Bagels and blogging by the Bay of Bandra

Avo bagel at the Library Cafe

 

It’s raining in Bandra today and I decided to take advantage of it and step out. It did take a bit of convincing to leave our snug home but I did so finally.

There’s a cafe with the intriguing name, Cafe Library, that I spotted at the end of Carter Road which has the gigantic bat with Sachin’s autograph on it. It seemed to look on straight to the sea. I passed it by a couple of times while going to a friend’s office at Chuim to chant recently. Could be a nice place to sit in I thought. And today, I felt, was perfect for it.

A young friend had come home to chant with his daughter earlier in the morning. She was hoping to play with the cats whose pictures she had seen on her dad’s Instagram. We had seen her when she was a year or two old. Today for the first time after the pandemic started. A very well behaved and friendly girl, but who will tell that to the Kitty Karmakars? They have only met three ‘little hoomans’ so far. #noorbanucooks’s granddaughter, my niece K and now little V. Baby Loaf and little Nimki seem to be terrified of little hoomans. The little ones, having heard stories of the boys and having seen their pictures, look forward to playing with them. 

Loaf came out first and ran back in on seeing V, though he likes to come and chat with grown ups and get petted by them. Little Nimki came out and went below the dining table and put her under surveillance. Running for his life when V turned around. She kept herself entertained playing with the multiple coasters and curios in our hall while her dad and I chanted. She laid these out in three orderly lines and put each back in its place when it was time to leave. And she’s just 4! I guess she learnt an important lesson today. Cats are not dogs. Just as apples are not oranges. Just as the peach, plum and damson are different, each with their own unique qualities, flowering at their own time. Just as each individual is unique in their own way.

The sisters had come to work by 11. I showered and stepped out even though my hips felt a bit stiff. The internet said that the Library Cafe has a nice collection of books to read. I took my MacBook and my specs inspite of that. Booked an Uber and headed out. We passed by the Carter Road stretch, as I  when I went to Chuim earlier this week and it offered such a burst of freshness each time, come sun or rain. I was buried in my phone each time but gave in to the call of the sea each time and put it away. This deserved mindfulness.

The skies were grey today. The rains had reduced. I rolled down the windows of the car and took some pics. Suddenrly it struck me that hey, this is the same Carter Road that I told you about some time back here. Of when I came here on my first evening in Bandra. And felt very lost and lovely. That was 25 years back. Since then Bandra has become my home. Carter Road was where K and I would go for walks after we got married. At first she would insist that we go in the morning before work. I would step out obediently. Eyes half shut. ‘Show some enthusiasm,’ she would say. ‘What is this? Are you even interested?’

That was a short phase. As we moved into our 30s, she acknowledged the fact that we are both owls. Sloths in the morning. Our walks at Carter Road shifted to the more civilised hour of dusk and at times even 9pm. At times alone. This is Mumbai. Bandra. Our home. There was no reason to feel unsafe.

Carter Road would see us in the mornings again. This time when we drove down it during driving lessons. K was the faster learner. Me, the trundler. She was more confident and active with the car after we cleared our tests and got our licenses. Then she stopped driving for some reason and never sat in the driver’s seat again. Literally, not metaphorically!

I turned out to be a decent enough driver though I hardly drive now. I don’t enjoy driving in Bombay. I take the wheels when the car needs to be shifted in our compound if there is some work going on at home. Otherwise, one could say I was born to sit in the backseat and to be driven around. An aspect where I am not like my dad, who drove across Europe with my mom and a very little me. I do remember that he did not like to drive in Calcutta with its chaos when we moved in in the early 80s

Cafe Library has an outside section which looks onto the sea and today was high tide which made it even more alluring. The section opens on to the main road and was a bit too noisy and dusty for my tastes even though the weather is cool. I decided to sit inside. It was quite comfortable. The AC temperature was ambient. I hope they maintain this when it is sunny. There are nice marble top tables to work on while you still get a glimpse of the sea. As Ruskin Bond said in his autobiography, what a writer needs is a window that opens out in front of him and I could not agree more with this literary icon whose perspectives on writing I find most inspirational.

I feel so blessed

It turns out that Cafe Library is run by the folks at Carter Blue, which I remember as a shwarma place in the Carter’s Road gulley. The food is reflective of its genes. I did not want an egg so had a competent avocado toasted bagel. The avocado was fresh, fatty and served sliced and not as a mush. It could have done with a touch of acid and seasoning. The bagel was not chewy but comfortably crisp and quiet substantial. There was no cortado. The double shot espresso that I ordered came in a cappuccino cup as it did in a few places at Berlin and Paris. Not espresso cups. This makes me sad. It was rather bitter, acrid and one dimensional and I left it after a sip. Better to come home and have a good one.

