They say I’m addicted to coffee. I am. But addiction isn’t a good enough word. It’s almost trivializing. Veneration is how I would rather put it. I revere coffee. If there is a Coffee God, I shall worship him/her. I began drinking coffee from the time I was 4 months old. Dad would give me a spoonful from his cup once in a while. I was weaned away from the habit later. It caught on again only when I turned 12. Since then, there has been no looking back.
I now have a different coffee mug for every day of the week. Coffee stains adorn everything from the computer table I’m sitting at to the assignments I turn in from time to time. I’m proud of them because to me they’re beautiful. Coffee is beautiful. According to most dictionaries, it is only a drink made from ground beans of some tropical shrub. It can’t be just that.
Coffee is life fit into a little cup. The froth on top stands for the superficial, material things of life. The brown smooth part tells you everything happens for a reason. The sugar cubes at the bottom, they are symbolic of true happiness which we shall all find in the end. Why otherwise do we turn to the drink every time we have a headache, heartache, when we’re stressed or just need to stay up late? That drink gives life.
I am neither a perfectionist, nor a purist. I do not know all the fancy kinds of coffee there are in the world. I know good coffee when I drink it. I recognize the aroma of it from miles away. I wake up to the scent of Mum’s filter coffee. Dad makes it even better than Mum. I love the mocha at Café Coffee day. I love the cold coffee at the juice center in Matunga. (It’s only Nescafe with milk and crushed ice. Still, it takes you to heaven and back for Rs. 10)
I have known people to hate coffee. They know not what they are missing. They will learn one day. For Coffee conquers all.
