Confessions of a caffeine addict…

This tribute has way too long shot its deadline.
Whenever I am mesmerized by the aroma of coffee beans, I promise the writer in me, “Come on !!you cant ask for a better afflatus.”. (I know the title is cliched, but who cares !!)

May be today is the day, especially ever since I sipped the south Indian filter coffee…
That nanoseconds of orgasms, when you are drowned in aroma and your palates send first pulse to brain. That is THE MOMENT. No past, no future

Nothing beats afternoon cold kapi @ Singapore’s kopitiam- a black coffee with lots of ice. Or the urbane espressos at America’s finest Starbucks.Thanks to the flat world of Friedman, you can enjoy the authentic south Indian coffee @ Hot chips/saravana bhavan/Murugan. But then too you will miss the roadside coffee they serve in wee hours of morning at Chennai’s roadside.

Even those school days in Varanasi when I waited weeks to enjoy the thick cold coffee of “the kerala cafe”, it always had something in offing. It kind of marked my days of teenage coffee fan. Or even the famous VT’s cold coffee @ BHU, Varanasi.


Then came the days of undergraduate days of Himalyan odyssey, those four years went pretty caffeine-less sans the last year, when I started brewing coffee from CCD coffee beans. Man !! It was an joint effort, when you struggled with electric heater, white cotton kerchief as sieve, and aroma filling up whole of corridors after midnight. Other time we usually made hay with nescafe machine coffee-which was like a cheap B grade bollywood flick. Baker’s cafe at Gangtok provided some respite once or twice a month.

Then came the corporate days, which were lost in cappuccinos and frappacinos and macchiato of CCD and Barista in Hyderabad, Kolkata and Delhi. But then cold coffee was my childhood fav, could not give up on that.¬† And once I caught a entrepreneur lost in “How Starbucks saved my life”, I got fascinated in a conossieurs way, and bought Howard Schultz’s “Pour your heart into it”. I have been pouring my heart ever since ūüôā
I thought not giving a mention to shots of espresso will be blasphemy.
It wasnt until I arrived in Chennai- Heart of south India, I tasted the filter coffee, and that’s it !!


PS: sequel on hold till I visit Baristas in Italy or if I win World Barista Championship or another afflatus !



“This coffee falls into your stomach, and straightway there is a general commotion.¬† Ideas begin to move like the battalions of the Grand Army of the battlefield, and the battle takes place.

Things remembered arrive at full gallop, ensuing to the wind.¬† The light cavalry of comparisons deliver a magnificent deploying charge, the artillery of logic hurry up with their train and ammunition, the shafts of with start up like sharpshooters.¬† Similes arise, the paper is covered with ink; for the struggle commences and is concluded with torrents of black water, just as a battle with powder.”

-Honore de Balzac, “The Pleasures and Pains of Coffee”

Billy McLaughlin:Rightness of the Left

Although there were dese mails coming all through 2-3 weeks, I dimissed them as usual corporate gutter shit.HIttingShift+ del as uswal.

But I think I was geared up for this writeup. After a long b’fast I summoned my like-minded friend to see a bit of guitar strumming.¬†Guitar? Are you crazy? A guitar in corporate. Dats oxymoron.

But yes here I was listening to a classical strums in a crowded auditorium. And when the host asked the fellows at back to come in front and sit down. I was apprehensive but eventually followed my college gutarist, Kunal. Thus 3 of us sat with music in the air- point to be noted the corporate air.

May be I am getting too pragmatic. But then I came to know story of Billy.

2001 – He was diagnosed with focal dystonia
He relearned the music. One note at a time. With his left hand.

And at the end I was just brave enough to raise my hand,
“Billy! I want to do a write up, with your permission.”
“Blog away! Blog away”,he said.
And so I blogged.

We all are lucky

I was blessed to see my childhood inspiration in person.

Though the above words are very simple, but thats the way it was. I had been into music since I was 13-14, but serious collection began with the likes of Lucky Ali. The mesmerization continued with the gift of sony walkman.

I had each and every album of him, just like vinyl records I prided myself in the audio cassettes. Arranging them like a jenza blocks. Little did I know that at 24 years into this life I will catch his glimpse. And I was complacent enough to hear him sing, but God had better plans. I was enthralled to shake hands and get a pic. The pic came out blurred, like real but surreal. (thanks folks at notting hill for the phrase)

Wanted to write more…but guess the music in my room (from Snow Patrol) beats me.

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