The robust flavour, the complete aroma, those addictive little beans ground to perfection, to wake up daily to this heavenly brew… that is life. Mine at least. I am a coffee addict, have been since childhood. Have loved every moment of my school years, waking up to mummy’s hugs and a mug of freshly brewed filter coffee… the drip,drip magic of south India. To wander in the silent morning, to lose myself in the innocence of my desire, before the day began. This was before I realised that not everyone made coffee like mummy.
But that did not stop me from tasting the instant coffee that makes even fresh milk taste stale, or the watery nauseous puddle that passed for coffee at hostel. I have even gulped the railway station brew that somehow tastes like a chemistry experiment.
Was it a surprise when a coffee maker became my first independent purchase years later, only to realise I cannot wake up to its aroma, I need to get up before to brew it.
Today the same little beans with its simplicity, freshness and constant companionship have become my soul mate. Through the aromatic cup curled up on the sofa with my husband watching the sunrise, the relaxing cuppa later while sitting alone with my laptop, sipping slowly as I watch my thought mingle with the fragrance of coffee. Other times I have depended on the caffeine buzz to give me a fresh idea. A quick break at Starbucks after shopping while the kids munch on muffins, many a day has been saved by a substancial amount of this redolent brew.
But the choicest memories are those silent moments with my laptop, writing to my heart’s content sipping away into the night.