Almost five years.

That’s how long it has been since I have been in this place. Saying that things have changed around here since then would be a huge understatement. Heck, even the signboard on the storefront is different now. They still maintain the green color of their brand, but the fonts are different. And now they have it written both in English and Hindi, as opposed to only Hindi back then. And what’s more, there’s now two shops in this complex owned by them. 

The interior is different too. Gone is the somewhat cramped space between chaotically organized shelves of books. Gone is the cozy looking but presumably dirty mattress where I’d seen a couple sprawled, reading a book. And probably gone too, is the chance of perfectly aligned coincidences that made me look like the smartest guy you would have known. 

All that is replaced now, by a warm ambiance, made of inlaid LED lamps in the ceiling, an air conditioner unit and polished wood chairs with curved armrests and equally glossy tables. The young barista with the cropped hair is gone, and so is the self service. They have waiters now. I’m not sure whether that changes the taste of the stuff they serve here or not. People bring their laptops here now, they get work done, just like the cafes we see in the artsy TV shows and movies. 

A part of me had hoped for this change. It takes the edge off from the frightful nostalgia that perhaps would have otherwise immobilized me. And another part of me wanted it to be exactly the same as before, as I remember. Every book where it was, every little pot with exactly the same plant in it, frozen in time. Why the wishful thought? Maybe because a dormant masochist part of me wanted to face the fear head on. The fear of getting trapped in the snare of remembrances. 

I guess I am lucky in that regard; I didn’t have to face that in all its murderous glory. But then. I wonder, if everything has changed, and there’s no real point in coming back here, why am I still here, writing this reminiscent account? 

One simple reason. Essence. The essence of the past rears its ugly but crippled head, demanding to be buried once and for all. I remember why I was brought to this place all those years ago and how I had reacted. Coming here again has given me the chance to look back to the beginning and the end together, letting it go. I feel like a murderer, coming back to the scene of the crime when the heat has somewhat settled, and realizing I was a pawn of the moment. I had no choice back then, fueled by the desire of an opportunity, but now realize that it had to be this way, a lesson. 

Coming here has given me something else too. A chance. To really think about those days and let them go, let them down gently and move on because just like the board has changed here, something has changed within me too, something has become better, more mature, more capable. I might think of going inside too, see how that affects me. It might be just like visiting any other book cafe, or it may break me. Either way, it would be interesting. I guess they did a great job, naming the place ‘pagdandi’, (Hindi: A narrow unpaved trail) because you have to be careful walking on that. Especially when you don’t have any footwear on.