I was the last one to walk up there. Friends and strangers ignored me alike. But that was not rude or intentional. It is something that you do at Shiva Café. You simply shrink and look inwards. You immerse yourself in thoughts that are only yours. You absentmindedly lie on the floor-level seats. You listen to the waterfall gurgling. You try to talk, but you realize it would be too loud for the café. Rowdy boys are placated effortlessly. So much so that, they settle down for a lazy game of chess and some smokes and some coffee. There are flowers all around. There is an aroma you remember from your past and yet can’t seem to correctly identify.
There are massive glass windows that let you stare out at the rainy lawn. There are glow-in-the-dark stars and patterns stuck all over the café. There is a double helix-structured hanging piece, in brilliant green. Soggy seats that seemed cozy to me. I stretched lazily and almost caught my forty winks. Food arrived. And how it was attacked!
Up somewhere in the misty hills, we had trudged along a cobbled path. We were in what seemed like the never-reaching top of the hill. Shiva Café was where we finally ended up. I had sulked. I was tired. I was irate. And I was angry about the fact the one of us was adamant on going all the way up there for ‘just sitting around’. The mountain goat that he is! But now I am thankful to the Goat. For forcing me to trek up to Shiva Café. For showing me a brand new place in the already thrice-visited hippy haunt.