DePaul’s is a tiny shop, street-level of an ugly high-rise building situated in the unfashionable but functional area between Delhi’s touristy Janpath and posh Cannaught Place. It is however a destination for memorable cold coffee, and has been for three generations. 

I have fond memories of going there in the 70s, tagging along with my father when he had errands to run in the area. This little canteen was an air-conditioned oasis amidst the dry Delhi heat. The smell of coffee drew us to the counter at the back where cold coffee was dispensed in bottles with ‘soup nazi’ efficiency. 

We’d take our coffee and drink it outside while my father got his shoes shined.

My father’s note to me on DePaul’s (and the shoe-shine): “That cold coffee used to be ₹4/- and shoeshine was also ₹4/-. Hot coffee was cheaper. When we were in college the cold coffee was twelve annas, ₹0.75. He was amongst the oldest to serve coffee in town other than India Coffee House. We used to go to him for toiletry, Brylcream, hair brush etc. It was the current owners grandfather who started it. The current owner remembers me as a regular client since long. Currently the cold coffee costs ₹60/- and shoeshine is ₹40/-.”

The coffee was the polar opposite of the Brooklyn hipster coffee culture that I’ve adopted as my own. Earlier this summer a friend prepared a concentrated cold brew coffee and mixed in condensed milk. And Proustian madeleine! I was transported back to DePaul’s, the smells, the sights, the music.

Yesterday I mentioned a song from the 70s to my sister. And she immediately texted back saying they played it regularly at DePaul’s. We went back and forth on songs we remembered playing there. She described them as “pure happiness.” While my personal tastes were headed along the heavy metal route (Led Zeppelin, Deep Purple, Pink Floyd, Black Sabbath, Uriah Heep), DePaul’s disco vibe was a guilty pleasure. It included Boney M, hugely popular in India then but virtually unheard of in the US I later discovered. It also included Abba, Bee Gees, Donna Summer.

This is what my sister and I were able to reconstruct.

Hope it brings you “pure happiness” too.