Tuesday, February 7, 2012

The love called C

"Sorry Madam, we don't open before 11 a.m"

"But you are open. Already."

"We cannot serve you before eleven"

"I will die"

Not many customers say these three words to a coffee shop counter person. That day she made an exception. And also the Cappuccino. While making a mental note to hide under the counter, the next time she sees this crazy girl walk-in. 

Getting a coffee shop to start operating earlier than they should and shut later than they should, is one of my talents. I cultivate it. 

Addiction teaches you many a things. 

Not only am I an addict. I am a fussy addict. 

It has to be a cappuccino. It has to be in a takeaway cup, extra hot, lot of froth. I want my opium designed to my specifications.

If the froth and fragrance are right, normalcy sets in. Else, god help. :)

Too many people have taken the pain for me. I want to kiss all their hands.

Like the guys in the coffee shop at the tinsel town, who could tell from the look on my face that the coffee needs remaking.

My morning then, where we just say 'good morning' to each other. I don't need to place an order. They know.

The this coffee shop near Saket where they see me very often, where they serve me and then look at me, as though an invisible gun is held to their heads.

To all the coffee shop boys and girls who smile while I say 'not hot enough' 'too strong' 'too milky' 'can you make it again?' 'seriously! one coffee and you cannot get it right after the third time. Shame!" (oh! i don't say the last one, it just runs in my head, sleep and caffeine deprived)

Thank you to all those who serve me and keep a straight face while I lick the froth off the takeaway lid.

And the ones who make some customers wait and get my shot ready first, even though I might have ordered later than others. I love that feeling. It happens often and I love it equally much every time.

The brave warriors who ignore official timings and open their doors at odd hours for a girl, who just might make them make the coffee twice! or thrice, at times :)

My connection to coffee shops can only be beaten by one involving an umbilical cord. And once the people working there get to know me better and are assured that I am not a 'mental ward runaway case', we look forward to seeing each other every day.

A big, noisy, minute-long kiss to the all the coffee shops in  Lower Parel, Saket, Dwarka, Surat, Amboli, Anand , Bandra and now Bhubaneshwar. 

You understand my harmless madness.

To be understood is a luxury.

You tolerate me.

To be tolerated, is an even bigger luxury.


  1. Ah I can understand the love for coffee! But I prefer south Indian coffee made and served in brass tumblers to anything other coffee. The trouble with coffee is that unless it is made right it tastes awful. Tea fortunately can be drunk -made any which way!Have you read "The Devil wears Prada?" There is this girl who has to go out to a starbucks outlet every day to get her awful boss a cappucino. She has to do it even when it is snowing! I guess the hands would not mind the steaming hot cup then!

  2. THIS.

    I don't really drink coffee but, my God, this post is brilliant! I'm sitting in class, reading it, unable to peel my eyes away and trying to suppress my laughter! May god bless all those coffee makers who have the pleasure of serving you! :)


  3. Meera Sundarajan I love my share of south Indian coffee, more likely kaapi too only when properly made. Oh yes, the unfathomable but poor other Emily, "Devil Wears Prada" the movie is always my "in-reach' movie!

    Dhruvi You are back to class reading stuff online :) Hilarious! Yes! may God bless all those who make me a proper coffee. They save the world from my tantrums when I am caffeine declined.


Why I write this ?

so you finally want to know. Well very often I have a writer's block. I am over burdened by my own thoughts. Sometimes i do take the pain of puttin them up, mostly i do not. This is a peek-a-Boo of what i see, what i feel and what i want you to know. Bear with me! Happy reading!