Kymaia and tea.

At Prabhat Tea House, 2022.

Ever since Kym turned 4, I think, she’s been wanting a sip of tea from mine. She doesn’t like it much, I suspect. But it gives her a feeling of being grown up. So, I used to let her have a sip once in a while. Lately, however, she’s developed a taste for the ‘Amrutatulya‘ variety of tea.

For the uninitiated, Pune has thousands of small tea-sellers called ‘Amrutatulyas‘, which means ‘A drink equivalent to the one that bestows immortality on the drinker’ (which is what tea should be called, to be honest): A = non/opposite of, mrut/mrit/mrt = death/mortality, tulya = balanced scales/equal/equivalent.

So, whenever we ride nowadays, especially in the early mornings, she gets up early and we make our way to my favourite Amrutatulya, the Prabhat Tea House in Appa Balwant Chowk, where we both sit, me with my full glass and she, with a half glass of piping hot, strong, spiced (ginger and cardamom mainly), sugary, milky (but red, not white-coloured) tea in the early calm of dawn, savouring the smell and the warm sensation of the steam as it rises from the rim of the glass and singes the philtrum (the area between the nose and the lips) when it is raised to the lips, before the day starts. Before the traffic hits you. Before the sounds and smells of humans milling about like ants assault your senses. Like soldiers savouring the deceptive but palpable calm before the guns open up, simply sipping our respective tea, staring into space silently, but acknowledging each others’ presence. It’s beautiful in a very meditative way, like we are having a conversation, but without speaking to each other.

I think of my day ahead, thanking my luck and circumstance for everything good till now (most of which includes Kymaia, but also my parents, my profession, my books, my relationships, my travels, my friends, my bike, and whatever little skill and talent I have stumbled upon), and wishing for an interesting life from what’s left. I wonder what she thinks of.