The formula is basic. Appeal to the starved , dangle the choicest cut in front of them, lead them to the lair and charge them the bill, no more given with sugar coated saunf but in weird contraptions.
The monsoon of cafes in Hyderabad is ushered in. Some minimalist and sadly, very jarringly minimalist. Some, confused between modernity and Victorian royalty. And all of them, trying and succeeding to fit into the bracket of “classy”.
Class sells. While fights wage on for equality everyday here, a new divide emerges. The divide between the people who have morphed completely into a super urban crowd and the people who started out on the route and found the route too taxing and settled comfortably with a cheaper alternative. The cafes specifically cater to the former crowd.
The ankles, tattooed in the later fad, boringly go over their flavoured waxed legs. The clothes show the effort they put it to make it look effortless. The makeup is perfected and the scents, subtle. The talk is various, stemming from their respective corporate jobs or NGO woes. And to cater to all this, comes the cafe with ridiculously comfortable seating and confusing menus.
The coffees are very particular. The cheese, sadly isn’t. One lesson to learn, is that cheese makes everything saleable. Even cottage cheese. The drink menu is rarely touched. Everyone knows what they want. Desserts, are exceptional and exceptionally single dimensional. No spices with sugar, playing it safe.
This lull, is the meditation we pay for. Not the food, not the music. It’s the love for oneself and for people like oneself, that drives us to celebrate ourselves in quiet, but Instagram boisterous ways.
Anyway, if you are here, welcome. Drown this city that doesn’t tolerate even sub standard biryani in cheese coma.