The other night at Koshy's

I was at Koshy’s the other night. Dining with an old friend whom I had not met for close to 12 years. The friend, Kavita, was now with a big-time IT MNC in Bangalore and dinner at Koshy’s was her idea.

To be truthful, I didn’t know Kavita all that well. We weren’t friends. Twelve years ago, we had worked at the same ad agency in Mumbai, where we were colleagues belonging to different division of the agency. However, I had known her older brother in Mumbai. The brother and I had met through a mutual friend and had got together a couple of times for a drink. It was this mutual friend who was now responsible for connecting me with Kavita.

Koshy’s in Bangalore is one of those landmark restaurants which make a city famous. If you’ve been to Bangalore and not been to Koshy’s, you’ve sinned. Everyone I know in Bangalore, and those who’ve visited the city from time to time (and that includes me), has been to Koshy’s many more times than they remember. For some, it’s all there is to Bangalore, apart from the recent IT boom.

Koshy’s has a British old-world charm and, even today, you’re likely to find a foreigner or two tucked away in the corners. Of course, these are more likely to be American IT execs than British colonisers. Koshy’s is really a café and not a restaurant. More functional than fancy; busy and noisy. However, its menu has a selection good enough to qualify it as a restaurant.

Koshy’s has a history going back to days before India’s Independence; and, though I’ve not met any, it is said that many a celebrity has dined there. Today, it’s known as a hangout for the non-corporate crowd: journalists, advertising professionals, musicians, film and theatre personalities, and students. Since Kavita carried her youthful looks and her backpack like any other college student, and I was presently unemployed, we blended into the non-corporate crowd rather well.

Getting a table was, as always, difficult and we hung around for a while, feeling at loose ends. I was shifting from one foot to the other, looking around, when two gentlemen at a nearby table, finishing their last cups of tea, invited us to share their table. They were probably moved by Kavita’s good looks rather than my embarrassment, because they struck up a conversation with Kavita immediately upon our joining them, while I sat like an idiot and looked on.

Anyway, soon afterwards, with a nod to me, they bade Kavita goodbye and left us to our conversation. We made the best of it, covering ground we had missed for the last 12 years. As the beer (for her) and fruit juices (for me; yeah, I’ve given up alcohol and turned into a perfectly square guy) flowed, we talked and talked right through the noise of the conversations from other tables.

The only interruptions were our orders for dinner: a sumptuous two-course continental spread. And before we knew it, we had spent close to three hours at Koshy’s. It was only then that we realised the magic of the entire evening. That, through all the waiting and the noise and the food and the drinks and the conversation, Kavita and I had forgotten that we weren’t really friends. We had forgotten that we were supposed to be semi-strangers meeting for the first time in 12 years.