A Cup of Tea

Equal quantities of water and milk. First the milk, then the water, from the same cup so that every drop of milk is washed away into the pan. As I flick the switch, the stove comes alive with a gasp. It isn't very quiet in the morning. But behind the closed glass door of the kitchen, the faint hiss of fire meeting steel is loud. Chucky walks in, rubs her face against my leg and lets me know that she is there.

It will take a few minutes. One has to wait. Those few minutes are the most unsure ones for me. I don't really know what to do. Except stare into the pan and wish the liquid to boil faster than it can. On my left, through the green tinted glass, the dusty balcony serves as a brief diversion. Two doves who reside in the adjacent building, a stray cat below that never sleeps and the super busy sparrows that dart in and out. Dead roaches on the floor from an earlier pest control episode. There is nothing great about these mornings. Through the glass, it is pale green outside.

Back to the milk and water. Impatience takes over. I chuck a spoon full of tea dust into the mix and watch the milk rise up slowly to embrace the addition. Then I start stirring the mix with a teaspoon. Purists may differ and argue that it doesn't help anything. But a lot that goes on here is just muscle memory. At some point, I deduce that the color and strength is good enough. Now pour that carefully into the strainer, into the steel mug that can hold 3 cups of tea. I pause a moment to look into the mug to appreciate my handiwork. I must be one among the top 10 best tea makers in the world. Too sad that such a qualification doesn't exist, or isn't worth mentioning.

Chucky's inquisitive stare reminds me that I haven't fed her. I do that and sit down. After the first sip of tea, there's a very subtle, barely recognizable sense of being alive. Or it could be just the hot liquid inside kicking some mucosa cells into action.

For anyone who read this till far expecting this to be funny or uplifting, I apologize.

This is my cup of tea. It has been for many months now. Chucky doesn't seem to care though. She is my constant companion through my tea ritual. As I scratch her chin with my chewed fingernails, she looks at me through half closed eyes and tells me in her language, "It's alright".