Fatigued. Yes, that is how I feel even though I slept for 8 hours straight. I feel a weight like lead dragging me down to a bottomless depth. I know I need to shake myself up, wake up the children and get them ready for school but all I want to do is crawl under the covers and go to sleep again. But that is luxury for another day, may be the weekend. I haul myself downstairs. A cup of hot tea, yes, that is what I need, I say it to myself to pull myself out of this gripping somnolence. I switch on my gleaming black kettle sitting pretty on my equally glossy black kitchen countertop which I always remember to polish before retiring for the day. The all encompassing silence of my open plan kitchen is slightly disturbed by the rumbling sound of the water boiling in the kitchen. I pour the water in the cup, add some milk, sugar, and then take out my fragrant earl grey tea bags. I dip them in the boiling water, 2 minutes and my tea is ready. Half way through and I already feel relaxed, not invigorated to the fullest but , yes, ready to kickstart the day. Few hours later as I snug up in my comfy chair finishing the last few pages of my book, the morning blues now gone, I realise few years back I would never have kettle tea. No, thank you, I would say. I want mine nicely brewed, the thicker, creamier and if it is spiced up even better. It is one of the myriad changes of displacement, the electric kettle replacing the hindalium pan. When did that change happen I try to think hard, but I fail to remember, it must be seamless or else I would definitely remember. I think of parents, they would roll their eyes, grit their teeth if they are ever served kettle tea. What is this, hot water or tea? they would ask, their mouths all twisted and puckered in show of disgust. Same with new arrivals from India. Some frank ones can be very blunt and vocal, without mincing words, they would say, can you make tea the way we do in a India? Or have you forgotten it?Can’t drink this tea. I better not have tea if I to drink this. Never set in my ways, I have always embraced change and flowed with it with little or no complain. I don’t mind drinking kettle tea, though I would definitely prefer the Indian way. It is easier to make and hassle free. Later, in the evening when it is tea time, I decide to go back to my roots and brew it as I always did in India and here too for many years. I prise open the box of cut tea leaves which I keep for guests. I peel some cardamoms, crush some cloves and when the water comes to a boil, I put them all in. I use the milk laden with fat, which I give to the kids, and generous amount of sugar, and let it simmer. I can see a thick sheet of fat on the surface, rippling under the bright spotlights. With quick flicker of my hand I take it out and throw in the sink. Was never fond of that. The tea now looks strong, thick, and creamy. I stand near the stove and drink in the fragrance. The aroma of my childhood, of my growing up years that permeated the kitchen every morning and evening drives me to the solid hands of nostalgia. I promise to myself not to let this culinary tradition fade away, but to keep it alive by making tea the Indian way now and then.
Daily Dose of Shilpi 