I Smell Filter Coffee

By Swaraathmikaa

I smell amma’s filter coffee. Grandpa is seated in his easy chair reading the newspaper in the veranda, while the morning sunrays shine on his bald head. I hear my mother’s anklets as she walks out to the veranda. I hear the jingle of her bangles. I see her holding the steel tumbler carefully…one hand on the top rim of the tumbler and the other hand at the bottom shielded by the edge of her saree. ‘Appa, ito unkal kaapi.’ Grandpa immediately folds one side of the paper. I can see the joy on his face as he receives his morning coffee.

His forehead is adorned with the holy ash. Amma bends forward to touch his feet. Taata’s wrinkled hands reach out to bless her. She adjusts her hair behind her ears as she gets up. She turns around and sees me in my pyjamas playing with the cowrie shells. SARAVANA!!! “Saravana, hey Saravana! Would you like a cup of coffee or not?”, asked my wife. I stare at her, a bit lost in the moment. She looks at me questioningly. ‘Yyyess! One for me too’. I sit down on a wooden bench at a roadside tea shop along the West Chithirai Street; I see the gopuram of the Meenakshi Amman temple. I close my eyes and pray for my taata and my amma.

Translations:

Appa, ito unkal kaapi. – Father, here’s your coffee.

Taata – Grandfather

Gopuram – The tall pyramidal tower over the entrance of a temple.

By Swaraathmikaa