I am a chai addict.
The first thing your mind might conjure up is an image of meticulously arranged shelves adorned with beautiful, colourful, artistic teaboxes with assorted bags of dandelion, chamomile, ashwagandha, turmeric, tulsi, kahwa and hibiscus.
But the real visual is a bit more rustic.
It’s the image of a hand reaching into a pearlpet box of tea leaves and carelessly dumping a fistful into a saucepan of cold water, turning on the gas and bringing the water to boil. It’s the joy of standing idly by while the heat extracts the life out of those poor tea leaves, and then adding the tiniest few drops of milk to finish (if you’ve used a teaspoon measure, you’ve already used too much).
You might have read those last couple of paragraphs thinking “I didn’t need to know that!” but I promise I’ll soon get to the point.
The reality is that 33 years ago even making the most basic cup of chai was well beyond my abilities in the kitchen.
Back when I got married, I was the ‘shy’ bride (all close friends and family please stop laughing at that sentence). I didn’t have the guts to keep asking the house help to make tea for me every hour (remember I’m a chai addict). I preferred to ‘suffer’ in silence rather than inconvenience anyone in my new home.
One day, I finally took matters into my own hands. While the rest of the household was taking their afternoon siesta, I strode into the kitchen confidently to make my own tea, stopping short once I was inside.
“Now what??” I said to myself. I can see water and I can see the gas. Now??
I immediately did an about turn, went to my room and called my mother.
“Mummy, chai kaise banaoo?” Very patiently she explained the process, “ When the water boils, put in the chai patti and sugar and then the milk.”
“Bas, isme kya hai!” she said.
“But, how do I boil water??”