So like about 4 years ago, I was still your average coffee guzzler. Well it was one of those bad habits not too bad to warrant immediate termination but nevertheless in the bucket list. So I was pretty comfortable with drinking about a coffee a day. That was the extent of my addiction prior to college.
Perhaps it stated at home for all i know, not that i fault my mom's tea ( I still wonder how i turned out to be the only person with a need for coffee among a family of tea afficados). No. My mom's tea is by far the best I’ve had, though it doesn't count to much, but still that can't be the reason. So perhaps this is one of those things that just happen. Like falling in love. So i had this habit of preferring coffee over a cup of tea right from my childhood right!
And those were the days when my grandma was still sturdy and going around trying to get us well fed ( which seemed like her only mission, love you loads grans). And so a cup of coffee was never hard to get even if mom was not in the mood to fall in with my request. And perhaps the only thing gran hated was the fact that i liked it steaming hot and strong as a horse tranquilliser ( would that be an oxymoron?). But coffee i had. One every day. Perfect in all sense. And i found it pretty invigorating as i ought to be. Besides it gave me a vitality, for being a depressed personality, perhaps coffee was what kept me level. I wasn't the brightest, but i was awake throughout the day. A bit hyperactive at times- Guilty as charged. I like food spicy as well. So keeping with our unwritten South Indian tradition of having a coffee after the Tiffin ( I’m reminded of how my grandpa used to ask "Coffee aacha?" which was how he enquires after Tiffin) , i was awarded one and that washing down the end of a meal could and should only be compared to bliss.
Then came the fateful day i had to leave home. And that wasn't one i would return from soon. SRV was a revelation. And perhaps one thing i revelled in was the thick and tasty milk provided. Also the coffee. But now, my favourite was limited only to the morning (tricky fellows, who knew coffee keeps us awake at night when not needed to be awake). Well, Something is always better than nothing. And of course i found ways to cheat them at their own game and took some coffee from the mess ( Ha ha ha ha ! who's the smartest? :P). Still there was something so vitally missing. The two years of SRV passed with my face buried in books with a cup of coffee in my hand ( or milk if left with no choice, I still steered clear of tea). So i'd say that one thing that made my life bearable in there was the coffee!
And finally, the wait of the two years was over. Coffee at home! But God had different ideas.
I started to Thanjavur with my mom and sister. To take the medical examination. Upon competition of the gruelling nothingness, we were invited to visit the hostel. We also had a look at the mess, and people am not exaggerating when i say the fist thing i checked out was if the coffee was good. Well it was not the best, but after SRV, i'd developed the habit of consuming anything that comes with the tag "EDIBLE". And then i came out of the hostel to become a day scholar.
And my hunt for the perfect coffee began in earnest again. Now i knew that Thanjavur prided itself for the Chetinad style of cooking ( evident by the presence of a hotel every 10 foot steps, very teeny, weeny, tiny foot steps). So i was confident of discovering at least one place that would offer me coffee as i liked it. Now there are about 10 tea stall near where i live. And every single one repelled me. Not only in terms of hygiene but also in the quality of coffee. Not that i'm blaming them. But there was something missing in them. Something that made them incomplete. So i went further along the quest and searched as far as a 10 km
radius ( I know, i know, it isn’t much). And perhaps the only place where i felt it was bearable was the farthest from my haunt for i had to cross several bad roads, a few tricky turns, a place frequented by cows who are under the delusion that the road in for gazing ( i'm not against gRazing fellows but for heavens sake MOOv :D) and the our fellow, mindless, humans. Still on the rare occasion i brave the obstacles ( across 7 hills and 7 oceans ?!??!? ) the hot steaming cup of coffee and its aroma was rewarding. And here is where i once again felt that a vitality was still eluding it (and i don't mean sugar).
