In the Company of Tea

AS it finally began to rain across NCR in short, sharp bursts over the past few days, I instinctively reached for a cup of kadak adrak chai.

- VERNIKA AWAL is a food writer who is known for her research- based articles through her blog 'Delectable Reveries'

Until then, I had been getting by on cold brew coffee. I usually prefer tea, but the searing summer had left me little choice. The mere thought of sipping anything hot in that kind of humidity was enough to make me break into a sweat.

But tea is not just a drink, is it? Especially not for us Indians. It is comfort, habit, ritual and memory, all poured into a single cup. It marks the beginning of most of our days, and for many of us, brings them to a close as well.

For as long as I can remember, tea has held a quiet, steady presence in my life. In our home, there was always a teapot ready by six in the morning, whether or not anyone wanted it. My mother's tea was sacrosanct—strong, with a hint of ginger and barely any milk. My father, by contrast, preferred a delicate, lightly brewed cup of Darjeeling tea, served without fuss. As for me, I seem to have inherited a bit of both. Even now, whenever I travel, I find myself slightly nervous about how the tea will turn out. Because, as anyone who drinks it knows, chai is deeply personal.

Less milk, more milk, no milk, full sugar, no sugar, well cooked, barely brewed—it is remarkable how many versions of this single drink exist, and how fiercely we each defend our own.