After more than five months of listening to people around me discuss their serious obsession with chai-tea lattes, I had almost reached my breaking point. My inner voice told me to calm down, so I did. It also told me to correct people when they say “tea-tea,” because “chai” literally means “tea” in Hindi. The constant usage of the word reminds me of the first time I made chai. I was 11 and sleeping like there was no tomorrow. Little did I know that there was a very eventful day ahead of me. I had just woken up, and Grandma had told me to make her some chai, unaware of the fact that I didn’t know how. Mum came to my rescue and told me to put 3 cups of water, 2 spoons of tea leaves, 3 spoons of sugar and a cup of milk in a container and boil it.
After twenty minutes of a mini treasure hunt for all the right ingredients, my chai was boiling. It would occasionally rise up because of the milk in it, and I would turn the knob down. Sometimes I would feel like it was going to bounce out of the container and burn me down to ashes, but it did not. My mum was watching my every move, my grandma was watching my mum watch my every move. My mum would tell me to stir the chai every three minutes and my grandma would order my mum to stop telling my mum what I was supposed to do. “Let the kid figure it out herself!” Grandma said and I couldn’t agree more.
Mum stopped telling me what to do once she heard what grandma had to say. I was on my own now. So I took out some ginger and cardamom, shredded the ginger and opened the cardamom and put both the ingredients in the chai.
I had heard of these two working wonders for a chai on various cooking shows and now I could smell them doing their magic. Grandma told me to add some more ingredients to make one more cup. I was too busy to question who it would be for. Five minutes later, my chai was ready.
I poured four cups of chai and on reaching the living room, realized that there were only three of us. I gave one cup to mum, another to grandma and took one for myself. I then asked mum who the fourth cup was for, but she was as clueless as me. Grandma smiled at me and said, “I noticed that you added ginger and cardamom when your mom stopped telling you what to do and that’s when I knew this chai was going to be amazing.” I was instantly happy.
This milestone is still fresh in my memory. It keeps coming back to me when I hear chai-tea latte or see someone in my dorm room boil some water for their dose of instant ramen.
Grandma’s memory lives on with me and my style of making chai.