Wednesday, July 22, 2009


Drinking tea has a soft chime, a hung moment attached to it. The rhythm of spoon stirring sugar in the tea, and the delicate ping of cup against the saucer. The aroma, the ritual, the sip. Tea times. The ceremony of afternoon tea…the hiss of the steam rising from the kettle snout…the clink of the teaspoon when you place it gently on the saucer.

The soft music of stirring ; the mating of a delicate china and silver.
Those afternoons of desire…temptation…surrender…
Tea when you are sad. Tea when you are happy. Tea when everything fails. Tea when there is something to celebrate. Tea to warm a poor and grieving heart. Tea to warm a shivering, wretched body. To soothe the soul and calm the mind.
Tea, just. Just, a cup of tea.
Nothing matches the fragrance, the look and the delicate amber colour of tea. It is fragile, chic and invigorating. Magic.
However, you must make tea with lot of care and attention.
With elaborate and delicate handling of the ingredients . Everything must be done with a certain grace. The way the tea leaves are spooned, the way you touch the pot, the way you stir sugar. Softly, caressingly.
Like an expert lover would make love.

In some homes I have seen people put, milk, sugar and tea leaves together and boil it, till it acquires the dark beige colour.

Tea is murdered when you boil it in water. To make it the right way, spoon the tea leaves in a pot and let the hot water pour gently over the leaves. Close it securely with a lid and a tea pot cover to allow the subtle flavor and fragrance to release slowly. After five minutes take off the cover and pour the ambrosia in a lovely, delicate cup and add milk and sugar, or go without one or both, according to your preference and taste. Inhale the aroma first and then take that first enlivening sip, without slurping noisily.
Tea commands veneration.

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