So i took the drastic decision of making ne myself. Things moved fast when i broke the news to mom, though she was less thrilled by the reason (coffee) than by the prospect that i might have some food regularly, and she bought me an induction stove. I was acquainted enough with the physics behind it but the practical stuff required expert guidance. So i turned reluctantly to the manual (i hate referring to it even when i had to assemble my desktop). At last after few trials (mistrials would and should be the appropriate terminology), I got a hang of the stuff. Not exactly rocket science, but then a good coffee was much tougher. I browsed for some strong stuff and decided on Nescafe's classic.
The day finally dawned when i proudly snipped f the half litre packet of milk. The induction stove on the ready with the newly polished vessel waiting to be baptised with electricity and give me my coffee. The sight of milk boiling is so fascinating that i often do a Matrix-Neo-Stunt to prevent it from spilling. Now i knew I wanted a strong coffee, and so i heaped into the cup generous amounts of coffee, for i truly believed that more the amount translated into more strength (should not have forgotten the Weber-Fechner principle!!!!!!).
The stirring of the coffee is both an art and a test of patience. Not only because it might spill, but also because of the unbearable pull, it exerted over me. I had to keep myself from devouring it first and then mixing it in my stomach. End of the experiment.
Observation- The smell seems good enough. The colour is terrorising enough. And the taste...............
Result- Experiment failed due to unknown parameter.
Well, crestfallen is one word too inadequate to describe my emotion. For good coffee was no only a gustatory quest for me, but also considered it a symbol of perfection. Not that it deterred me from drinking coffee or trying again. I have now finished quarter of a kilo in less than a week. To say am a pathological coffee drinker would not be an exaggeration, as i have 3 coffees now every day (and i flirt with the risk of developing ulcers, what fun!!!!!). But am not happy.
The coffees i drink give me the caffeine boost. A sort of life force that drives me these days, though my friend (one guy only) has noticed that i'm despondent these days. Even now, i'm driven by a caffeine boost which i had around 11'o clock. I'm not sleepy, but am neither awake. Am typing a series of words that give meaning because of the practice ingrained ( thank you Muthulakshmi Madam, Balu Sir).
Coffee for me, more than a supply of caffeine, is a placebo. A sign that says "All Iz Well"! And i sorely miss it. My days have become a misty, fast and blurred image. The lack of good coffee to an extent that addiction seems less intense. Would it mean that i have become addicted to coffee? Addicted enough to be awake this ghostly hour and blabber about it? But then there is a story of how i abstained from my beloved coffee for an entire year!
I'm a lonely creature. Or, i was a lonely creature. Like any such wretches, i fell for care. So when the person asked me to stop consuming coffee, i did for her. Well it certainly wasn't easy seeing how its only when i abstain do every one around me drink coffee or wherever i go i am offered one. And it would be no self praise when i say i successfully kept away from coffee for an entire year. Milk then became my staple drink. Believe me fellows when i say it wasn't that tough (herein i contradict myself) for i had a reason, an inspiration, an expectation to live up to. So abstain i did. For 1 long year. 365 days. And one fine day it had to end.
I found that i wasn't compatible nor capable of sustaining a relation for more than a year. So with the departure of the person, i once again fell into the habit of slowly poisoning myself with coffee. It started of harmlessly enough. And now here i am with a full blown out condition. Am a self proclaimed coffee addict.
Back to my quest for the gustatory delight, I was stumped. For i pride myself for having an analytical mind, adept at problem solving (apart for mathematical! LOL :D). Sorrow was too evident on my face, that i decided to go home for this weekend.
Upon reaching home, mom seeing my sorrow state offered me coffee. I said yes and went in for a bath. Even the refreshingly cool water could not rid me of my unsolved problem. I grabbed the day's paper and sat down with my mind teaming with questions. How to make a perfect coffee? What is the mistake i am committing? What have i forgotten? Have i been doing something wrong? Will i every taste a perfect coffee again?
"Here is your coffee" - Mom.
Absent minded, i took a sip of the coffee turning the pages of the paper aimlessly when i realised.
I had in my hand a perfect coffee.
The aroma enticing. The flavour was perfect. Neither too strong to burn my tongue nor too weak to fail to give me the caffeine. This in my hand was the perfect coffee.
