Kaapi Kadhaigal

K-A-A-P-I. 

This is how Madras spells coffee. The olfactory mosaic of Madras is so strongly laced with the aroma of freshly brewed kaapi that it is distinctly striking, despite it seamlessly mingling with the scents of the city. The good old filter kaapi is almost a cliche when talking about the city. But I have a theory. Something becomes a cliche only when it is loved and honoured repeatedly. Makes sense, no? Kaapi is intricately woven into the fabric of our lives that it has been the thread that connects moments both big and small.

Mornings in Madras form a symphony of sounds. The distant hum of the city, hurried rustles of newspapers, and rhythmic honks of vehicles coupled with early morning chirps, barks and moos create the backdrop for an active dawn. The call of “Keerai, Keerai” (“greens, greens”) echoes through the street as pressure cookers whistle, paathrams clatter, and the aroma of idlis & dosas fills the air. Moments before the din sets in, the world outside is still, and the air is crisp with the promise of a new day. There’s a gentle rustle of sheets inside, sounds of a slumber being ended and then, the unmistakable, distinct scent of freshly brewed kaapi that wafts through the house, curls under through crevices in the door and prods you up. Wrapped in comfort, your palms encircle the warm cup, which brings a calm before the chaos of the day:  a brief respite when time slows, for the day to take a deep breath.

As the city stirs to life, so do its inhabitants. The conductors’ whistles from MTC buses sync with snatched conversations from boarding at Guindy to alighting at Adyar. 12 minutes or in my world, 4 songs. Fast forward to the mid-morning slump or perhaps the post-lunch drowsiness in the office. Phones ring, keyboards clack, and the buzz of conversations fills the air. And then, there is a lull. Colleagues look at each other, gesturing to the door for a kaapi: the universal code for “let’s take a break.” Down the elevator, across the bustling street, and there it is—the familiar, comforting sight of the kaapi kadai. 

“Anna, oru black coffee”  (Brother, one black coffee)

“Enaku sakkarai kammiya”  (Less sugar for me)

“Konjam strong-ah podunga” (Make it a bit stronger)

Different tastes, different people. 

It’s through this drink that work takes a backseat and conversations about weekend plans, the latest TV show or just a shared sigh of exhaustion happen. The first sip is a sigh of relief, making you believe that the day isn’t as daunting as it seemed. 

The scene shifts to evening or perhaps late afternoon. A first date. The meeting place? Like a GVM film, Amethyst, of course. The couple sits at a corner table, twilight casting soft shadows on their faces. Light music plays in the background, blending in with the murmur of conversations and the clinking of cups. The orders are placed and the pleasantries exchanged — with smiles, nods and a nervous tuck of hair behind the ear. The real talk begins once the waiter sets down the coffee. 

The conversation flows as easily as the coffee is poured. They talk about everything and nothing—their favourite books, childhood memories, the upcoming film from an actor-turned-director. The silences between the conversations are filled by sips and slurps, stolen glances and unfinished sentences. Meanwhile, the song plays,

*Pesi pesi theertha pinnum

Etho ondru kuraiyudhae*

(Though we've spoken endlessly, something remains unsaid.)

The loop of “aparam?” continues. If everything works out, another coffee date is on the “cards”. 

***

Sukku kaapi. Sukku kaapi/ Sukku malli kaapi/ dry ginger coffee is a cherished paati vaithiyam that almost every household inherits. I remember my avva (Grandmother) bustling about in the kitchen, making one as soon as she heard a cough. In sickness and in health, there’s always a kaapi. Here’s my avva’s recipe for the days you’re sick and need a drink that feels like your grandmother’s embrace: 

A powder of sukku (Dry ginger), kothamalli vidhai (Coriander seeds), milagu (Pepper), and seeragam (cumin) is prepared by dry roasting these ingredients. One spoonful of this powder is enough to make a warm cup of sukku kaapi. But you don't need to wait for sick days to enjoy sukku kaapi. The mazhai-kaalam (the rains) in Madras is the perfect excuse to savour a cup.

My favourite kind of kaapi is the one that you make for yourself. A coffee of one’s own, I’d say (sorry, Woolf). There's poetry in the process of preparing coffee. 

I open DAVRAH’s kaapi dabba and take a whiff as if it’s almost a ritual. I scoop out the grounds and put them into the mug before I get carried away by the aroma. Choosing a mug for the kaapi changes as per the location, occasion and relevance i.e. Idam, porul, eval. The good old stainless steel glasses for when the family comes over, the chipped-near-the-handle one that my best friend weirdly loves, the fancy ceramic ones for the guests and the dust-collecting photo-printed ones I received as birthday gifts that never see the day. Finally, I choose my trusted teal mug, while other mugs patiently await their turn.

My gaze is fixed on the kaapi dabba as the milk boils. Storytime: A few months ago, as I entered a new chapter of my life, I stumbled upon this beautiful kaapi dabba. The vibrant colours and the nostalgic design caught my eye and tugged at my heartstrings. Felt as if it was calling out to me, so I just had to bring it home. 

Since then, the dabba has become a keeper of memories, both monumental and mundane. After getting home from an exhausting day at work, or while chit-chatting on the phone with a friend many miles away, or when my sister visits my home for the first time, it is always the kaapi dabba that I reach out to. The milk boils and froths, and my mind drifts back to the present. The clinking of the spoon against the mug forms the perfect ritual to go with my mindless humming. I take my first sip, and the warmth spreads through me, comforting and familiar. 

Kaapi, in its many forms and moments, is more than just a beverage in Madras. It’s a shared experience, a ritual and a connection that is deeply personal. For me, kaapi is a journey through my own life, each cup tying together the fragments of my experiences. It is a connection to my childhood, reminiscent of Avva’s sukku kaapi. It is a connection to my college days, to the late-night study sessions fueled by cups of strong, black kaapi. It is a connection to my youth, millions of conversations shared over kaapi, sans words. It is a connection to my present, to the moments of solitude and reflection that are accompanied by a cup of kaapi. 

There, my kaapi dabba stands by looking at me as I try to complete this piece, reminding me that life’s complexities can often be simplified over a warm cup of coffee. As long as this kaapi dabba is in my sight, I know I’m home and everything is going to be okay.

Featuring Davrah Coffee

Written by Varshini Rajasekhar