As far as I remember I was twelve years old when my mom taught me how to make tea. The sole purpose of teaching me this complicated recipe of boiling the water for a certain period of time, measuring the tea leaves accurately, adding the right amount of ginger or green cardamoms---all seemed geared to making me independent in making my own cup of tea whenever I would feel like it. Yes, I was drinking at least four cups of tea from the time I was 12! Bad parenting, I say!:)
The morning started with my dad making tea for me and then hurrying off to the local bazaar before all the fresh vegetables and fruits would disappear. The next two cups would be consumed after I came from school and finally one last cup with my mom before she retired for the night and I went back to finishing homework. Even today, more than the cups of cardamom-infused tea, I remember the conversations that flowed with it. Tea almost acted as a lubricant, clearing way for me and mom to communicate. Perhaps it also gave her a rushed guideed tour through the hours of my life which at the time was surrounded by friends, sports, gossip, fashion concerns and efforts toward having the perfect skin. My monosyllabic answers to all my mom's questions gave way at night when we relaxed on the couch holding our individual cups of this wonderfuly warm liquid in our palms. The inhibitions just melted away. Tea just made me and my mom friends for an hour each day. It was a precious hour for her and a relief for me in many ways. No more hiding, no more judgments, just plain and simple conversation. No holding back, no bars.
Today as I sit in my house, thousands of miles away from home, and drink my steaming cup of coffee( I drink tea only when I go back home to India), I often fondly smile as the memories of Ma and those many cups of Cha, flood my thoughts.
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