I grew up in a household, where I possibly tasted coffee even when I was in my Amma’s womb.
The smell of coffee pervaded the kitchen all day along.
As guests came in and out…..the entire household got a cup of coffee.
As if that wasn’t enough, next door Mamis also made awesome filter coffees. So, I grew up tasting different flavors of coffee since I was a child.
Amma’s (mom’s) coffee.
Mami’s (aunt’s) coffee.
Patti’s (Grandma’s) coffee.
Chitthi’s (aunt’s) coffee.
Each of them made coffee with so much love and care and specially served it to me with lots of foam on the top.
For several years after we got married, he didn’t drink coffee.
Because, he didn’t grow up in a household which fed him coffee.
All marriages go through a “on the rocks” phase in the first few years. Ours did too for several reasons…including the coffee issue.
He didn’t understand why I needed coffee at 6am, 10am, at 3pm and sometimes again at 6pm. He refused to stop the car at coffee shops on road trips. When I get in a rage about cofffee..unthinkable happenings happen. So, it is a mystery how he is still alive. But, let us save that “love leads to patience” story for another day.
Anyways, fast forward a few years.
His colleagues (no, I didn’t bribe them) slowly got him accustomed to go out for coffee during the afternoons.
And now, when he leaves works, he calls, catches up with me on how my day went and comes home to share a cup of coffee with me.
Now, I know what some of you’ll are going to say – “He always meets you far beyond the middle ground….for everything. Now, coffee too? When is the last time you made peace and met him at the mid-way point.”
I would like to answer that question with some expletives. But, I got to run now because he is yelling “Yenga di coffee?” (English Transaltion: Where is my coffee?).