14 years and 11 months of food blogging have made me a subconscious critic while eating. I know that I should have given in to the majesty of the tumultuous sea in front of this. I could counter argue that being attentive to what one eats is what mindfulness is all about. 

The clientele tha morning consisted largely of young folks. Collegians. High schoolers. Coincidentally largely girls. This possibly meant nothing as it was Friday and noon. Most grown ups would be busy fulfilling their grown up responsibilities at this hour. I used to work out cafes when I started my life as a food writer by writing my first book. It was Kainaz’s suggestion to do so based on seeing how alone I felt in our apartment.

We shifted apartments and I found the ideal study in our new place with large windows to look out of in front of me. And our two sons who sit on the window ledge by me. We now have two house-helps who come to work in the morning versus none earlier. K works from home at times. This apartment is not ‘desolate.’ I am very happy with my study. I see no reason to move out. Ruskin Bond says that there are writers who can write anywhere and then those like him who prefer a fixed place. I have done both. There was a time when the former worked for me. Right now the latter. I have learnt not to stress about all this too much. As my friend said after we finished chanting yesterday, ‘the best way to advance according to the Buddhist philosophy is to take each day at a time.’

 There were Belgian, Nutella and dark chocolate milkshakes, penne Alfredos, fried ice creams, pancakes and grilled sandwiches flying all across. All plates returned to the kitchen empty. I take this as a good indication of the restaurant hitting the right spot with its target audience.

The tables being close to each other, one could not avoid listening to the conversations going on around one. At one, the friends of another was exhorting her to hurry up with her Instagram photography so that they could get to the food before it got cold. In this case, some fort of deep fried spheres. The elixir of youth is any sort of deep fried dish after all. 

At the other table, one told her friend about how the former was considered to be a social misfit as she ate too slowly. This why is she felt she should have some guy friends, as they apparently are less judgemental. Her mother feels so too  and seemed upset with her for not having guy friends. 

Gosh, times have changed!

My ear opened onto the other table again, where one  enjoyed the Alfredo while another mouthed, ‘corn flour’ before they both turned to the counter and said,  can we have our milkshakes in takeaway cups please? They carried what they could not finish with them to have while enjoying the rains outside

I have made a conscious point to step put these days, knowing how tempting it is to stay at home. Stepping out is good for ones mental health they say. Which is why you found me at Carter’s today. 

You would be happy to know that I no longer feel stressed about work. For months I was grappling with the question of work and what does it mean in my context. I have had chats with K and my Buddhist comrades on the subject and studied Buddhist books trying to figure this out. 

Then came clarity a couple of weeks back. When I returned from Kolkata. Discussing this over multiple sessions with my therapist clearly helped. 

It struck me that I am a writer. Therefore, when I write, I am ‘working’. Simple? That’s how most things in life are. If only we are lucky to read the signs and to discover our purpose. I would expand this to include podcasting and vlogging. Story telling, you could say. Not just writing. 

I earlier associated ‘work’ with the health of my bank account, and finally realised that I need not be so. As long as I am writing, I am working! Purpose comes first. Rest will follow. As Rashmi Uday Singh recently told me quoting one of her mentors, ‘chase Saraswati (goddess of learning and Laxmi (goddess of wealth) will follow’. And sure enough, a long pending payment came in once I decided to just focus on my writing rather than stressing about what was not in my control. I signed on two exciting projects, one very short term and other not. And another is booked for winter. All will reflect in the passbook. Touchwood.

Which is why sitting in a cafe at noon and writing is ‘work’. Listening to conversations is work. Having breakfast and making mental notes of it is work. 

As it would have been if I had stayed at home and worked in my study. With clothes kept to dry on a stand behind me as it is too rainy to put them out to dry.

The skies came crashing down as I paid up. We could hear the sound of rains from inside the cafe. I wanted it to ease a bit so that I could leace. Not because I was hungry. I was not. The bagel was substantial. Not because I wanted to rush home for a decent espresso.

I wanted to go back because our boys would be a bit tense with the heavy rains. I am a cat dad now and this is not the time to be footloose and fancy free. It is another matter that they did not come out from under the bed to greet me once back. 

“We are cats Daddy Loaf. Not dogs. We don’t wear our hearts on our sleeves but you know we love you.”

PS: You would be advised to bring your book if you come the Cafe Library as the collection is limited for a cafe which calls itself as a ‘library’. The service is sweet and they reduce the volume of the music playing here on request.

PPS: There is a large Starbucks and a moderately sized Di Bella beside it.