Melbrew. Loop. Gloria Jeans.
These might ring a bell. These brands represent a rising culture of coffee in major cities, which has captured the urban population. Whether it be matcha or an espresso, our youth can’t get enough.
This change is quite rapid, as it was only a couple of years ago that chai was an unchallenged national drink for adults and youngsters alike. It’s odd yet mesmerising how chai, sweet and simple, is contradictory to coffee, bitter and black, yet we have found a way to make it feasible for our liking.
But what resulted in such a drastic shift?
You see, we have an innate desire to be socially acceptable, and social media has cultivated a culture of coffee. However, coffee existed in Pakistan before the internet. During the 17th century, even before the partition, upper-class Indians enjoyed coffee as a popular drink, which they served in public spaces known as qahwahkhanas.
Yet, unfortunately, after the British colonised India, the coffee culture collapsed, as they preferred tea. However, European traders continued drinking and spreading coffee around the world.
In summary, the colonisers influenced our cultural and commercial norms, altering our lifestyles to suit their preferences.
Hence, it appears that the new coffee trend is a positive development. I mean, we are finally doing what we want and like.
It is probably correct to say that one of the reasons why chai appealed to us in the first place was due to the colonial influence. Perhaps, coffee was always meant to be ours as a parallel culture — one that never fully disappeared but was gradually erased from our history through decades of colonisation, waiting to be claimed without any labels. Hence, this high-end coffee culture can be considered a symbol of defiance.
Yet there are several loopholes in such a phenomenon.
Coffee as a Social Class
I often feel odd when my university friends buy coffee for 700 to 800 rupees three to four times a week. Don’t get me wrong. I like coffee. But spending such an amount of money every other day seems bizarre. I sometimes want to ask them if they like coffee or just think it’s cool.
I can’t help but feel as if our taste has been commodified. And hence, our behaviour most of the time suggests that coffee has become less of a beverage and more of a performance.
If you scroll through Instagram, you’ll witness how cafes are romanticised and demonstrated as more than just a place to drink coffee; they are a stage where you get a chance to display your identity to the world. Knowing various flavours of coffee and not having your very own “coffee palate” seems like a social failure, something you need to be ashamed of.
What we consume is no longer about our own preference but about what it showcases about us and how, through this, we can belong to a certain crowd that is socially acceptable. Coffee has become a cultural capital, with people desiring it for its aesthetic value and pursuing social acceptability as dictated by social media platforms.
These patterns raise important questions: Are we conditioned to like this culture, or is our algorithm merely a reflection of our own choices? Or perhaps the lines are too blurred to draw any conclusion?
Chai, on the other hand, demands no grouping. It belongs to everyone, be it a labourer, a student, or an office worker. The dhaba remains open for all. It demands no aesthetic, no validation. Whether it’s Kashmiri chai, adrak, or ilichi, chai continues to be a beloved beverage.
Perhaps that is the reason why it is no longer acceptable in the ‘elite’ spaces. In a society obsessed with appearing “global” — without actually doing the work for progress — the dhaba and the simplicity of chai feel too local and cheap.
So perhaps the rise of the coffee culture was never about abandoning or replacing chai but was rather about chasing an identity with a hollow framework. One where culture is upheld and redefined through price tags. One where taste equals status.
If chai was the coloniser’s ‘gift’ and coffee, the global stamp, then what are we really consuming — our own taste or someone else’s culture? The battle for the Pakistani morning is not about caffeine, but about who and how we allow our story to be written.