And then it dawned on me. The missing ingredient in my coffee, and the reason i was not and will perhaps never be able to make a perfect coffee, is love.
Perhaps it stated at home for all i know, not that i fault my mom's tea ( I still wonder how i turned out to be the only person with a need for coffee among a family of tea afficados). No. My mom's tea is by far the best I’ve had, though it doesn't count to much, but still that can't be the reason. So perhaps this is one of those things that just happen. Like falling in love. So i had this habit of preferring coffee over a cup of tea right from my childhood right!
And those were the days when my grandma was still sturdy and going around trying to get us well fed ( which seemed like her only mission, love you loads grans). And so a cup of coffee was never hard to get even if mom was not in the mood to fall in with my request. And perhaps the only thing gran hated was the fact that i liked it steaming hot and strong as a horse tranquilliser ( would that be an oxymoron?). But coffee i had. One every day. Perfect in all sense. And i found it pretty invigorating as i ought to be. Besides it gave me a vitality, for being a depressed personality, perhaps coffee was what kept me level. I wasn't the brightest, but i was awake throughout the day. A bit hyperactive at times- Guilty as charged. I like food spicy as well. So keeping with our unwritten South Indian tradition of having a coffee after the Tiffin ( I’m reminded of how my grandpa used to ask "Coffee aacha?" which was how he enquires after Tiffin) , i was awarded one and that washing down the end of a meal could and should only be compared to bliss.
Then came the fateful day i had to leave home. And that wasn't one i would return from soon. SRV was a revelation. And perhaps one thing i revelled in was the thick and tasty milk provided. Also the coffee. But now, my favourite was limited only to the morning (tricky fellows, who knew coffee keeps us awake at night when not needed to be awake). Well, Something is always better than nothing. And of course i found ways to cheat them at their own game and took some coffee from the mess ( Ha ha ha ha ! who's the smartest? :P). Still there was something so vitally missing. The two years of SRV passed with my face buried in books with a cup of coffee in my hand ( or milk if left with no choice, I still steered clear of tea). So i'd say that one thing that made my life bearable in there was the coffee!
And finally, the wait of the two years was over. Coffee at home! But God had different ideas.
I started to Thanjavur with my mom and sister. To take the medical examination. Upon competition of the gruelling nothingness, we were invited to visit the hostel. We also had a look at the mess, and people am not exaggerating when i say the fist thing i checked out was if the coffee was good. Well it was not the best, but after SRV, i'd developed the habit of consuming anything that comes with the tag "EDIBLE". And then i came out of the hostel to become a day scholar.
And my hunt for the perfect coffee began in earnest again. Now i knew that Thanjavur prided itself for the Chetinad style of cooking ( evident by the presence of a hotel every 10 foot steps, very teeny, weeny, tiny foot steps). So i was confident of discovering at least one place that would offer me coffee as i liked it. Now there are about 10 tea stall near where i live. And every single one repelled me. Not only in terms of hygiene but also in the quality of coffee. Not that i'm blaming them. But there was something missing in them. Something that made them incomplete. So i went further along the quest and searched as far as a 10 km
radius ( I know, i know, it isn’t much). And perhaps the only place where i felt it was bearable was the farthest from my haunt for i had to cross several bad roads, a few tricky turns, a place frequented by cows who are under the delusion that the road in for gazing ( i'm not against gRazing fellows but for heavens sake MOOv :D) and the our fellow, mindless, humans. Still on the rare occasion i brave the obstacles ( across 7 hills and 7 oceans ?!??!? ) the hot steaming cup of coffee and its aroma was rewarding. And here is where i once again felt that a vitality was still eluding it (and i don't mean sugar).
So i took the drastic decision of making ne myself. Things moved fast when i broke the news to mom, though she was less thrilled by the reason (coffee) than by the prospect that i might have some food regularly, and she bought me an induction stove. I was acquainted enough with the physics behind it but the practical stuff required expert guidance. So i turned reluctantly to the manual (i hate referring to it even when i had to assemble my desktop). At last after few trials (mistrials would and should be the appropriate terminology), I got a hang of the stuff. Not exactly rocket science, but then a good coffee was much tougher. I browsed for some strong stuff and decided on Nescafe's classic.
