The steps leading to this café just above an outlet of Barista -- a coffee bar on Marine Drive -- are shaky. My first impressions: Steering wheels on computers and workstations fitted into any available space within the dingy confines. Dim tube lights and mirrors fail to daunt the early birds -- mostly students from Wilson College next door -- walking in.

For the giggly girls chatting away over an over-priced cup of cappuccino and sundry students surfing the Net, cyber cafes have become surrogate canteens. Elsewhere in the room, wandering executives check email and a stockbroker places his trades even as he chats on his cell phone…

I am ushered to a monitor decorated with pictures of J. Lo. Bollywood and Hollywood screensavers rule. The homepage is not Yahoo! or Rediff; just an amateur page designed by the 20-something in charge: "It will take you directly to any email account."

Suddenly, a yell breaks the monotony: "Hozi, Hozi, the speed is very slow." The owner pays her no heed. She smiles at me and goes back to playing a game of Housie on the Net. "I am a regular, a member," she says. ''Come here every day, yet they don't pay me any attention. Even if the speed is slow they still charge you for it. Are you a student? They have discount for students with an ID card."

Having found a kindred soul, she launches into a litany: about how the speeds are always slow, owner is unhelpful, how she loves emailing her cousins in the US and Dubai, and playing Web games. She even recommends a few sites. Before long, I know practically everything about her except her name. We don't get that far because the guy sitting next to me has had enough, and politely tells her off.

Partitions separating the workstations are a flimsy excuse for privacy -- especially when the lady sitting next to me is watching all the action on my screen. I am intrigued by my neighbour's multitasking. Mailing people from his Hotmail and Rediffmail accounts; occasionally chatting on his instant messengers; searching for Moulin Rouge on Google. He catches me staring at his screen. I mumble something about slow speeds and proxy servers. Luckily, he agrees and leaves.

The "Hozi, Hozi, speed is very slow," routine now happens every ten minutes. Finally, the head honcho of the cafe decides to help her, and ends up getting an earful.

Other customers in the café are unperturbed by the noise. I am startled by a chat request on my Yahoo Messenger!: "Would you like to chat with me? I am the guy sitting next to you wearing a blue T-shirt." He looks not a day older than 16 but, when asked about his age, punches in a confident '22'.

The clicking annoys me. I ask to be seated at a computer with a sound system. As I leave, the lady next to me whispers, conspiratorially, "The keyboards on that computer are very bad, haan" Ah! Anything to escape her mindless chatter.

My new neighbour, a Harvard student, is not amused by my loud typing. He mutters, "Do you always type so loudly?" and then glowers at the in-charge because his print job is stuck -- for the fourth time. "Don't bother,'' he says, sarcastically, "It's not a life-death situation!"

For the record, if you thought PC-to-Phone was illegal in India, think again: The cyber cafe houses three computers over which "you can call your boyfriend in the US - ekdum clear," says the in-charge.

The speeds have almost slowed to a halt. Many customers wait, then, like me, get impatient and slip down for a cup of coffee. Which leaves the young headman waiting for a connection. Much like the rest of the Web universe.

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