Nearly nine years ago, somewhere in the Himalayas, a hawker handed me a steaming cup of tea as I stood, shivering in the biting- cold. As the hot, sweet, ginger-infused brew coursed down my throat, I knew that very instant that no matter how many cups of tea I’d glug in the years to come, nothing would ever come close to the feeling of absolute tea-induced nirvana I felt on that day. That was the day when my eternal love affair with the humble chai began.
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| Enjoying a hot cup of my favorite brew |
Back in the old days, chai was something that was consumed during exams so that you could stay up late and cram as much as your sleep-deprived brain permitted. It was also something that my father consumed ( and still does) in gallons, cup after cup, while I watched in amazement, wondering if we needed to enroll him into some sort of chai de-addiction program. Needless to say, my attitude towards tea could be best described as indifferent…until that memorable day in the Himalayas.
Of course, my husband’s devotion to the brew further fueled my nascent addiction. Now my day begins with a mug of this heavenly brew and ends with a one.
My fondest travel memories are peppered with various instances involving chai. After sampling everything from ginger tea, tea flavored with cardamom, and lemon tea, to the watery cups brewed by those who have no idea that tea making is an art, I have come to the conclusion that the tea prepared above the Deccan Plateau outranks the ones I have tasted in the Southern parts of the country. I’m not surprised, considering a large portion of Southern India comprises coffee connoisseurs.
A couple of years ago, during my trip to Pench National Park, I remember how surprised I was by the brutality of the weather. It was towards the end of November, and the Bangalorean in me didn’t cope well. Had it not been for steaming hot cup of tea doled out by an enterprising hawker at 6 in the morning, I probably would’ve had to pick my constantly chattering teeth off the ground! That said, irrespective of the weather, I ’ve seen tea lovers like me head to the closest chai-wallah for a cuppa.
Sometimes, it’s not such much about a great tasting brew, as much as it’s about the circumstances in which it’s consumed.
I was in the Kutta side of Nagarahole National Park one afternoon, bored and tired of waiting for the safari vehicle that was monopolized by a local politician and his extended family. An hour passed and there was no sign of my ride. The unrelenting April heat did little to keep my annoyance in check, and I soon found myself in a rather irritable mood.
“Madam, tea beka ( would you like a cup of tea)?”
Those magic words!
I turned around to see a smiling chai-wallah standing with a small steel tumbler of steaming tea. I accepted it immediately, feeling better already. The flavor, though slightly bitter from the over brewing, was infused with a hint of cardamom. Not the one to complain, I glugged it down, paid the guy, and prepared for the long wait. The vehicle, of course, never turned up. Somehow, it seemed that a cup of tea lightened the disappointment marginally.
Not surprisingly, this unassuming cuppa has come to my rescue not just when I’m cold or tired, but also during uncomfortable social gatherings that demand unnecessary conversation.
“So beta, what’s your salary?” a vaguely familiar lady at a boring wedding once questioned, between mouthfuls of rasgulla.
I watched the syrup trickle from the corner of her crimson mouth before finally responding in the best possible manner under the circumstances.
“Hmmm… slurrrrp!” was my response, as I took an extra loud and long sip of tea, before pretending to find a biscuit to go with it.
Speaking of uncomfortable social situations, here’s something that my extended family uses to fill the awkward silence between conversations when they’re entertaining guests. This incident dates back to the time when I was barely fourteen.
My cousins and I, as was practice before the days of the internet, spent our summer holidays together, either at an aunt’s house or sometimes at my place. One such summer, while we were glued to a popular Bollywood flick playing on the rented VCR, one of the cousins suggested I make them some tea. The closest to anything kitchen related I had accomplished back then was spreading jam on toast.
“But, how difficult is it to make tea, right?”
The prospect of experimenting in the kitchen, with the older people safely tucked away at one of the numerous weddings they attended, seemed too good to pass up.
I enthusiastically made my way to the kitchen, picked the nearest vessel, added the mixture of water, milk, tea leaves, and sugar, and proceeded to let it brew. So far so good right?
Well, I’d almost nailed it, except that no one told me that a pressure cooker does not qualify as the right utensil to make chai. In my defense, it was an unfamiliar kitchen, and I had no idea where my aunt stored the pots and pans, and therefore I picked something that could hold and cook the concoction.
The shrill whistle from the cooker brought my cousins to the kitchen. Dumbfounded, one of them quickly turned off the stove and started to clean some of the tea sprayed on the tiles. Needless to say, I was not allowed into the kitchen, any kitchen for that matter, for several years following the incident. Of course, the brave cousin who’d requested tea that fateful afternoon did consume a couple of sips, not out of respect for my feelings, but mostly because he was curious about the pressure cooked chai.
My family still uses this story as a conversation filler, much to my embarrassment.
I could wax eloquence about the time in Bandhavgarh when I washed down scores of paneer pakoras with several cups of hot, sweet tea, or the time when my husband and I hailed down a chai-wallah on MG Road, just for a quick cuppa after a late night movie; but I don’t think I’d do justice to this delightful drink.
Whether it’s weddings, funerals, business meetings, or the expression of a weary and tired traveler as he enjoys a steaming cup; whether it’s the buttery, salty Kashmiri chai, or the sweet, spiced tea prepared in the Northern parts of the country, I believe that the humble chai, coupled with some bhajjis or crunchy biscuits is the glue that binds our beautiful and diverse country together.
