Kavi kehna chahte hain,
Mohabbat ke yeh rang naye purane lagate hain
Tum anjaan ho par woh vakif har dasta se
Raj Bhaiya kar bhi kya sakte hain,
Ab bas man hi man muskarate hain.
From giggling on our first dates to tense post-fight negotiations, he has seen it all. If AIL romance had a designated crime scene, it would be Raj Bhaiya’s cold coffee stall. Nestled on the edge of the college campus, witnessed more heartbreaks than an Imtiaz Ali’s film. If walls could talk, Raj Bhaiya’s stall would narrate sob stories of ‘lovebirds’ turning into ‘law graduates’ and, eventually, ‘random LinkedIn connections.’ The ‘I’ll love you till the end’ dissolving faster than the foam on his famous cold coffee.
The stall is more than just a caffeine fix; it’s a front-row seat to the rollercoaster of college romance or every stressed-out student on the verge of a breakdown just avoiding a time consuming torts or a punjabi assignment they definitely should’ve started yesterday.
Every Thursday, the stall buzzes with students in black and whites with ail’s hot gossip (fresher than raj bhaiya’s juicy mausambis) and the occasional heart-wrenching drama. One moment, a couple is sharing a sweet, whipped cream-topped coffee, eyes sparkling with the thrill of new love. The next, Raj Bhaiya is left to witness the aftermath of a breakup, as one half of the duo storms off, leaving their untouched drink behind—a bittersweet reminder of what once was.
Back in the day, sipping overly sweet cold coffee, lost in the dreamy haze of love. Bloody Karan Johar! Hand in hand, sweethearts would stand near his cart, “yahi mera student of the year vala pyaar hai”.
How’d I forget that nauseatingly cute couple who’d order “Bhaiya, ek coffee do straw dena pachaas ki” (no ew that’s cringe we’d just do it on a month’s end trying to make ends meet kyuki expectations toh meet ho nahi rahi thi) pretending love was as eternal as Dharma Productions’ background music.
Suddenly, the cold coffee that once tasted like the nectar of the gods started feeling too sugary, too artificial. Now, I find myself sipping bitter mausambi juice, earphones plugged in, staring at nothing in particular, while Arijit Singh croons my playlist.
From secret glances exchanged over steaming cups to the awkwardness of running into a first year ex, Raj. He’s the unofficial therapist, offering a listening ear. Whether it was our first dramatic fight near his stall or the only spot on campus that ever felt like home. He’s seen friendship heartbreaks unfold over chai, and solidified over extra sugar and how’d I forget the golden oldies of Sector 68, tossing cards with skilful hands, soaking in the warm sun on a winter afternoon with friendships endured twice as long as our age-years.
As the sun sets and the campus lights flicker on. He passes on a smirk seeing a couple sipping and blushing, cautiously using napkins but he doesn’t even blink when those same lovers return months later, sitting awkwardly, sipping separate drinks with no care in the world for the coffee spilling around the edges of the mouth. Slowly witnessing one of them in that 15-minute break— the sacred escape from back-to-back lectures accompanied with asking him for a matchbox.
The stall’s more of a canopy sheltering a whole range of college students. The “I only came for the cold coffee but, oops, now I’m bonding with these cool seniors” crowd (kid be real with your plan, come on who hates validation from these 5th years?) Then there’s the “let’s pretend to study but actually vibe and procrastinate” squad, textbooks open, productivity closed. And of course, the “caffeine or collapse” crowd—running on espresso shots and zero romantic prospects.
But everything changed with the Kumbra protests and with them came the 5 p.m. curfew (rings a bell, my girlies?) That was the day Raj Bhaiya disappeared, without a trace. No chai, no coffee, no unsolicited yet profoundly wise life advice. The campus felt eerily hollow, as if stripped of its soul. We mourned his absence, spiralling into a caffeine-deprived melancholy, convinced he was never returning—our haven reduced to a mere memory.
But then, one fateful day—a familiar scent danced through the air. The rich, intoxicating aroma of coffee brewing, curling into the sky like an old forgotten tune. We turned, hearts racing—and there he was. Back behind his cart, and just like that, balance was restored in AIL’s universe.
So, the next time you grab a cold coffee from Raj Bhaiya’s, take a moment to appreciate the history it holds. Love stories and friendships begin and end here, but the coffee? The coffee remains the same—sweet, comforting, and always available, unlike our exes.
And if you see a couple sharing a drink at Raj Bhaiya’s, sipping from the same cup and looking like they’re living their best rom-com moment, just smile and walk away. We all know how that story ends. As our Shimmering Divine Lana Del Rey once said, “When you know, you know.” And when you know, you know that Raj’s coffee would always stay—but they? uhhhh. I am not quite sure :p
-This article has been written by Yosha (1st Year)
