Sitting at a coffee bar, one of the many gifts of globalization to India, I always long for something that had caught my attention when I was 10 years old. Filter kapi. And while almost every coffee joint worth its name, serves it, somehow serving it in steel glass doesn’t make do for the lack of magic of the contents. I still hold dear to me, my first real memory of coffee at a small eating joint in Maharashtra (not even Chennai). I did not know what coffee was then and that small steel glass filled with some unknown liquid seemed no less than a magical portion at that time. And that taste still remains with me like a fond memory. Maybe the way the prince felt when Cinderalla left at 12. Only that mine was a cup of coffee and it left no evidence after it finished.

And now, after living a city where Café Coffee Day came to life and spread like wild fire, I have never been able to relive that one moment, ever. Filter coffee is nice at some places, certainly not everywhere but Coffee bars don’t excite me. Maybe because of what they have come to represent. Stale overpriced food, overpriced average coffee and loud stale music and people paying through their nose to spend some time with their girl/boy friends or just handing out with their friends. They have ceased to be about coffee and more about ‘something’ that can happen over it.

I dream on…for my perfect cuppa.
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