Over A Cup of Coffee

MAGAZINE - INDIAN COFFEE - VOL LXVI NO 2

Published on - February 2002 – Page 44.

Soon after graduating from Cambridge, Massachusetts in 1980, I found myself working in Noo Yawk City. I adapted to the city easily, except that it was impossible to get a good cup of tea anywhere. I grew up on tea in Mumbai, made tea for myself as a student in Cambridge, and now this great city offered no tea for that afternoon cuppa. I thought this city had no international future. No tea? I was doomed.

While my co-workers walked around with a large, I mean large, coffee mug, I had my large Irish bone China cup with the tell-tale sign of a paper tab hanging loosely over the edge by that white thread. I had hidden away the saucer (nobody uses saucers in America), trying to be one of the guys. I must have been such a wimp.

One morning, tired of the jokes on the British Raj and pinky fingers, I thought I'd try the thick black liquid. I did, in my bone China tea cup. The first sip was like being slammed by a heavyweight boxer. My brain did a somersault, my eyes popped, suddenly I could hear clearly. I was ready to tackle my boss, his boss, his boss's boss. I felt alive. It was the buzz. I was hooked.

In months I became somewhat of an addict. Coffee three times a day, and sometimes after dinner. I bought the latest gadgets to make filtered coffee at home. I sought out different brands of packed filter coffee. I thought people who served instant coffee were Neanderthals.

One day in that same year, wandering around the downtown area of Greenwich Village, I stumbled upon a shop called Gillies on West 4th Street. It was like paradise. Twenty varieties of teas on offer, and fifty varieties of fresh roasted coffee beans, freshly ground before my very eyes. Tea, who cares? The salesman became my friend, guiding me through the nuances of the many coffees on sale. I joined the coffee club, regularly getting a free pack after purchasing five. I tried the Colombian, the Brazilian, the Guatemalan, the Java. Starbucks was not born yet. What a great international city, Noo Yawk!

In less than a year, I had graduated from being a tea sipper, pinky in the air, to a large-mug-toting and-walking-and-coffee-drinking coffeeholic. I loved my first cup of coffee. I loved to look at coffee, I loved the aroma. I loved buying fresh roasted beans. I loved making coffee for myself, my wife, my friends. I was coffee crazy. I thought I could apply for US citizenship on those grounds (pun intended).

Now, some two decades later, I make coffee for hundreds of my customers every day. Coffee making is truly an art. Drinking and enjoying coffee is the easy part. To enjoy coffee, you must simply drink good coffee. The rich aroma of a fresh cup is an enjoyment in itself. And to see my customers so much in enjoyment when they sip the coffee at Java City, I don't see a business. I see myself as coffee crazy, enjoying a good cuppa, and spreading that joy to many!