Special on International Coffee Day –
Today, when I recall the first sip of my first coffee, a smile automatically spreads across my face. It was more than a drink—it was the beginning of a journey, a transition from childhood’s mischief to the seriousness of growing up.
Back then, I was still loyal to my evening glass of Bournvita. The very reason I tried coffee was not taste, but necessity. I had heard that coffee could keep one awake through the night, that it gave energy, and that it fought away the fatigue of long study hours. I decided to test this theory during an exam night. The coffee’s deep brown color reminded me of Bournvita, so I imagined it might taste just as sweet. But that innocence soon disappeared with the very first sip—its bitterness startled me. And yet, that very bitterness planted the seed of a lifelong bond.
Interestingly, history tells us that coffee itself has been keeping students, scholars, and thinkers awake for centuries. Coffee houses of 17th-century Europe were once called “penny universities” because for the price of a cup, one could sit for hours and engage in intellectual discussions. Perhaps unknowingly, my own first cup connected me to that long tradition of learning, wakefulness, and thought.
As time passed, the bitterness of that first sip transformed into a sweetness of habit, memory, and meaning. In my teenage years, coffee was no longer about exams—it became a symbol of friendship. Sharing a cup meant sharing laughter, secrets, and the carefree playfulness of youth. Coffee shops were less about caffeine, and more about companionship.
Then came another phase of life—the one where a cup of coffee carried the weight of emotions. A hesitant “Would you like to have coffee with me?” was not just an invitation; it was a subtle confession of affection. In that steaming cup, there was warmth, shyness, and the silent language of love.
Later, coffee became linked with independence. I remember the pride of ordering a cup alone in a café, not as someone’s daughter or wife, but as myself. That cup represented financial independence, the freedom to make my own decisions, and the dignity of self-earned recognition. It was no longer about sharing someone else’s world—it was about building my own.
In this stage, meeting friends over coffee carried a quiet joy: I didn’t have to explain to anyone where I was, or why I spent so long talking. Coffee became a space of comfort and self-expression.
And now, when I watch elderly couples and senior citizens sipping coffee together in the evening, their laughter echoing across cafés, I see something beautiful. Those wrinkled hands holding the cup have already carried the weight of responsibilities. Their laughter is lighter, their worries fewer. Life, like coffee, may always carry some bitterness, but with experience, one learns to savor the hidden sweetness in every sip.
Coffee, then, is not just a drink—it is a mirror of life’s stages. From the naive expectation of sweetness, to the shock of first bitterness, to the comfort of friendships, the flutter of romance, the pride of independence, and finally, the contentment of wisdom—every stage has its own cup, its own taste.
So, I ask again, with the wisdom of many cups behind me:
Shall we have a cup of coffee?
