“Bachche chai nahi peete!”
“Chai peene se rang kaala ho jaayega.“
I grew up listening to these two sentences whenever I expressed a wish to try the lightly fragrant, pale brown beverage. The rebellious mind wanted to object but every time, I suppressed the itch to question. The closest I came to tea was dipping a Parle G biscuit in my mumma’s cup of tea on some rare occasion.
The first time I had tea was as an adult. One morning, papa and I returned from our walk and I straightaway went to freshen up. He was in the kitchen when I stepped out of the bathroom.
“Aaja! Chai pilaata hu.”
That was my first, proper introduction to tea. Made by the man I called papa. Served in those Yera glasses. Fragrant and pale brown. Boiled to perfection with lots of milk.
That is what I knew tea was supposed to be like. Water and milk in equal quantities. Sugar to taste. Occasionally cardamom, ginger and tulsi added to it. I was in love!
Years went by. My love for tea stayed constant. The first time I made tea for my husband was before we got married. He asked if I could make tea with less milk.
“Less milk? What does he mean by less milk?”
I nodded. I mean I could always vary the proportions slightly. I believed that the tea in my home was, anyway, made with comparatively lesser milk because that’s how my father liked it. So, there I was. Instead of a cup of milk and a cup of water, I added only half a cup of milk. I was sure he would like it. He had it but I could tell that he struggled to finish it.
“I have tea with very little milk.”
“What can be less than this?!”
And I found out soon after we got married. The first time I had tea in my in-laws home, I was in for a rude shock. That wasn’t tea. It was way too watery. I had to relearn how to make tea. My favourite, thick brown brew changed drastically. I came to know that you could make tea with a few spoons of milk per cup too.
I went from tea made by papa to tea made by daddy-in-law. He was sweet enough to add a little extra milk in my tea each time. But that wasn’t anywhere close to the tea that I was used to. No cardamom or ginger added to it either.
As time went by, I got used to the kam doodh waali chai. So, now my doodh waali chai is reserved for times when I am at my mother’s home. The sugary sweet, boiled properly, soul pleasing, masala chai.
Today we are celebrating International Tea Day and it seemed apt to write about some memories associated with this beverage. Those stolen tea breaks with friends when I was studying or those hurriedly gulped ones when I was working as a teacher or those planned evenings with friends which stretch endlessly over countless cups of tea. Chai isn’t just any ordinary beverage. It is an emotion. It is a necessity sometimes. It is an ice-breaker, a conversation starter. Whether it is served in fine chinaware or disposable paper cups or in a kulhad, whether you serve it with biscuits or bhujia or samosa or pakora, whether you have tea at home or a fancy tea shop or a road side dhaba, it is a beverage which is loved across the length and breadth of our country and I am sure each one of us has a story to share. A story where tea takes centre stage.
