9/6/2023 0 Comments Chai tea![]() ![]() I enter a silent, cold apartment – my mother isn’t back from the hospital yet and my grandmother has moved to live with my uncle since my grandfather passed away. The sun is on leave and the wind drills into my bones. India is the largest consumer of tea in the world, the second-largest producer and the fourth-largest exporter – about 80 percent of its production is for domestic consumption įast forward a few years, and I am on my way home on a bitterly cold January evening in Indore. “A good cup of chai needs a slow fire,” I was told, something I follow to this day. Then adding the milk and watching it lighten the chai and simmer, steeping the flavours. Watching the tea leaves spinning with the ginger. I felt so accomplished, measuring water, grating ginger, and scooping sugar and tea leaves to add to the boiling water. Finally, when I was in grade five, she reluctantly allowed me to make it under her supervision and soon I was making it alone. ![]() “What if you spill the boiling water and get burned,” my grandmother would fret. I yearned to make chai but wasn’t allowed. The creamy, rich beverage warmed my heart and spirit and at that precise moment, I became a chai lover. I took it and breathed the aroma in deeply. Mother refused, but grandfather smiled and poured some into a cup. Basking in the appreciation and pats on my back, I asked if I could have chai. I had scored good marks on a maths test and ran home that August afternoon to share the news with my mother and grandparents as they were having their chai. The first time I tasted real chai, I was in grade three. “Children should not drink tea,” she would say. I don’t want to ask to taste it because I know if I do, she will dilute it with more milk. Small, sweet plain biscuits are a must with chai and have been a hot favourite for generations I have no interest in tasting it but am proud, boasting to my friends: “I know how to make chai.” By the end of the day, I have memorised the process forever. She strains it in cups, puts them on a tray, and carries it to the dining table. After a few minutes, she removes it from the heat and covers it. Stirring, she adds milk and lets it simmer over a low flame, still stirring. Then she adds the tea leaves, turning the contents of the pot brown. I sulk but I know that, being a doctor, she has to get to the hospital on time. “Child, I have to hurry I don’t have time for your questions,” she says. “Why do we add this?” I ask, watching the shreds fall into the bubbling water. She adds sugar, then takes a flat steel grater, balances it on the edge of the pot and grates in adrak (ginger). She pushes me away from the gas stove but I am indignant and refuse to hop down, although I do move away a bit. My five-year-old self wants to watch my mother making chai. I remember jumping up to sit on the kitchen counter one afternoon. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |