Maybe the last bit is why I liked it so much. Magically, it seemed, just when I was about to recognize that I needed a cup, one would appear. Of course, half the time it wasn't precisely as I liked it, but being American and remembering that I would otherwise have to make it myself, I stilly gladly drank it. My husband and his family members would alternately cajole and/or abuse the poor wench (depending on how many others she had screwed up recently) and have her make another cup. When I would point out the wasted materials and potentially hurt feelings of said wench, my husband would say "well, then what the hell are we paying them for? If you feel so bad for them, you drink it or go make me another one yourself."
Sigh. Those were the days.
I have found that being back "home" in America, I cannot recapture my Indian home. I cannot replicate the exact flavor of my kunjum guttee cup, though I have purchased the "export grade" Bru. Is it the curse of homogenization or pasteurization? Or is it because my American cows are fed a controlled diet and not whatever trash is available along the pathways of Bangalore?