The tea-coffee conundrum/thinking in grey.
I have always been secretly envious of people who can think in black and white. Cats or dogs?Mountains or the beach? Summer or winter? When facing a decision, whether simple or lifechanging, pat comes the reply — and they have the pet they need or booked the vacation of choice. I, on the other hand, am a grey thinker, the kind who looks for a loophole, the kind that wants it all, or sometimes wants neither.
Flighty behavior like this is particularly cumbersome in an Indian household. It is customary to be asked a beverage choice when you enter one. Your answer depends on a number of factors, the time of day, how hot it is outside, and how long you intend to stay. It’s easy if it’s a particularly hot afternoon — you can pick between water, juice, buttermilk, or a “cold drink”. But on a regular day in Bangalore, when the weather is perfect, the sticky dilemma is to choose between a bitter-sweet filter coffee or a soothing cup of sweet milk Masala Tea.
My parents caught my beverage bewilderment early and somehow stuck me into their personal coffee-in-the-morning, tea-in-the-evening routine for a few years. And out of this grew my own personal ritual while in college, and at work.
Indian filter coffee has it’s unique method of preparation. The device made of stainless steel, uses two cylindrical compartments, one placed on top of the other, and a separate disc with a stem handle, and a lid. The desired amount of coffee powder is poured into the upper compartment, which has tiny holes on the bottom, the disc is placed on top of this, and hot water is poured ontop of this. It takes about twenty minutes for this potent decoction to drip into the lower compartment, which is then mixed with milk and sugar. My mother would take extra care to make sure my cup had extra sugar in it. It was this divine fragrance that my family would wake up to every morning, with the everyone’s daily news, conversations, and plans. My evening ritual however, became a more personal one. I’d pull out my grandfather's ancient cloth easy chair, play old Hindi songs, and watch the sunset over the city from our twelfth-floor balcony, while the breeze cooled down my blue mug of Lipton’s finest honey lemon tea.
Morning coffee and evening tea. Monochrome events in a day full of grey choices. Rituals that can be performed anywhere in the world. Or so i thought
New York and new choices. I spent my first few weeks deciphering the types of coffee you get at Starbucks and Joe’s, trying to find my personal favorites. Mocha. Espresso. Cappuccino. I’ve tried and rejected them all. New Yorkers are grumpy without their morning cuppa, but I was definitely extra grumpy with mine. Tea was all wrong too. The single large window in my tiny 16th-floor room gave me a perfect view of the rising sun but was no use to my evening ritual.
Nothing was right, or perhaps nothing can be right when you’re a little homesick.
I had to find a loophole, and I ordered a perfect, little, steel, coffee filter for my caffeine fix. It sat there for a few days before I allowed myself to use it. Maybe you make a choice, by...making the choice. I wake up, lovingly make myself a hot cup of perfection, pull up the blinds, and welcome the sun for a new day.
In a reversal of sorts, I find my evening ritual turned into a more public affair. My heart is drenched in Maharaja-and-Samurai blended tea from Teavana with a dash of ginger, steeped to perfection. Not by myself on a breezy balcony, but in the stuffy basement communal area, of my dorm building, with about 30 other students doing their work, chattering away, or simply plonked on the couch in front of the TV, general merriment in the air et al.
Morning coffee and evening tea. Monochrome events in a day full of grey choices.
Perhaps the key to settling into a new place is just concocting new rituals.