Would you like an adventure or shall we have tea first?

A friend of mine recently alerted me that it was World Tea Day on May 21. As the hand that held the teacup shook, I slowly realized that it was a rather sensible thing to do. It is a befitting ode to the cup that most of us cannot do without. I for one, grew up around a mother, who at 3 pm every day, as the sun slid through the curtains, warned us of the potential headache that she was going to have if she did not have her tea. There was no visible threat that stopped her from having tea while at home, but if we were on the road, travelling or running an errand or visiting the doctor, we knew finding a cup of tea for her was central to our well-being.

As children, we were given weak tea, children’s tea, which meant, more milk and more sugar. Tea was the mask. Milk was the real McCoy. Tea rescued mothers from the worry of how to feed milk to finicky children. Lactose intolerance was then unheard of, and we were raised on milk and some more milk, the high point being entering the milk kiosk near Edapally for a cool bottle of flavoured milk. Long before Oreo made cookie-dipping-in-milk a thing, we dipped Parle-G biscuits in tea, post-school. If you have not spooned up the sodden biscuit from the bottom of the cup, we cannot be friends. We were taught as children to leave a sip of tea in the cup, no bottoms up, and thus began our early lessons in “class” and behavioural propriety.

Getting tea in teacups was charming; one was transported to the Wonderland where Alice had gone to the tea party and it all unravelled. If Alice thought her tea party was the silliest, then it took a serious tea party in Boston (1773) to make a clarion call for democracy with the pithy adage of no taxation without representation. This, by dumping nearly 46 tons of tea of the British East India Company into the harbor waters, the protesters often beating the chests to let them sink. History is silent whether there was a tea party underwater.

Cut to adulthood, and a morning tea cup is a companion. It travels with me everywhere after a sip of it-- to the balcony where my plants are fighting for their lives in the Delhi summer, to the front door to get my newspaper, to the kitchen where I will plan my meals and finally rest near my laptop like a poodle. The tea has turned cold, but the sight of my tea cup and its familiar contours signal the comfort of the routine to my brain. Then there is a second cup with a paratha or a dosa. Then a third, during the morning meeting. Then a post lunch black tea, but if it is Biryani, a Sulaimani on the side is a must. Then the mandatory evening chai to reset the system. If you returned from office and nobody asked you for tea, you knew something was amiss. Tea was a signal.

In the bureaucratic set up where I work, tea is a staple, especially green tea, that is supposed to remove free radicals and detox the system. There is something to be said for the stolidity of being presented a tea caddy with an assortment of teas, green, black, oolong and enhanced with flavours-- lemon, Bergamot, jasmine, mint and tulsi, while you wait for discussions. Between the cup and the lip, no proposal is lost, no signature missed. And let us not forget that it is on chai that the Prime Minister has built his charcha, not coffee, not water.

My first foray into an exclusive tea shop was at Cottonpet in Bengaluru. The Tribunal office, where I worked then, was located nearby and I would often stroll around, after court, exploring the sights and smells. You got specific blends and I learnt about ratios and that different tea could be mixed, to get the right colour, strength, intensity and flavour. Till date, tea blending is a favourite pastime, yellow label and red label, leaf with dust, dust with leaf, with a smattering of cinnamon, rose petals, cardamom and cloves for sharpness. If it is winter, a knob of ginger or a blade of bruised lemon grass.

But it took Oxford to show me that tea could be a generic term for anything steeped in hot water to release flavonoids-crisp brown filter paper sachets of chamomile, rose and Egyptian jasmine, that one faithfully steeped in glass tea pots to keep company during those long, damp days of studenthood. One to help sleep (with chilled tea bags perched atop shut eyes to remove the dark circles), another to calm the nerves. Speaking of rose, tea leaves are an excellent fertilizer for them, the tannic acid acting to neutralize the PH value of the soil.

In contrast, the previous university I read in-- JNU, is famous for the sticky, milky, sugary tea of Ganga dhaba, served in chipped cups and saucers, with a stray dog faithfully stretching near you. If you left a little in the cup, it was sure that the animal would lick it clean. It was a rare socialism that was practiced there, where all drank from the same tea cup, lovers, dogs, comrades all. Storms and revolutions could be raised in tea cups after all.

It is 42 degrees in Delhi now. My black tea is brewed in a pot. There is a shower of ice and a few sprigs of mint. Honey is poured into the amber brew and as the glass sweats, an iced tea presents a promise of freshness. Yes, tea can blow hot and blow cold. In a kulhad, in fine china, poured over boba pearls, served with condensed milk like in your Thai tea, or with butter like in Tibet, tea breaks the ice, bonds, and breathes comfort. So why not celebrate it on May 21?