Man, isn't it funny how the things that used to drive us crazy as kids end up becoming our favorite obsessions? That's my story with tea – specifically Nepali tea – and it all started with my adorably weird Uncle Amit back in our old Calcutta home.
Let me rewind to the 90s. Picture this: me, a snarky teenager, forced to sit through what my uncle called "special tea time" every Sunday. I mean, come on! While my friends were out playing cricket, I was stuck watching a grown man sniff tea leaves like they were some kind of precious flowers. Talk about teenage torture, right?
Uncle Amit was something else. Hair always slightly messy, those thick glasses constantly sliding down his nose, and this infectious laugh that would bubble up whenever I made my "this is so boring" face. His study looked like a tea bomb had exploded – canisters everywhere, little labels with his messy handwriting, and this ancient kettle he treated better than his car.
"Beta, proper tea is like life," he'd say, while I tried not to obviously check my watch. "You can't rush it. You have to let it surprise you." Back then, I'd just nod and dream about the street-side cutting chai that actually woke me up for school. You know the type – sweet, milky, masala-loaded, served in those tiny glass cups that always burned your fingers?
But everything changed that sweaty summer afternoon in 2003. Uncle had just come back from Nepal, and oh boy, was he excited! Like, kid-on-Christmas-morning excited. He'd brought back this white tea from Ilam, and I still remember him nearly dropping the canister because his hands were shaking with excitement.
"Close your eyes," he insisted, practically bouncing on his feet. I did, but not without the mandatory teenage eye-roll first. That's when it hit me – this aroma that made me forget about my PlayStation waiting at home. It smelled like... well, you know that fresh smell after rain? Mix that with flowers and something sweet, and you're getting close.
The funny thing is, I totally messed up my first attempt at describing it. "Uh... it smells like... mom's garden?" Uncle Amit laughed so hard his glasses almost fell off, but then he did something cool – he said my description was perfect. "Everyone experiences tea differently," he said, wiping tears of laughter. "There's no wrong answer, only your answer."
That was the moment, right there. Not some fancy tea epiphany, but my tea-obsessed uncle telling me it was okay to experience things my own way. After that, our Sunday sessions became less about proper tea terminology and more about just... hanging out. Me, sharing my school drama, him telling horrible tea puns (seriously, they were BAD), both of us trying to one-up each other in describing what we tasted.
These days, my own kitchen looks embarrassingly like Uncle Amit's old study. And yes, I've become that person who makes everyone smell the tea leaves before drinking. My friends think I'm nuts – especially when I start gushing about my latest Nepali tea discovery. But sometimes, when I'm brewing my morning cup of Golden Tips Tea, I catch myself adjusting imaginary glasses and grinning just like Uncle Amit used to.
The best part? Last week, I caught myself telling my nephew, "You can't rush good tea." The look he gave me? Exactly the same one I used to give Uncle Amit. And you know what? I wouldn't have it any other way.
P.S. - Uncle Amit still sends me tea from his travels. His latest package came with a note: "Still using that barbaric electric kettle, beta?" Some things never change!
Guest Writer:
Rahil Purkait
Rahil is an Engineer, Musician and a Tea Connoisseur with roots in Calcutta, India.
