Honey, here is your Green Tea
These days of compulsory quarantine, I get some quiet time. I stare out of my window and let my mind wander. Wander it does, along with my sight. My eyes wander and rest on the cup of green tea I am holding in my left hand.
“I say let the world go to hell, but I should always have my tea.”
― Fyodor Dostoevsky, Notes from Underground
I stare at the golden liquid, let it out soft vapors that sway in the breeze and disappear. Some reach my nostrils and mix with my breath. I inhale and sigh. I cannot miss my tea.
It wasn’t always like this. Let me take you down my memory lane.
Coffee — the childhood hero
I am a South Indian. It makes me a sucker for filter coffee since my childhood. The aroma of ‘the Hindu’ newspaper’s freshly printed pages with filter coffee ( or its poor substitute, instant coffee) would titillate my young nostrils everyday morning, except when I had to run madly for my maths tuition classes, when I had to skip coffee.
“Coffee”
― Rabindranath Tagore
I remember reading the cricket news, remembering each scoreboard, including fall of wickets. Those were the days of radio and newspapers, till the television entered our drawings rooms.
I did not learn to make filter coffee. My mother moved to instant coffee because of her busy morning schedules as making of filter coffee itself is a chore. She would just boil the boil and add the ready-made coffee powder. Slowly my memories of authentic home-brewed coffee faded away, replaced by smell of instant coffee mix.
I cannot take my father away from those sceneries. He was never the talker, but a broody man. He had his own ways to show love. He brought us the ‘Konark’ black and white telly. Cricket then moved on to TV, but never broke the filter coffee- the Hindu chore of the mornings.
As I grew beyond my teens, I started to travel beyond Tamilnadu. These were the days before the coffee shops. Life took me to Kolkata, a city I hold dear to my heart. I walked or took the tram to Komala Vilas in Rashbehari Avenue, just to have my Poori-masala and of course, filter coffee. The coffee was uniquely South Indian, as I waited for the opportunity, while I had to go around the City of Joy for my studies and business.
The World of the Tea Master — the twenties
But let me go back to the twist. Things changed when I went to college. At college, I don’t recollect my taste for coffee. I may have switched to tea. I may have not. But I remember developing a taste for the local Nair tea-shop chai — a strong concoction of tea leaves with watery milk.
There is magic in the hands of a tea-master. That is how they are called. The scene breaks like this — there are a set of men, different classes — rich or poor — urbane or unkempt — standing and smoking, talking or brooding, with a cup of chai in one hand, and a lit cigarette in the other. The putrid air is filled smoke that carries thoughts, worries and plans.
As I walk in, I just look at the tea-master and say, ‘one-strong’, the master gets into the act. He flips the cream of the milk fondly, as if it is his baby, then slowly pours the milk into a paper cup or a glass. He knows that I take my tea in glass, even though paper cups are safer. There is that tacit and unspoken understanding.
He puts some sugar and filters the tea leaves through an old, shabby filter. He squeezes it for some juicy effect.
I don’t smoke. Many of my friends do. They say ‘one light’, and the person in the coffer offers one without a smile or a word. Then my friend rummages in his pocket and cannot find the lighter. Either the shop keeper or another smoker politely offer a lighter. Again, no smile, no words. A world that understands, accepts and moves on.
After lighting, he looks at the master. The master has moved on another guy. The tea is magic. The milk ( or the cream) is light, the sugar is just enough and the tea decoction is well mixed.
Well, a bit of ‘masala vada’ or a ‘biscuit’ does happen.
“For Indians, chai resolves most things, consoles for the things it can’t.”
― Piers Moore Ede
Black Coffee — The Travel Companion
Once my travel abroad began, especially to the US and Singapore, I had to look for a safe drink that helped me go through the travel and any location. Black coffee turned to be my go-to-drink. I realized that the world runs on coffee — black coffee. I love black coffee even now, but it is not my go-to drink.
It brings me to the way I see the world. There is a tea world out there and a coffee world.
Coffee, which contains caffeine is a propellent. It is viewed as a drink that makes things happen within us and us making things happen. Coffee is all action, for doers — like the soldier’s in the field. It is also a creator’s companion. It helps to deal with sleepless nights, as work or meetings turn the calendar to the next day.
“There are those who love to get dirty and fix things. They drink coffee at dawn, beer after work. And those who stay clean, just appreciate things. At breakfast they have milk and juice at night. There are those who do both, they drink tea.”
― Gary Snyder
Tea is a thinking man’s drink. It has to sipped, so that the essence of the drink percolates into us, soothing our nerves and inner being. It allows us to step back and see the day from a bit away, and then helps decide the way forward. More than coffee, tea is the smoker’s choice. I could be stereotypical here, but what I have seen, I write here.
Mellowed — Green Tea
After my international travels began, I switched to milk-less concoctions of coffee and tea. Black coffee. Green tea. Even when I developed my butterfly belly last year, I ended up switching completely to green tea. Black coffee became occasional.
I now have moved into more esoteric shops — Starbucks to Customer meetings, I insist on green tea. Green tea does not saddle my stomach, yet gives the satisfaction of having a warm drink.
I have read about the benefit of warm water with lemon and honey, but adding the tea leaves to mix gives that feeling of completeness.
My morning chore involves lemon tea with honey. The taste is slightly sweet and bitter because of the honey-lemon combination. As the hot water percolates through my throat towards my stomach, an inner zen awakens, and makes me feel more connected with the day.
Last year in February, a delegation from Srilanka visited us and gifted a packet of 80 sachets — 10 sachets of different flavors of the world famous ‘ Dilma’ brand. I loved the Earl Grey and Celyon Supreme in particular. The world of ‘green tea’ lay in front of me, with multiple choices. The packet lasted for a month.
Once you taste Dilma, you get to know that the ‘exquisite’ Indian tea leaves available locally are export rejects. Now I am looking for getting access to quality tea leaves.
When I go to my favorite joint Pantry D Or, I savor ‘Earl Grey’ or ‘Lung Chung’, a Chinese flavor. ‘Earl Grey’ is more dark and bitter, ‘Lung Chung’ is light gold and a bit bland. I prefer ‘Lung Chung’ by default.
For one cup of black coffee, I have 100 cups of green tea. Figure me out.
I am looking into the depths of my cup. My thoughts swirl like the smoke, trying to stir the proverbial storm, and therefore I write this.
So, honey, by the way, here is your green tea.
~Ashok Subramanian
