Pecos

I’ve been mulling over it quite a bit now, how life evolves and brings you to all the places and people you’ve up until then only heard about. I spent a lot of my early twenties gleaning off stories of Bangalore, her weather, the chicken rolls in old city alleys, the coorgi pork chilly, Pecos. I had a notion then, of visiting Bangalore with the people who most talked about it. It is always funny how life turns out.

This week, I finally made it to Pecos. It took me a whole year of living in Bangalore to finally make it here, and it couldn’t have come at a better time, in better company. The chicken curry and dosas arrive; we are not sure how many beer pitchers are ordered. There are three types of Pork on the table, one a chef’s special Indian masala, and Veena calls out to an old, familiar waiter Shashi who brings us our Pecos card. The famed popcorn is out of stock, our stories are not.  Conversation traverses stories of religion, old loves, old fights; strangers turn friends.

I am in love. With Pecos graffiti walls, etched chairs, unabashed decor. Everything I heard about, yet so much more. There is an unexplainable joy in this- rediscovering people’s stories as your own. Sometimes it’s without the people in it – and sometimes it’s just this- a testimony to a life well-lived and despite everything, not forgetting to do so.

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