There was the Indian Coffee House in the heart of Connaught Place in Delhi, at the Mall road in Shimla, in the plush Sector 17 of Chandigarh and of course in Allahabad, where Jawaharlal Nehru met many public figures. And there are many more. The middle-aged to senior citizen waiters in their fancy head gear and white uniform made of thick drill material knew almost everyone who came in for a cup of coffee—sometimes with a thick blotch of cream that made it “special coffee”— along with cutlets or masala dosas or hard as stone idlis dunked in sambar. These coffee houses, which were the meeting places, began to decay as India became a liberalised nation with lots of windows opening out to fresh airs and ideas. And at least one thing that blew in ensured the Indian Coffee House did not survive (much to the anger, anguish and disappointment of the Coffee House loyalists)—they could not be reinvented retaining their past, for what came was sexy, attracted the 16-year-olds or those who were 16 at heart, with a bright splash of red, yellow, white for space, and purple for effects.
That was the Cafe Coffee Day which acquired a short pet name in no time, the CCD. They were happening spaces, and made sure they wanted it that way. The first one opened in Bengaluru, and very soon they were there all over the country, from almost the toes of Vaishno Mata in J&K to Balaji's place in Tirupati—dozens of them in bigger towns, and at least one in every small town. The young wanted to be seen there. Because if you were seen there, you belonged to a certain kind of young crowd.
“A lot can happen over a coffee,” the CCD ads screamed, even as many of them were initially at a stone's throw from Barista,which was what attracted the snooty who knew their cappuccino and espresso—remember most of us spelt it with an X like the express train? And largely dictated by value for money compared to Barista, the crowds were in the CCD. The CCD made it worth their while. A coffee generally came with an hour of internet—free! There were promotions galore: a plastic for which one did not have to pay, but it ensured the sixth cappuccino was on the CCD! 12 kids from plus 1 or plus 2 classes sipped on six cups and shared the cost of 5! Quick as a wink, the chai drinking children of the north loved their coffee. And in no time knew what they wanted from the CCD range of coffees. “We take tea at home, but when we go out it has to be coffee,” confessed many. It was clearly aspirational.
When Star Bucks came to India, the much travelling Indians had developed a taste for its cappuccino that was made for the first time in Seattle. And the pink papers did run stories that in the national capital the CCD was giving them the run for the green bucks...and the Kumbakonam Degree Coffee was doing ditto in conservative parts of Chennai.
The CCDs became the venue of many first meetings, first date and late night outings –they remained open when most other places in small towns like Jalandhar or Rohtak shut for the night. The add-ons came, as did the nibbles. Clearly, so much was happening over coffee.
And one of these was the good old chai, fighting to win back some space. The Chaayos and Chai Point that came later have tried to do what the CCD did in the early years, and have succeeded possibly because of it.
The CCD made India a coffee nation, but it has in a way given birth to coffee connoisseurs, coffee pride—with words like Arabica dark roast or Monsoon Malabar being ordinary, dozens of coffee estates vying for a name and almost the same status as single malt.
V.G. Siddhartha may not have been a name that the young would recall, till three days ago. But that has changed. A lot can happen over coffee.
