Coffee, Tea, and I
Coincidentally, I’ve been coming across references to tea and coffee over the past few weeks. An article on the Matcha craze in Japan. The sudden fall in coffee prices in India due to surplus production in Brazil (no, I’m not into commodities trading—I have a client who owns a coffee estate and exports, so I keep a Google alert on coffee). And during a quick trip to Hyderabad—famous for its Irani chai and Osmania biscuits—I found myself in a group where everyone ordered morning coffee except one person, who asked for tea. These little moments stirred up a range of thoughts about these two beverages. Some unfiltered free flowing stuff.
I’d like to start by saying that I love both my cuppas—coffee and tea. If it is coffee then preferably filter coffee.
We all know the regional split. In India, coffee is preferred in the South, while tea rules the North and most of the rest of the country. In North Indian homes, it’s always tea—sweet, milky, and boiling over with routine. In the South, coffee is less sweet, with a hint of bitterness. It’s as if in the North, the day begins with optimism; in the South, with pragmatism.

Tea announces itself loudly, boisterously. It boils, froths, and is bubbling. It spills into your day with urgency and familiarity. Coffee arrives in slow motion. It wafts in—bitter, self-assured, unhurried.
But it’s not just about taste and territory. There’s more.
Tea is for friends. “Chai pe milte hain.” “Chai pe charcha.” It’s the drink of the everyday. It breaks ice, bridges gaps, and binds people. You’ll find it everywhere—from homes to dhabas to roadside tapris with a radio playing 90s hits. It doesn’t demand attention. It gives it.
Coffee, on the other hand, is less accommodating. It prefers a setting. It comes with intent. “Let’s catch up over a cup of coffee” implies something is to be achieved—work to be done, an impression to be made. It’s the drink of pitch meetings and first dates, where both parties pretend to be slightly more well-read than they are.
Historically, while tea seeped into everyday life—from kullads in UP to cutting glasses in Mumbai to 1 cup, 1 MT (empty) in Hyderabad —coffee was curated. Its modern identity owes much to promotion. India (and Indian) Coffee Houses weren’t just cafés; they were clubs of quiet ambition. Coffee was aspirational before “aspirational” became a keyword in a strategy deck.
You’ll never find coffee in a kullad. You’ll rarely find it for 10 rupees. It doesn’t like being common. Perhaps that’s why coffee still carries the scent of seriousness. It’s the beverage of deadlines and decisions. Tea, meanwhile, continues to be easy with itself—happy to be reheated, shared, and served in cracked cups without complaint.
Tea is casual; coffee is calibrated.
Tea is expressive; coffee is performative.
Tea in India is unassuming; coffee is pretentious.
Tea feels like it studied in India. Coffee feels like it studied abroad. Tea pairs with samosas, biscuits, or pakoras. Coffee insists on a cookie (not a biscuit), a croissant, or a slice of sourdough.
Tea is binary—plain or masala. Coffee is a multiverse: instant, filter, espresso, cappuccino, pour-over, latte, americano, affogato, and more.
Tea is TikTok. Coffee is LinkedIn.
Tea makes you pause. Coffee makes you present.
Tea is this. Coffee is that.
And I? I’m sometimes this, sometimes that.
In the end, it’s not about choosing sides. Some mornings I’m brewed for writing a blog post (like this). Other days I’m filtered for PowerPoint.
Comments