Our morning coffee ritual reminds us of the 90s Narasus Coffee ad- “Besh besh, romba nalla irukku!”.
For years, we have followed the same ritual. Fresh coffee powder measured carefully - two or three spoons into the filter. Hot water poured gently over it. Then comes the waiting. The slow dripping of decoction, dark and strong, collecting below.
We must handle the filter carefully; it will be hot when we lift it to check. One careless touch reminds us with its heat. Sometimes the decoction takes its own time, testing our patience. We peek inside, wondering if it has finished. And then, just a small tap on the top - and the dripping becomes steady, as though it only needed gentle encouragement.
The first decoction tastes ultimate. Thick, aromatic, full of strength. When mixed with hot milk and poured back and forth until *nuray pongi*, the froth rising beautifully on top, the first sip feels like comfort itself.
The second and third decoctions are preserved for later in the day. They are lighter, softer. On days when coffee powder is less at home, we use it cautiously, making slightly watery decoction. My younger one immediately notices — “Coffee is bland today,” he says. He always knows the difference.
I don’t prefer Bru coffee. It never gives me the satisfaction of true filter coffee. Very few hotels prepare it properly, so I avoid coffee outside. For me, coffee means home made filter coffee.
The milk too makes a difference.
Coffee made with fresh cow’s milk tastes richer, slightly sweet,and wholesome. The texture feels thicker, the froth fuller, the flavour deeper. It reminds me of simpler days - natural, unhurried mornings.
Packet milk is convenient and consistent. It makes good coffee. But somehow, the depth feels lighter. The taste is not as rounded as with fresh milk. The first decoction with fresh cow’s milk - that combination feels complete.
Both my kids love coffee. They love making it for me, especially when I feel tired. Watching them prepare it carefully fills me with quiet happiness. Coffee tastes different when it is made with love.
Earlier, we used to buy pure coffee without chicory from the **Indian Coffee House Hotel, T. Nagar**. It was simple, and strong(as a side kick 😛 we also get everyday freshly prepared carrot and beetroot halwa there) Over time, we tried different varieties - Udhayam,kothas,Davidoff, home-ground powders - each offering a new note, a new experience, yet all rooted in that familiar ritual.
There was a time when, if we ran out of coffee powder, we could borrow some from neighbours. In those days, morning filter coffee was a ritual in every house. Now it feels rare. When our favourite brand is out of stock at the shop, we simply wait. Good coffee is worth waiting for.
Serving a cup of coffee to guests is an important part of our hospitality. It is a tradition that has been followed for many years and continues even today. Offering coffee shows care, respect, and warmth toward others. When a relative welcomes us with a cup of coffee, we feel happy and valued. It gives us comfort and makes us feel at home. On the other hand, when someone does not even ask if we would like one, we may feel a little disappointed. It is treated as respect custom/ritual 😜
I often wonder how my mother and grandmother prepare coffee in such large quantities during family functions and gatherings. Making coffee itself is an art, but preparing it continuously for many people is truly a special skill. They carefully manage the milk, decoction, and sugar without exact measurements, yet the taste always turns out perfect. When there is a shortage of milk, they adjust it with a little hot water. The first, second, and even third decoction is wisely used so that even unexpected guests are served without confusion. That responsibility usually goes to the person who can manage everything calmly and confidently.
I can make coffee cup by cup, though I once felt afraid of getting the milk, decoction, and sugar ratios right. I worried it might become too strong, too watery, or too sweet. Recently, with practice, I have mastered that art and now feel more confident in preparing a good cup. Watching my mother and grandmother handle such a big task so smoothly makes me realize that coffee is not just a drink. It has a special place in our culture—it is a symbol of love, connection, tradition, and togetherness passed down through generations.
When we first moved abroad, we carried coffee powder and coffee filter from India, unsure if we would find proper filter coffee there. Later, discovering Udhayam Filter Coffee at Mustafa Centre and Lulu Hypermarket brought me immense joy, even if it was a bit expensive.
My husband enjoys coffee from Starbucks and also wherever he finds a good cup while travelling/visiting other countries. At home, however, he is loyal to our ritual mostly. When Udhayam is out of stock, he sometimes buys Davidoff. I don’t always know how he likes it, but he still drinks it with condensed milk, perhaps trying to recreate the taste he loves. It is a small adaptation, a quiet flexibility in our otherwise precise routine.
These days, we even travel a little farther to buy freshly ground coffee powder from a home-based seller because we love its authentic taste.
I still remember my mom preserving padma Coffee powder purchase bills for redeeming gifts like tumbler,tiffin boxes etc....
And so, our coffee story continues —
brewed with patience,
strengthened by ritual,
shared with family,
carried across countries,
strong like the first decoction,
warm like home.
Even if **Kumbakonam Degree Coffee** isn’t the same today lost its originality and diluted, each cup still brings warmth and togetherness.
Coffee is not just a drink.
It is memory.
It is tradition.
It is love served in a tumbler. ☕
