Coffee House adda lukewarm to election heat

The smell of roasted coffee beans and cigarette smoke still pervade the place. And that unmistakeable buzz. One can still feel the pulse of the Generation Now' here a place that was once the nerve centre of Bengal politics. But if an old-timer steps into the Albert Hall Coffee House today just a few days before the city goes to elections they might find something amiss.The pulse is not beating to the rhythm of election.
You may hear snatches of poll-related conversations discussions on land acquisition, industrialization and right to vote or not to vote but they are not among the majority.
"In these coffee beans is written the destiny of generations," the boy in his early twenties was telling the girl, struggling to look regal. "Coffee here was never coffee." The girl, who kept sipping away casually, stops to look at her half-empty cup and, after pondering for a moment or two, blurts out: "Cheers!" Around her, the buzz grows louder as the chatterati, literati, and Twitterati, flock in for a round of adda at the legendary tables. But the borda', who's been lecturing chhoto bon' on everything from Lalgarh to Lal Mandir and Ghanada to Ghatal, has been subdued by her seeming indifference towards the historic coffee cup.
A few tables away, an elderly lady who is quietly knitting away, looks up occasionally at a group of young men having a debate on the right not to vote. One of them, a masters student of English at St Stephen's College in Delhi , tells his friends: "The great Indian democracy will collapse if one is given the right not to vote."
A fair, bright-eyed youth sitting next to him adds: "Na re, the Supreme Court should have allowed it. It would immediately make parties more accountable." The lady, who by now has decided she wants to join in, addresses the group in chaste English. "Tell me, would any of you vote for Lalgarh, or Nandigram? We Calcuttans have always been a selfish breed. We'll vote only for ourselves," she says, before going back to her knitting.
But unlike the patterns she is weaving, Coffee House seems to be breaking away from them. In this homogeneously smoky, over-crowded space, with its shuddering fans and turbaned waiters from a different age, one can still imagine the constellation of Bengali stars from Rabindranath Tagore to Amartya Sen whose path to greatness was via this College Street address.
But bang in the middle of election season, the bellwether political adda doesn't seem to be sending out a message. Not because Kolkata doesn't love its coffee any more, maybe it just doesn't have the time to celebrate it.
"What's the big deal?" asks Shreya Roy, who frequents Coffee House with her husband. "It's infinitely better than those stylized coffee shops. You get recession-bucking coffee here. And why just politics? People talk of everything here."
It's a view Jayeeta Sinha and her circle of friends, who on most days form the biggest group in Coffee House, disagree with. "Remember, this is Coffee House, the same one Manna Dey sang about," says Sinha, a students' union leader in her MA final year. "For us, it's a place to stay bonded, whether we discuss politics, crime, sex or cricket."
The change in Coffee House is undeniable from the stylized font that spells out the name to the fresh paint, polished tables, prim chairs and generally refurbished look to the people who form its prime time crowd. One thing that has remained the same is the coffee itself. And yes, it still arrives at least 20 minutes after you ask for it.