The day finally dawned when i proudly snipped f the half litre packet of milk. The induction stove on the ready with the newly polished vessel waiting to be baptised with electricity and give me my coffee. The sight of milk boiling is so fascinating that i often do a Matrix-Neo-Stunt to prevent it from spilling. Now i knew I wanted a strong coffee, and so i heaped into the cup generous amounts of coffee, for i truly believed that more the amount translated into more strength (should not have forgotten the Weber-Fechner principle!!!!!!).
The stirring of the coffee is both an art and a test of patience. Not only because it might spill, but also because of the unbearable pull, it exerted over me. I had to keep myself from devouring it first and then mixing it in my stomach. End of the experiment.
Observation- The smell seems good enough. The colour is terrorising enough. And the taste...............
Result- Experiment failed due to unknown parameter.
Well, crestfallen is one word too inadequate to describe my emotion. For good coffee was no only a gustatory quest for me, but also considered it a symbol of perfection. Not that it deterred me from drinking coffee or trying again. I have now finished quarter of a kilo in less than a week. To say am a pathological coffee drinker would not be an exaggeration, as i have 3 coffees now every day (and i flirt with the risk of developing ulcers, what fun!!!!!). But am not happy.
The coffees i drink give me the caffeine boost. A sort of life force that drives me these days, though my friend (one guy only) has noticed that i'm despondent these days. Even now, i'm driven by a caffeine boost which i had around 11'o clock. I'm not sleepy, but am neither awake. Am typing a series of words that give meaning because of the practice ingrained ( thank you Muthulakshmi Madam, Balu Sir).
Coffee for me, more than a supply of caffeine, is a placebo. A sign that says "All Iz Well"! And i sorely miss it. My days have become a misty, fast and blurred image. The lack of good coffee to an extent that addiction seems less intense. Would it mean that i have become addicted to coffee? Addicted enough to be awake this ghostly hour and blabber about it? But then there is a story of how i abstained from my beloved coffee for an entire year!
I'm a lonely creature. Or, i was a lonely creature. Like any such wretches, i fell for care. So when the person asked me to stop consuming coffee, i did for her. Well it certainly wasn't easy seeing how its only when i abstain do every one around me drink coffee or wherever i go i am offered one. And it would be no self praise when i say i successfully kept away from coffee for an entire year. Milk then became my staple drink. Believe me fellows when i say it wasn't that tough (herein i contradict myself) for i had a reason, an inspiration, an expectation to live up to. So abstain i did. For 1 long year. 365 days. And one fine day it had to end.
I found that i wasn't compatible nor capable of sustaining a relation for more than a year. So with the departure of the person, i once again fell into the habit of slowly poisoning myself with coffee. It started of harmlessly enough. And now here i am with a full blown out condition. Am a self proclaimed coffee addict.
Back to my quest for the gustatory delight, I was stumped. For i pride myself for having an analytical mind, adept at problem solving (apart for mathematical! LOL :D). Sorrow was too evident on my face, that i decided to go home for this weekend.
Upon reaching home, mom seeing my sorrow state offered me coffee. I said yes and went in for a bath. Even the refreshingly cool water could not rid me of my unsolved problem. I grabbed the day's paper and sat down with my mind teaming with questions. How to make a perfect coffee? What is the mistake i am committing? What have i forgotten? Have i been doing something wrong? Will i every taste a perfect coffee again?
"Here is your coffee" - Mom.
Absent minded, i took a sip of the coffee turning the pages of the paper aimlessly when i realised.
I had in my hand a perfect coffee.
The aroma enticing. The flavour was perfect. Neither too strong to burn my tongue nor too weak to fail to give me the caffeine. This in my hand was the perfect coffee.
And then it dawned on me. The missing ingredient in my coffee, and the reason i was not and will perhaps never be able to make a perfect coffee, is love.
