THE COFFEE STAIN (Short)

Every day at exactly 11.00 am he would sit at the corner table of his favourite Irani Café and read the morning paper while sipping on a hot cup of coffee. It was a ritual he never missed for the past 40 years.

  The cup would stay idle, steam pouring out of it as if trying escape from something. Then his hand would come, firmly grasping the handle of the cup which would then go up to meet his lips.

  The first few sips are just for checking if the coffee is of the right temperature. If not, he will carefully place it on the table, leaving behind a stain which never is at the same place.

  At 12.30 pm he leaves the café, the newspaper carefully tucked under his right arm.

  After he has left, the cleaner comes up to clear his table, picks up the coffee cup and proceeds to clean the stain.

  It’s always that same spot, the same stain, thinks the cleaner as he wipes away all traces of the table being occupied before.

  However, getting rid of years and years worth of coffee stains is not easy, with many cleaners before him already having given up on cleaning it, and he too does the same.

  The next day he comes back at his usual time, only though this time, it’s not the warm cup of coffee or the waiter that greets him, but locked doors and a notice that says ‘Closed’.

  Others, who had come before him, were making their way back, mumbling about how this was bound to happen, the owner dead, no one to take over the business.

  Though he didn’t show it, but from the inside he was overcome by grief, as if a part connected to him was just broken off.

  As he made his way back home, wondering what he will do from now on, a familiar scent made him glance at the corner.

  He walked towards that scent, which started to grow stronger as he came nearer.

  The origin of the scent was from an old café that seemed totally out of place, in a locality surrounded by new and plush eateries.

  He stepped inside the café, which reminded him a lot about a similar one he had once visited with his dad, but was unable to recall when.

  Once inside, his sight went to the old man sitting the counter and towards the vintage radio that soothingly played music from an era gone by.

  He sat in the corner near to the counter and asked for a cup of coffee from the ageing waiter, who nodded and went inside the kitchen.

  The waiter came back with a cup that eerily resembled the one he used to drink from at the Irani Café. He brushed off the thought admitting that it was just his mind playing tricks on him.

  After he was done, he got up, made his payment and left, while the waiter went over to clean the table, unaware that the coffee stain he left behind will never be erased.

THE END

The Snoring Doesn't Start Until 11

As the famous saying goes, it's not the destination but the journey that matters.

Travelling to any place in India by the Indian Railways is something one has to experience at least once in their life.

For me it has been the primary mode of travelling, whether I was visiting my relatives or going to a new place.

I've travelled by flight as well, but the things that you get to see on an overnight train journey is totally incomparable to the experience of flying.
Yes flying is comfortable... sometimes... well, unless you're travelling first class.
And it does save a lot of time too, but on the downside, it punches a big hole in your wallet.
As a kid, I used to eagerly await the day my family took our annual trip during my vacation.
It meant travelling all the way to Mumbai Central, in a taxi of course, getting a glimpse of the iconic Maratha Mandir cinema and entering the gates of the station where amidst all the greenery, a toy engine greeted you.
It's a scene that has been imprinted in my mind over the years and is one of the few things that I'll never forget.
Those were the times when people used to check their reservation number on the chart hung up at the platform, instead of their smart phones.
And I always hoped ours was there too, because, honestly I thought it would be such a downer to come all the way, only to find out our seats weren't confirmed. 
I dreaded that I wouldn't get to sleep on a bed and instead would be made to sleep on the floor of the train.
Obviously that never happened, but the thought of it still scared my 10-12 year old self. 
The thing about travelling on these trains for me as a kid meant that, it wasn't a train that took you from point A to point B.
It was about bringing out my inner Indiana Jones and set on exploring the whole train.
I remember always darting ahead to our seat where my spot always lied near the window and dare anyone else who sat there.
The journey also came with certain perks for me, like:
Getting a whole bottle of water to myself, though I knew I'd never drink it all, but I also knew that no one else could drink from it too.
Anxiously waiting for the evening snacks to come and finishing it all off, without leaving any for later. 
Then drinking the tea/coffee, again as a kid there were few instances when you could drink 'adult' drinks like these, and this was one of them. 
After all that was done, I would set out to explore the train.
I wanted to see how far I could go, and at times I would get pretty far enough to forget my way back. 
Around 8 O'clock, I would be munching on bread-sticks followed by warm soup. 
At nine, dinner was served and I tried my best to finish the whole thing, only to see myself give up after having half of it.
Then ice-cream would come and despite my stomach being way too full, I'd manage to finish it as fast as I could.
Once the whole thing was done, then came the time to sleep, and boy did I love sleeping on these beds.
You see these weren't your ordinary bunk beds, they didn't have normal ladders, but what they did have was metal bars, welded on the corners of the seat to form a ladder for one to access the upper berths.
And pretty much everyone who has ever travelled in these trains as a kid, knew they weren't just ladders, instead they were a platform to show-off our acrobatic skills.
I loved sleeping in the upper berth, which was like a totally different world, cut off from the rest.
Though now, I prefer the much comfortable middle one and hate the thought of climbing any further up.
The lights usually were out by 10:30 and by 11 everyone was fast asleep.
Now as kids there were certain things that didn't bother us or probably we didn't give a damn, but as adults its a totally different story altogether.
One of those things were, snoring.
It didn't bother me as a kid, but as the years added on, it kinda did.
And there's a huge difference between snoring in one's home and snoring in a train.
When you're sleeping at home and you snore, it's obvious to others that you're the one snoring.
In a train, you have no idea, is it the guy above you or the lady opposite you or someone else in the next seat.
I for one at times, didn't have an idea whether it was someone snoring or actually growling in their sleep.
Snoring probably isn't a bad thing, but when you're travelling in a train overnight, its pretty much the only sound you get to hear, apart from the chugging sound of the train as it moves.
And for some reasons unknown, the sound of snoring in a train is amplified to the point you hope that sleep comes to you faster.
I already have some difficulties falling asleep faster, unless I'm really tired then I doze off instantly.
The thing is that at night while I'm in my bed, trying to get some shut-eye, it's the exact time when my brain decides to wake up and question the mysteries of life, universe and everything beyond.
But even in the train, those questions would get interrupted by all that snoring reverberating around me.  
Did it help in keeping my brain from questioning my existence?
Yes.
Did it help in letting me get some sleep?
No.
Did I ever sleep in the end?
Yes, though I don't know how.
Anyways, then morning would come and all those sleepy heads would rise, not by any alarm but by the aroma emanating from the morning cup of tea handed to them by the server.
I would look at all these faces, trying to figure out how the heck could these people sleep so soundly, whereas I, throughout the whole night tried to block their noises just so I could doze off.
After the morning ritual, it took just a few hours of wait until our destination would arrive.
Then came the signal from my mom and dad to start getting our luggage out, meaning we've reached the station.
The younger me, used to feel happy to reach the place and sad too, because it would be a whole week when I'd get to travel in it again.
However now, all I want is that journey to get over and hope that the week could somehow extend to more than just seven days.