Cold coffee - coffee stories

Cold coffee - coffee stories

She checked her little purse
Just enough for some cold coffee
Saved industriously over the week
Riding the bus over hiring a rickshaw
From college

She could picture the tall glass
Ice cream on top
The glass,frosting from the ice
Rivulets of desire
Running tantalizingly by the side
She was salivating
Just the thing on a hot afternoon

After class , chatting with her friend
She noticed the guy, a student activist
Typically dressed
Kurta, Khadi jacket , cloth bag
The stern intensity of purpose
She typically gave them a wide berth

He approached them pamphlets in hand,
Orissa famine relief fund it screamed
In bold letters over the photo
Of a starving child

Can you contribute? , he demanded
Sorry, no money , mumbled her friend
He seemed disappointed, trifle disgusted
As he turned away

Something about the round, wide eyes of the child
Staring out of the thin face
Smote her heart , seemed to demand her action
No matter how small

Hey, just a minute she called
Opening up her purse
Tipping its' entire contents into his surprised hand
A smile melted his frowning countenance

She returned to her friend who was shaking her head
They ask for contributions all the time , said her friend dismissively
As soon as he was out of earshot
Your money will probably be used
For printing the next set of pamphlets

Pinpricks of doubt rose ready to burst
The happy bubble growing within her breast
Had she foolishly,impulsively
Contributed to more cacophony
During the student body elections?

She prayed her money
Would find it's way as grain
To a hungry mouth
And laid the pin of doubt to rest

So you won't be joining us at the cafe? ,
Asked  her friend  briskly
Suddenly business like
She shook her head

On her walk home
She stopped by the water fountain
And slurped the clear, cold drink thirstily
It wasn't cold coffee
But surprisingly, just as satisfying.

--shubha

Aroma of coffee - coffee stories

Aroma of coffee - coffee stories


On a visit to her friend's hometown
Three steaming cups of fragrant tea
On a pretty flowered tray
Carried by her roommate's smiling mother
Came towards her tantalizingly

But Ma, she likes coffee better
Blurted out her tactless friend
That's what she drinks every morning

Oh ! No I prefer tea in the afternoons
She said emphatically
Quickly breaching the awkward moment

She was particularly fond of neither
Coffee or tea
But how could she explain to her friend
What the aroma of morning coffee
Meant to her

How it seemed to waft in her childhood
The presence of Appa
Her earliest memories
Of standing in the early morning's pleasant chill
In the balcony with her dad
Before he left for office

The rustle of newspaper
Clearing of his throat
His voice,warm as the milk
She used to drink
His laugh , as sweet
The clink of his rings
Against the stainless steel tumbler
As he rolled it between his fingers
The smell, of his coffee

How could she explain
That her morning ritual
Of making, drinking coffee
Was a bridge to her Appa
As he labored overseas,
Many years now, alone
While her mother held fort here
To keep her brother, her
In the choicest schools
Afford them the best education
Pay medical expenses of her ailing grandparents

That the aroma of morning coffee
Wrapped in itself so many memories
A whiff of her parent's sacrifices


--shubha

The secret ingredient- coffee tales

The secret ingredient- coffee tales


He heaped the best Colombian
Coffee powder into the tiny percolator
Looking rather lost among
A range of discarded coffee makers
Abandoned in his quest
To regain coffee,his mother made

Almost two years
Since he had first bagged the prestigious US project
He adjusted, delighted in most things here
Freedoms, processes, conveniences, opportunities
The wide open, natural spaces, infrastructure
Everything,except the coffee

After struggling with thin, lukewarm bitter liquid
Artificial non-dairy creamers
That passed for coffee
He had begun experimenting
At home with different coffee makers

He soon discovered the cappuccino,
Mocha, expresso, latte ,the french press, Turkish coffee
And thankfully, a local Starbucks
For his daily caffeine fix
But his Amma's filter coffee
Remained elusive

She had even sent him her own powder
And a 110 volt ready percolator
A product specifically made
For the NRI market
Through his cousin

And yet , the coffee didn't taste the same
Coffee, milk , sugar in proportion
He mused exasperated
What else did his mother add to his coffee?


--shubha

Hot Coffee -coffee stories

Hot coffee - coffee stories

Traveling to a famous temple

A little family stopped along the way

Do I have to come? , she asked petulantly

There is a little coffee left in my flask

I can stay in the car, she said

Athai, it would be cold now

Do come to the restaurant with us

The children are hungry, cajoled her nephew

Tightening her sari pallo over her shoulders

She stepped in hesitantly

Taking in the large space,

Hustle ,bustle

With wonder

Would you like something to eat ?

I won't eat until after the darshan

You know that , she chided

Just coffee for me

Your sister has promised to have dinner ready

It is a good thing,she lives close to the temple

The waiter, a young man

Carried over the large order smartly

Set down her single cup of coffee

She stared at her cup

Reluctant to look up

A young widow

All her life, she had waited on others

First her father,uncles

Her brothers,cousins

Then nephews,nieces,grandnephews

Always having her coffee

After everyone was served

It was generally deflated, cold

Lukewarm if she was lucky

Having a strange man

Waiting on her

Was alarming

Uncomfortably luxurious

She slowly drank the piping hot coffee

Having satisfied herself

That it was a vegetarian restaurant

Back in the car

So much money,she lamented

If I had known,I would have made dosas

Before we left

You do more than enough, assured her nephew

I wanted you to have the experience

What did you like about your first trip to a restaurant?

Well, the coffee tastes different, she paused

Much better,when it is hot.

--shubha

The Hawker -more coffee stories

The Hawker -more coffee stories

Steel drum filled with piping hot liquid
Brown , with cream , sugar
Shut tight, pick up firmly by the handle
It swung with a familiar burning sensation by the calves
Ignore, pick up the paper cups
Game face , alert

Incoming train announced its own presence
By a long, shrill whistle
Mumbai-Chennai express
Two hours late, as usual
A good time , nearly tea time

Long green engine pulled in
Car, after car of rusty red
A mad scramble by the porters
To the few figures with luggage
Allow them to descend

Then the cries rent the air
Chai , chai, chaiyya
Vada, vada , vada , vada
Sandwich ,saandweech

He raised his voice
Coffee, coffee, coffee bolo
Hot coffee , 10 Rs a cup
Running down the platform

Hey coffee , here, came a voice
Two cups , said a plump man waving change
Balance the scalding drum on his thigh
Pour out two cups , pass it carefully
Through the window bars

Hey, you want some coffee
A young man in the next seat
Asked his friend ,lazily
Sure said one , then two more
Two cups ,no no make it four,no six

Signal had turned yellow
He hurried
Pouring out cup after cup
Counting under his breath
Last one passed, lurched with the train

Ouch ! You oaf ! You burnt my hand
Sorry !Sorry ! It was ten cups sir
Ten cups ! it was only six
You burn me and then demand money
Please sir.. It was ten cups
I am a fair man , I will pay for six
Not a paisa more

He was jogging to keep up now
The boy dipped slowly in his fat wallet
The bills fluttered tantalizingly
He put on a spurt of speed
Reaching , reaching

The platform ended abruptly
Train chugged on unfazed
The note bills withdrawn

Left behind
A steel drum considerably lighter
A stitch in his side
Residual bitterness
Of coffee he had not drunk

--shubha