mumbai’s coffee culture is a midnight crime i didn’t sign up for
i woke up to a noise outside my window that sounded like a boa constrictor tripping over a bicycle. turns out it was a guy in a worn-out denim jacket shouting into a megaphone about ‘the true taste of filter coffee.’ i almost thought he was rationing the beans, but then i realized he was just advertising a street-side café called ‘the grind’ that i ended up spilling lukewarm lukewarm lukewarm milk all over my laptop.
this place, mumbai, feels like a person who’s trying too hard to be chaotic. last night, i saw a street vendor heating up those brass urns where the coffee brews and the steam looked like it was trying to escape into a different dimension. i told myself i didn’t need coffee. i was wrong. i needed it like i needed a reason not to yell at pigeons.
i just checked, and it’s that lukewarm coffee weather again-neither hot enough to complain about nor cold enough to care. the humidity is one of those 77% that clings to your skin like a second skin. if you care about that kind of thing, which i don’t, you might want to bring a sweater. or a rage. i’m neutraleither way, the local weather constantly reminds me that this city doesn’t take vacations.
someone told me that the neighbors here are the kind who play mariachi songs at 6 a.m. to ‘wake you up for the hustle.’ i heard it from a drunk at a hostel bar who might have nodded off mid-story. still, i saw a woman yelling at a squirrel for stealing her mango. i’m not sure which is more accurate: the mariachi or the squirrel betrayal. probably both.
i took three photos this morning. one of a latte with a crackled crust that looked like it had a soul, another of a motorcycle weaving through traffic with a guy holding a cup of filter coffee like it was a relic, and a third of a bench where a man in a yellow shirt was diagramming something on a napkin. i don’t know what he was calculating. maybe why the coffee tastes like regret.
< img src="https://api.unsplash.com/search/photos?query=mumbai&w=1080&q=80" alt="mumbai street life" width="100%" >
< img src="https://api.unsplash.com/search/photos?query=mumbai&w=1080&q=80" alt="coffee culture" width="100%" >
< img src="https://api.unsplash.com/search/photos?query=mumbai&w=1080&q=80" alt="messy mornings" width="100%" >
i was told by a group of old men in a temple that the best time to find coffee is at 3 a.m., because that’s when the machines are ‘sweating’ from the day’s brewing. i didn’t check. i’m too busy pretending i’m in a fantasy novel where the main character is a coffee barista who solves mysteries.
andare both links i’ve seen floating around like rumors. some say the places listed are gold, others say they’re traps. i went to one called ‘cha-cha’. it was good. really good. the owner claimed he roasted the beans in a bottle. i didn’t verify. i’m not that kind of snob.
if you get bored, sindhudurg is just a short drive away. it’s a town where people still do things like rollerblade down sidewalks for no reason. don’t ask me why. i don’t ask questions in this city. i just drink coffee and pretend i understand what’s happening.
someone told me the locals avoid the beach at sunset because they claim it’s ‘too noisy for peace.’ i didn’t believe it until i saw a group of guys doing rhythmical dance moves right by the shore. they were probably grieving or celebrating something. i don’t know. i just drank my coffee and pretended it was liquid enlightenment.
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