I talk to... IRFAN

age: mid-thirties
nationality: don't know
type of customer: occasional
drinking: chamomile tea
eating: nothing

Irfan is a quirky, appealing-looking guy. The black fluffy hair on his head has fought a short war with a gust of Edinburgh's wind, and is standing upright in surrender. An emphatic pair of spectacles straddles his boyish face. He doesn't move much, and he only opens his eyes sporadically to sip at his chamomile tea, or to write notes in a black notebook.

He has a peaceful, still presence. When I introduce myself - in one of his eyes-open moments - his manner is open and trusting. He says he is meditating. "When I meditate, my mind disappears - or almost." He has studied many schools of meditation, over fifteen years, and is writing a book on the subject. Perhaps he'd say that unnecessary thoughts are merely the noise our fear makes, and that cultivating an empty mind when doing nothing is the absence of being afraid of things.

Two young schoolgirls sit down opposite us. Their excitable, inane, nourishing chatter is too rich; Irfan smiles at me and departs for a quieter niche in this world.

postscript:
I googled the name 'Irfan' later, and found that in Arabic, Persian and Urdu it means 'knowing', while in Pashto it means 'the most beautiful and knowledgeful person'.