Sunday brunch with snowball!

Sundays are meant for learning!

Sunday brunch with Snow Ball



Zoey's is where we go for brunch on Sundays. We lounge on the bright orange cushions of antique furniture there and sip masala chai that graces the table in Classic ceramic teapot.




Though it's a small place, Zoey's is breezy and sunny. Its people are urbane, Bangalorian. They sway and swing to music; click selfies around the corners of art. They, in their long Ts, short shorts and tube tops, with generous laughter, display the new age's confidence.


On one such day, when my stomach was growling for Italian food, my mind was hovering over places near me, I visited Zoey's. I visited Zoey's along with my cat, Snowball. He is white as snow and round as a ball.
He walked into the yellows and greens of Zoey's on that Sunday for the first time in his life. He saw the fountain and pebbles with awe. He held on to his awe expression and carried it on him until the sizzlers came by. He tucked his head into his front limbs and chest soon. Afraid of the fumes that spiralled into my mouth, he fell asleep in his cosy bag, probably to shut himself off from the gory scene that he witnessed.
I was the brave one here. I knew it. Soon, I was looking at the world with pity from up, down on those who didn't dare to order sizzlers. I flaunted my pride, I allowed my shoulders to dance to the beats of the Beatles.
My curious cat woke up soon. He blinked and twisted and turned in his bag. He behaved so much like a cat. A cat can behave like a mysterious woman, an adamant child, a grumpy monkey, and a soft toy, you know! But in that moment, he behaved like a cat, so much so that I felt like a wise human around him after really long time. That's what he does to me. That's why I brought him home and here to Zoey's so that I can submerge my insecurities and display the thinking prowess, that I know what is good from bad.
At Sunday brunch that day, sitting next to my cat, I saw the world in me, hungry for food and hungry for recognition and placed myself in a "normal" category though.
After reaching home, I couldn't hide my urge to kiss Mr. Snow Ball again. I kissed him until he stopped me with a slap on my nose with his little paw. He, that day, gave me a chance to ponder!
I soon buried my injured nose and bloated pride into Nelson Mandela's autobiography to think beyond sizzlers and later called it a day with a homemade soup in the moonlight.