us and expressed how thrilled he was to have us over. In a little while after that, coffee was served. It was freshly filtered, piping hot and creamy. It was truly the best coffee I'd ever had!

And yet, on our way back home, none of us talked about it. Its our cruelty which had left a bad taste in our mouths I guess...