Smell the Kaapi

Can that steaming cup of filter coffee stand up to a Starbucks? Hard to say,but at India Coffee House in Bangalore,coffee is more than what you can drink

Having a cup of kaapi at India Coffee House,a half-century-old establishment in Bangalore known to inspire an obsessive reverence in its patrons,is not a genteel experience. You sit twiddling your thumbs on tables as old as the place itself,facing a wall with peeling plaster and gathering moss,and try not to look directly at the plastic sacks of rice and dal stored in plain sight. A waiter in a barely-white bandgala and red-trimmed turban approaches with a look of mild scepticism and deposits your order in a hole of a kitchen with a No admission sign outside its doorless entrance. Then the tiny cup of filter coffee,dark and strong,arrives,and you are immediately hit by a taste from the past.

The café is overrun with conversation,especially between 10 and 12 in the morning and 5 and 7 in the evening. It goes through five kg of chicory-free coffee every day and records sales of Rs 22,000-25,000 on a weekday and Rs 30,000 on Saturdays and Sundays. A framed picture of Gandhi and a couple of old posters are the only décor on the faded blue walls,besides two large mirrors facing each other that conjure a seemingly endless line of men leaning forward on sunmica-topped tables. A red Coca Cola fridge looks out of place in this room from another era. A team of 30 waiters,cooks and cleaners runs the coffee house,a landmark on MG Road that moved to its present home on Church Street two years ago. Word has it that the monthly rent for the previous premises was a princely sum of Rs 800.

Now we pay Rs 1,25,000 a month for a smaller place here, says Peter John,a waiter who has been serving here since 1978. Much of the staff has been around even longer. Once youve had coffee here,youll never have coffee anywhere else in Bangalore, John says,wiping the back of his hand on his greasy red belt. A senior waiter here earns more than his salary of Rs 8,000 and medical benefits. He earns the respect of customers, he says.

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One would happily pay more than the marked price of Rs 12 to soak up this era removed from the agitations of modern life,but talk to the waiters and they will tell you about a time when a cup of coffee here cost all of 15 paise. Can a Barista or a Starbucks ever encroach on the coffee houses clientele? Sundaresh,a businessman from Indira Nagar who is sharing a coffee with a friendthey order two by-twos every day in the span of an hourshakes his head. We have been coming here every day for the last 40 years,ever since we were very young. Those days,a five-paisa increase in the price of a coffee would be debated and denounced by patrons. How can you expect us to pay Rs 100 for a coffee at a modern café?

Sundareshs friend,K Basavaraj,a government employee,says,I have come here day after day all the way from Vijaya Nagar for as long as I can remember. I used to take the bus to MG Road as a student,then I rode a cycle and a scooter and now I drive a car. Nothing has changed here,not even the cutlery. It is hard not to be awed by this place,where everyone seems to lapse into a reverie of sorts. People come from 15-20 km away every day to chat with their friends here and share a cup of coffee or an omelette, says Venkat Ram,a 52-year-old who has waited tables here for 33 years. We dont shoo anyone away. You can sit and talk for as long as you like, he says,before sauntering over to an unoccupied table and plopping down to rest his knees.

A colourful procession of characters enters and leaves the room which has about 20 tables: doddering men in white shirts,tourists from the West clutching their travel guides,executives in power dresses,students in large,loud groups. Around lunchtime,a mailman in khaki strides directly into the kitchen to gulp down a kaapi and is out before you can blink. We dont know his name. He has been coming for years, says Gopalakrishnan,one of two cashiers who take turns operating the billing machine. A vintage picture near his desk shows a bejewelled child sipping coffee. An inscription underneath reads: The reason for my charming smile: Indian Coffee. We call her our grandmother, Gopalakrishnan says,laughing. And that is our grandfather. He points to another poster on the wall near the kitchen,featuring a hoary gentleman with a billowing white beard. A fine type. A fine coffee. Both are Indian, this one reads.

Then realisation dawns. A Starbucks cannot possibly replace a kaapihouse steeped in history. Because what they serve here cannot be consumed in a single visit.