Failing at every attempt, here is how I finally brew my perfect cup of Chai

Chai. Tea. Kahwa. Sulaimani. Cutting Chai. Chai-Tea. Tea in any form has been my weakness. It runs in my blood and also through the veins of India.?If there is one aroma that hyper activates all my senses is a cup of tea brewing nearby.?

I get the nose of a blood hound and the concoction of tea leaves, lemon grass, ginger, elaichi, sugar creates a symphony in my head that I can’t just seem to let go of.?

But for some godforsaken reason, I could never brew a cup of perfect Chai myself. It is my liquid luck, the engine to my wheel and people who know me well know how dearly I love my cup of tea.?

There happens to be a friend who mastered the art of making tea. If I know a Chai chef, that would be her. Watching her prepare a cup of tea was a performance in itself.?

She flipped over a wide sauce pan, poured full fat milk into it, religiously grinded a generous amount of ginger into the mortar and pastel and put the milk to simmer on a low flame. As the milk started bubbling, she slid the ginger paste in. After letting it cook for almost a minute or two, she crushed five cardamoms and let the ingredients talk to each other for a while, letting each condiment take its place. She stirred the mixture ever so slightly.?

After five minutes of religious monitoring, there it was-the perfect cup of Chai.?

‘How are you able to get it right every time? I can’t even ace it once’, I said, fed up one day after how good the tea tasted.?

‘Preparing a cup of tea is how I show love to myself. It is therapeutic for me. My way of slowing down,’ she said.?

‘Can you teach me?’?

And then my friend gave me an elaborate recipe. Being a religious note taker, I started rigorously jotting down every portion, every step involved in the ceremony of tea making. I decided I will ace it this time, by hook or by crook. Afterall, it was just water, milk and some spices. I had to get it right.?

So, I set off to prepare tea, measuring every cup of water and carefully pouring the milk into a similar sauce pan. I let the milk simmer, added a dollop of crushed ginger with cardamom powder and let it boil. While I was stirring the mixture, I did not leave the tea pan out of my sight.?

As if to protest against me for staring at it, the tea took much longer to boil. When it finally did, the color turned out to be closer to dark brown.?

‘Ah this can’t be good,’ I sighed.?

And I was right. The tea tasted like a beverage served in hell. I grimaced and spat it out.?

Another day, another chance. Let’s go.?

I was more determined than ever. Maybe the milk was bad, so I bought a fresh batch. I asked the shopkeeper to bring me organic ginger. I even decided to add lemon grass leaves this time. I cleaned the teapot ferociously.?

I fired up the flame and pulled up the teapot. The lemon grass leaves, grinded ginger and cardamom danced around the utensil. The milk seemed to be joining the chorus. I watched the teapot with eyes so still they were barely blinking. My heart jumped when I saw the color of my tea- a breathtakingly beautiful tan.?

I ran to the balcony to sit and enjoy the view with my gorgeous looking tea. As soon as the first sip settled on my tongue, I closed my eyes; this time in pure agony. A tea so bland that my face fell. I had forgotten to add sugar. I internally screamed.?

Why is it that I am not able to brew a perfect cup of tea? It’s the simplest of all recipes, yet I was unable to wrap my head around how I am failing every time. The recipe was right, the ingredients perfect, the fire subtle with ginger and cardamom grinded impeccably. What was I falling short of?

And then one day, I had my answer.?

It was a brutally hectic day at work. I wanted to throw my laptop at the wall and was hoping it doesn’t survive. My calves were aching and my back was killing me. I cursed my blossoming youth under my breath. I reached for my phone, ready to order a cup of tea from my favorite chai restaurant. Then something stopped me.?

I marched into to the kitchen, blew open the gas flame and put water, milk and tea leaves with a careless abandon. I took a knife and pressed it on a slice of ginger and didn’t mince the cardamom. I threw the blob of ginger and cardamom together and walked away from the stove. As I saw the milk bubbling, I poured a dash of jaggery into it. Mixed it together frivolously and strained the tea.

This time, I didn’t care what it tasted like. I simply wanted a cup of tea. Whether it be good or bad, I didn’t give a squat about it.?

And my eyes widened. There it was. My perfect cup of Chai. Just when I stopped forcing. Just when I simply stopped trying so hard.?

My mother always told me; good cooking is always intuitive. You can learn recipes from the greatest cooks and try to mimic them the best you can but even a simple cup of tea tastes different when it changes hands, styles and borders.?

The key is to let go, walk away for a bit and trust that the tea you are brewing is ultimately going to be okay.?

So, chai anyone??