The perfect cup of tea
We have three stainless steel jugs at home. The smallest holds a cup of tea, the medium two, and the largest, three. I always use the biggest. Three tablespoons of tea leaves, boiling water up to an inch below the rim. Cover and let it sit for ten minutes. Add six spoons of sugar. Milk until it’s the right shade of brown. This isn’t how you make the perfect cup of tea. The tea is too strong (“Kahata wadi,” Amma would way, wincing at the bitter taste.) When Athamma was alive, she would add more sugar to it. It doesn’t taste good and I know it. But it’s the cup of tea I make. A cup of tea means a few things in life. In the morning, it helps me wake up. It makes me feel relaxed and helps me to shrug off the usual feelings of dread that accompany the act of waking up. In the evening, it’s a nice way to take a break from work or life in general. Sometimes, it would mean going back to my childhood by dipping Marie biscuits in hot tea. A few years ago, tea meant a break during work. At