when @shaari_ tells me i should check out ‘coffee and bagels’ in hulhumale i almost tell him i’ve had bagels from russ & daughters (look them up). but i am telling you instead, dear readers. meaning my standards aren’t too low when it comes to these babies.

anyhow, we decide to head there post haste and shaari comes to pick me up the next day. but he’s five minutes late.

‘why’re you late?’

‘why are you early?’ he says back.

‘i’m on time,’ i tell him. ‘but you – ‘

‘save it, we have a bus to catch.’

so we motor off in the cloudy noon towards the kaanivaa bus stop. i pause by the door of the bus – it’s closed, not time to board just yet.
‘can’t you read?’ asks shaari. ‘it says ‘no standing’. it’s on the doors.’

funny.

in hulhumale, we take a little walk from the stop near bombay darbar, and soon we’re at the restaurant. it seems very posh and the patrons there give the impression of having money to spare in significant quantities despite this economy.

‘hmm,’ i say and take a seat at the very back. ‘does alifulhu know we’re here?’

‘he’s on the way,’ says shaari.

we’re handed menus and good lord – they’re expensive as hell. 135+ for a an avocado bagel with poached eggs (what stood out for me).

‘um, i only have a hundred to spare,’ i tell shaari a bit embarrassedly. he shakes his curly head.

‘give me the hundred, i’ll take care of the rest,’ he says. so i do. a kindly man, shaari.

we order coffee along with the meal and alifulhu arrives by the time the server brings our drinks to the table.

‘this charcoal latte is a work of art,’ says shaari. i nod distractedly cos i have a story.

‘alifulhu had an encounter with the cops last night,’ i tell shaari who gets very curious and asks his friend for details. alifulhu tells us the story, how a typo on his bike’s registration plate got him in trouble with the law.

‘the cop told me i should speak to violation,’ says alifulhu.

‘haha,’ says shaari. ‘like it’s a person.’

‘i told him communication is key,’ says alifulhu, getting into the story, ‘not just when dealing with dhivehi rayyithun but that it’ll help with his relationship with his wife too.’

a plucky man, our alifulhu.

‘how much was the fine?’ asks shaari.

‘ten thousand,’ replies alifulhu.

‘what the heck!’ shaari exclaims. ‘that’s what you get for being a smarty pants.’

i take a sip from my coffee, it’s good. soon, our food is placed before us, including alifulhu’s – he’s ordered an iced tea and arabian rice. you know, to be contrarian. and the plating is exquisite.

to my horror, my poached eggs are cooked through and the bagel is hard af. my god. am i glad shaari is footing this bill.

‘how’s yours?’ i ask shaari.

‘better, i asked them to make it crispy and less chewy.’

‘the rice is pretty good,’ says alifulhu, eating elegantly. ‘have some.’

so i have it with some chili paste.

‘wow!’ i say. ‘who’d have thunk. fuck bagels, get the rice.’

‘there’s the title of your review,’ says alifulhu.

shaari thinks we should have dessert and gets us some tiramisu.

‘three forks, one dessert,’ says alifulhu.

‘please don’t,’ i tell him and he laughs. shaari doesn’t get what’s happened. i doubt many who aren’t millennials will.

it’s a generous portion, and tastes pretty good, but the consistency is uneven. i mean you can’t run a fork through it smoothly cos it’s lumpy in bits.

our meal over, shaari and alifulhu head to the counter to take care of the bill. then alifulhu decides to have a smoke by the beach. there’s an empty joalifathi opposite the restaurant and we take our seats, sinking in comfortably and looking out on the hazy day and the angry waves.

‘man, am i glad i quit smoking,’ i tell alifulhu. ‘it’s more expensive than a drug habit now.’

‘yeah,’ says alifulhu, tapping out the ash of his rollie onto the sand. ‘drugs are better actually. all a cigarette does is make you want another.’

‘it’s the worst.’

we look on at the day, dimmed and softened by the hazy pollution that has made its way from our large neighbour.

‘what time is it?’ asks alifulhu.

‘quarter to three,’ i say.

‘it’s twenty to three,’ says shaari.

‘TWENTY?’ i say, incredulous. ‘where are you getting that from?’

‘my watch,’ he says.

‘your watch can’t keep time man. no wonder you were late.’

shaari laughs and adjusts his watch, while alifulhu finishes off a second cigarette and stands to leave.

‘i’ll see you gays soon,’ he says and putters away on his bike.

‘bus or ferry?’ asks shaari.

‘ferry!’

so we make our way to the ferry terminal, slowly, enjoying the unhurried pace of hulhumale’s beach on a nice, cool, cloudy saturday.