Some moments when tea and life converged perfectly that I picked out from my diary.
February 1993, midnight, 20 days to Class XII Board exams
Tonight, it is Chemistry. What am I doing, looking at these equations? Organic chemistry, inorganic chemistry—why am I even learning this stuff? I know what I am going to do once I am out of school. I will study literature. I will read poetry and novels and then be graded on how well I understand them. This Chemistry is just purgatory, before I get to the real stuff. Alright, let me open the sample papers, and good god, why do I have to stare at these reams of notes? I mean, I am happy that there are so many chemicals and compounds and whatnot…but did I have to know about them all? Definitely not.
And now it’s been half an hour, and all I have done is go through this meaningless existential crisis. Wait…someone is pushing the door open.
(Ten minutes later)
So that was the pater. Father. Baba. Whatever. Pretty much the reason why I am in this purgatory because he had said I should study Science in high school. BUT today I forgive him, finally. Why, you ask? Well, when he walked in, I gave him my best steely glare. Believe me, I am getting really good at it. He and I are always arguing these days. Or rather, I am launching into a rant and he is looking resigned to having a teenage daughter losing her mind before the exams. Anyway, so I pulled my book closer when he came in and barely glanced up, mad as I was about Chem and all. But all he did was ruffle my hair and place a steaming cup at my elbow and then he quietly left the room. He didn’t even comment on the radio tuned to Vividh Bharati that I have taken to listening while studying.
I am looking at the cup. It’s filled with strong, hot tea. Steaming. I will bring my face right on top and just inhale the steam and feel it fog up my glasses for a while. Sniff the vapours and let them fill my lungs. Only after that will I take my first sip, once the tea has cooled a bit. Yes, I am a wimp, I can’t drink it hot. I know he has made it just the way I need it right now—strong, sweet and with the correct amount of milk.
Suddenly, this horrible subject I have to study doesn’t seem so bad. After all, this is the last hurrah before I am rid of it forever.
I wonder how a brown liquid in a cup can change my thoughts, emotions, and even how I feel about life? How does putting some leaves in water of just the right temperature and adding some sugar and milk create this wonderful concoction? Oh dear…could it be…dare I say the word…CHEMISTRY?!
July 1996, Darjeeling
The last few months have gone by in a flash—my final college exams, then worrying about what to do next, so this trip to this beautiful hill station where so many memories from childhood are hiding has been like a breath of fresh air. We are sitting on a bench at the Mall overlooking the ranges and I am writing this. Wait, Ma is saying something. I think she’s had a Bright Idea.
(Evening)
What a day! Ma’s brilliant idea was to take a ride on the toy train. Now everyone knows that this heritage train that runs between Siliguri and Darjeeling goes pretty much at walking pace and is perfect for a touristy joyride. So we went to the station and got ourselves two tickets for a short ride—Darjeeling to Ghoom. We decided we would figure out our return from Ghoom after getting there.
The train turned out to be absolutely out of this world! It is tiny and the body is painted blue. It huffed and puffed and let out huge gusts of smoke as it labored its way around the slopes. I got a window seat and stared out of it the whole way. The hills fell away on one side, and the tall Himalayan ranges were at some distance. We passed streams and villages and little Nepali children waved cheerfully at us. I waved back at all of them. Then it suddenly got misty. It was the famous Darjeeling mist that can creep up at any moment. As we were going round the Batashia Loop, I stuck my head out and squinted into the whiteness all around. I could see the engine looping ahead of our compartment. Little flecks of coal and other debris from the engine smoke flew into my eyes. But I couldn’t care less. I was cold and my nose was frozen but I don’t think I’ve been so happy in a while. All thoughts of studies and career just fell away and it was only me, in love with this tiny train straining its way up the hillside.
When we got off at Ghoom I was a little more cold and a little less in love. Ma and I decided we needed to eat something right away. We found ourselves in front of a tea stall. Next to him was a man selling plates of hot, boiled chana. We got ourselves a cup of tea and a plate of the chana each. It was perhaps the best tea I’ve had ever. (Okay, so maybe I’ve not had that many cups of tea yet, but believe me, it was GOOD!) It was not that horrible overboiled stuff one gets in train stations. It was freshly brewed, there was a hint of some spices in it and the amount of sugar was just right. We sat on a bench and drank the tea and ate our plates of chana while people came and went through the station. Slowly the warmth from the tea thawed out our fingers that were clutching the cup; it seeped into every part of us. I swear I actually felt it moving through me like a great big warm river through my bloodstream and entering every cell. (See, I remember some of that Biology I learnt!). We found a person selling boiled eggs after this. And with a boiled egg each, sprinkled with salt and pepper, we drank a few more cups of tea.
There was something about today—the train, the mist, the smoke, the station and the tea that makes me feel that this has been the closest I have come to understanding the interplay of tea and emotions and memories for the first time. I am sure this memory will stay with me even twenty years hence…even in 2016—whenever that comes.
October 2013, Bangalore
I am lost. Actually I am lying in bed at home. But I am lost. In a land of ruins and crumbling palaces and a rock-strewn landscape. When I close my eyes, I can see the dying rays of the sun lighting up the carvings on the walls, the spires of old temples glowing in the pink light and I can see the Tungabhadra river flowing somewhere in the distance, as I sit on a rock atop a hill and watch the sun go down on Hampi.
Yes, we are just back from a three-day trip to Hampi and I have fallen in love with the views and the landscape and the romance of the place. We have spent three days clambering over rocks and ruins and gazing at Krishnadeva Raya’s temples and palaces. We have admired the Narsimha statue that glowers over everyone, as if at any given dusk he will come alive and spring forth once more and kill a few demons. We have floated down the Tungabhadra in a coracle and dipped our hands in its greenish-blue waters.
The train journey to Hospet and back has left me a bit tired. I don’t know why that should be so as they were quite comfortable. But Opu, with all the enthusiasm of an 11 year old, wanted to clamber up to the top bunk and I was half awake the entire night wondering if he will roll down with a thud, since the train was shaking so much. Of course he didn’t. He slept deeply and announced after we woke him up at Bangalore Cantt. Station that that was the best sleep he’s ever had because ‘it was just like sleeping in the bed at home, except that it moved.’
Now we are back home and I am in my own bed writing this.
(One hour later)
I fell fast asleep and was woken by a gentle tapping on the shoulder. It was Opu. He’s had an aversion to seeing me sleep since he was a baby, and I thought this was some retreat into that babyhood. So I glared at him groggily. Then I noticed that he was holding a tray with a cup. The cup looked full and the tray was tilting alarmingly. I quickly took it away from him and kept it next to me.
‘It’s tea. I made it for you and Baba,’ he explained.
Both of us gingerly took a sip of the tea from our respective mugs. It was astonishingly good. He had used the Darjeeling tea leaves. ‘Where did you learn how to make such good tea?’ I asked.
‘I’ve been watching you for years now! I boiled the water in the electric kettle, then when it was hot I poured a little in the tea pot to warm it just how you do it. I put in two spoons of the leaf and a little bit more “for the pot” like you say. Then I let it brew. I checked it after some time to see if the colour is golden. I put in sugar in the mugs and then strained the tea into them. Then I added two teaspoons of milk in each one. Then I stirred them. And then it was done! Is the tea good?’
I hugged him and said it was the best tea I had ever had. All the time I thought he was sitting lost in his world while I made tea, he had been observing every detail! We drank the tea together as we chatted about Hampi and the river and the train.
I am back to this world now. There’s always some magic if one looks hard enough. Even in the mundane everyday life. Even in a cup of tea made by an eleven year old.
Featured illustration by Tasneem Amiruddin
