Chai on the Terrace
From the time I began grad school, the response to every minor inconvenience in life, whether it be a full blown existential crisis or a minor slump, has been chai. Not just the part where you sip it, but the elaborate process of tea making, starting from washing the teapot (annoyingly filled with yesterday's tea leaves), watching the sugar slowly caramelize and reluctantly open up to the tea leaves, and the sudden explosion of bubbling flavor as the two seal their communion.
I love watching the water bubble, anticipating a sure journey of slowly boiling into beautiful brown glory, only to be surprised by the sudden intervention of creamy white milk. Once again, all four embrace a change, beautiful chestnut brown to the warm milky brown. As if in sudden rebellion, the tea suddenly boils over only to be calmed down by the sudden turn of the stove. I love the sudden rise of heartbeat that comes in anticipation of the tea boiling over, and the equally sudden calming down as everything is under control, peace spreading, both in the teapot and my heart.
I have thought about it quite often but those moments while I wait for the chai to slowly boil into perfection, are the most certain pockets of peace I have experienced till now. There's some comfort that comes with the certainty that when the time is right, hot piping tea will run down your throat, calming everything down. In those few moments, I don't have to worry about anything else nor do I have to quicken my brain function to meet insanely crowded to-do lists. Or perhaps, it's about the unrestricted and unbothered flow of thoughts that are on a free run as I sip tea. Because, hey, when I sip tea, that's the primary focus, the rest can just run around as they please, whether it be life, thoughts or the world.
In retrospect, tea time has always been my peace pocket. Dreary school mornings made a little more blissful by the thought of mummy's lovely, thick, milky, sickeningly sweet chaaya. There's something about tea that brings everything together; ties up everything to perfection without tightening or suffocating. And that bringing together can be anything; your own self or people. The bringing together duty has been performed by my tea times with such commitment and dedication that at some point it became my most apparent love language. If I take the pain to wash the tea pot, get my mind in order and make tea for you i.e. let you in on my elaborate ritual, then you are deeply loved by my chaotic heart.
But sometimes I can't help but wonder. Is it the tea itself or the traces of people associated with it. Times spent on the TDI terrace with a dearest friend, affectionately looking at the clutter of our childhood and adolescent selves, sharing each other's scars and smiles, our hearts bubbling over like tea leaves and sugar. A kitchen where tea making was an excuse to be your silly goofy self with someone who didn't mind (or notice), trying to register an endearing smile on their face that had the warmth of the warm milky brown. Or the plant filled and much loved balcony in Mysore where every sip is accompanied by a loud burst of laughter. Maybe it's both. Traces and the tea leaves, both contributing the perfect balance of culinary and spiritual magic. Or maybe, it's neither. Maybe it's all me. But I don't want to know. I'd like to believe in the latent magic of tea leaves and the love that emerges with every sip.