Coffee shop irregulars

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For years, her husband had declined the invitation. "I'm too pooped," he'd say, or "I'm too drunk," or even, in the face of persistent whining: "You're drunk darling, go to bed."

"You're selfish," Sarla would begin her assault, the exact point when guests began to make motions to leave. By the time they were at the door, she would be accusing him of the vilest and foulest.

That status quo would probably have remained but last evening, returning home from a wedding reception hosted by a diplomatic couple at India International Centre where Sarla had joined us in the absence of her husband, we were passing the hotel, when Sarla repeated what she'd been saying for years: "What about a coffee at The Oberoi, yaar?" On a whim, I turned the car into the hotel driveway, and Sarla found her dream coming true.

"I'm coming here after twenty-five years and wish to celebrate," she told the waiter, "get me apple strudel with lots of extra cream on the side." "We don't have apple strudel on the menu, Madam," the waiter pointed out.

"No apple strudel," exclaimed Sarla, "but that's what I used to have here when I was in college." The waiter smiled politely and waited. Sarla scanned the menu.

"I guess I'll have the cherry cheesecake, but get me lots of cream on the side anyway. And an espresso, also with lots of cream on the side," she added greedily." My wife and I settled for coffees too, without the cream, and minus desserts.

But disenchantment had already set in. "This doesn't look like the earlier coffee shop," grumbled Sarla. "It isn't," I agreed, "it was renovated years ago." "I don't like it," she continued, "I wish they'd kept the old one the way it was."

"You're only being nostalgic," I indulged her, "things change, as they must, and this coffee shop is quite nice." "If you say so," she pouted, and reaching for her cherry cake, spooned generous quantities of cream over it before swallowing a mouthful.

"Cheesecake," she mumbled, "this is like halwa." "Sshhh," I said, "you'll upset the staff, they're very proud of their confectionery."

"With absolutely no reason," said Sarla, "this is nothing like the apple strudel I used to love." "But apples aren't cherries," my wife pointed out to her, "and strudel isn't cheesecake, but perhaps you'll like your coffee better."

Sarla did not like her coffee either, into which she'd added several spoonfuls of cream. "This cup is too small," she muttered, "the coffee's too bitter, and it isn't hot either, merely warm.

The cream though," she told the waiter who was hovering around the table with a troubled frown, "is quite excellent." For all that, Sarla thanked us for our troubles, and said she had enjoyed herself immensely, and she would treasure these moments all her life.

The next morning her husband called. "Thank you for taking my wife to The Oberoi for coffee," he said, "she's been wanting to go ever since she went once from college and had complained endlessly about the apple strudel and the coffee." "And I thought she'd been a regular," I said.

"Far from it," laughed her husband, "and now that she's had the cherry cake she didn't like, she'll keep pestering someone to take her there, so she can complain about whatever else is new on their menu. Trouble is," he sighed, "where do I find the next sucker to go out with her?"