Life and times in Koshy's

A lot of the recent Bangalore bloggers have recently turned their attentions towards Koshys aka Parade Café. Being an avid snooper into blogs, I can safely say that almost everything of consequence that could be said about it has already been said. From it being one of the landmarks of Bangalore to being the Headquarters of the jhola-fabindia Party- to the ubiquitous Mr. Prem Koshy’s -ahem- well thought out attire. From the excellent coffee to the Sunday morning appams and stew; anything of miniscule importance that might influence your decision to wine and dine good ole K has already been covered. So if you’re looking for a restaurant review, keep looking.

It had come to our notice that off late Pecos had officially crossed the thin line that distinguishes grungy from filthy. Our other regular bum zone the MG Road Barista had become too hip-hop for our liking. So Chatterbox, Secret Squirrel (SS) and I had no choice but to adopt Koshy’s as our sole foster home. And that my friend involves spending obscene amounts of time in prime property while attempting to do minimal damage to the already scarce resources.

Even if Barista and Pecos weren’t disqualified, Koshys has some inherent advantages that tips the scales-
There’s the friendly parking attendant who could probably fit my bike into a postbox slot. And silently waits as I walk up the parking lot at least twice before identifying my bike even though he knows exactly which one it is.
Then there’s the wonderful view of the traffic signal at Anil Kumble circle presenting Bangalore in all its claustrophobic, cacophonic glory. Secret Squirrel vehemently insists that if you look at a particular angle through the blinds in the restaurant onto St Marks Road it looks just like Europe. I think this is mainly because she has never been to Europe.
And last but not the least (I hate that phrase), the coffee costs 14 rupees 24 paise- exclusive of VAT and other dubious taxes.

From the many hours spent there, we have deduced from all the not-so-subtle hints, that the members of the Malyalee Waiters and Co. would rather not have us there. From the very beginning they correctly adjudged the strata of society the three of us were from i.e. the class of the Impoverished Students. Maybe it was our one rupee fifty paise tips that gave us away. Nevertheless, since then, they have proceeded to systematically discriminate against us.

Our powers of keen observation and lack of anything else to do have also led us to another important discovery unbeknownst to the average visitor. I\we have deciphered the secret code the waiters use to determine the treatment you receive at Koshys. Ah yes, the one item separates the man from the boys, the wheat from the chaff, the diamond from the stone… you get the point. This one item is… (drum roll)… the checkered tablecloth.

Ah yes, and not everyone is so blessed as to receive the tablecloth treatment. There are several things to be taken into consideration before the immigrants from God’s Own Country decide to bestow this honor on your table.
One might enter Koshy’s thinking, “Ah! Here is a place where I can unwind and relax and just be myself, away from the stress and scrutiny.” Sadly, this is not the case. For as soon as you enter, you are automatically subject to the instant appraisal of the white uniforms. Based on the results of these, you will be slotted into one of the following categories based upon which you might or might not receive the ultimate accessory to your table:-
Lawyer (read Mayo Hall) types
The ‘culturally enlightened’- those who fancy themselves to be photographers, actors, directors, authors, dancers…. (they ain’t buying it)
Repulsive yet powerful politician + cronies
Broker-client combination
Old timers
College bum
Significant someone

Another way of guaranteeing a tablecloth is if Mr. Prem Koshy feigns recognition and stops by to exchange a few pleasantries. They might have a union but they don’t want to displease the boss.

And finally, it’s just a matter of vulgar commerce. Mainly, what have you ordered today? If you’re going to order an iced tea and veg puff, you ain’t getting no tablecloth. No way hozay. Even a burger and coke doesn’t quite cut it. Get yourself some beer and prawn curry rice, or a steak lets see that bill climb into 4 figure zone and you got yourself one of those purchases from Bombay Dying gracing your table.

Needless to say, we have never been honored with such fineries. Yes we order the 2 cheapest things on the menu, and I eat all the yummy yellow sauce and ketchup that comes with the smileys and then ask for more. Yes we lodge ourselves for extended periods of time and point to other tables and guffaw ungraciously. So what if every bill presents its own unique mathematical dilemma of how to split it 3-ways? Is that any reason to treat us like the stale shredded chicken that comes in your hideously priced club sandwich? I mean, if you prick us do we not bleed? If you poison us do we not die… and so on.

Yet despite being consistently ill-treated and un-served, S Squirrel, Chatterbox and I never stop trying to gain their approval (much like the neglected children that we are). Who knows, one day we might be so lucky as to get a tablecloth.