Tea Stories

Funny how the things that bored us as kids can turn into lifelong passions. That's what happened to me with tea, Nepali tea in particular, and it started with my wonderfully eccentric Uncle Amit in our old home in Calcutta.

Back in the 90s, as a sulky teenager, I had to sit through what my uncle called "special tea time" every Sunday. My friends were out playing cricket, and I was stuck watching a grown man sniff tea leaves as if they were rare flowers. I thought it was torture.

Uncle Amit was one of a kind. His hair was always a little messy, his thick glasses kept sliding down his nose, and he had a laugh that bubbled up whenever I pulled my "this is so boring" face. His study was full of tea: canisters everywhere, little labels in his scrawly handwriting, and an old kettle he looked after better than his car.

"Beta, proper tea is like life," he'd say, while I tried not to look at my watch. "You can't rush it. You have to let it surprise you." I'd nod and think about the roadside cutting chai that actually got me up for school: sweet, milky, full of masala, and served in tiny glasses that always burned my fingers.

That changed one sticky summer afternoon in 2003. Uncle had just come back from Nepal, as excited as a kid on Christmas morning. He'd brought back a white tea from Ilam, and I still remember him almost dropping the canister because his hands were shaking.

"Close your eyes," he said, practically bouncing. I did, after the obligatory teenage eye-roll. Then the smell reached me, and I forgot about the PlayStation waiting at home. It was like the smell after rain, mixed with flowers and something sweet.

I made a mess of describing it. "Uh... it smells like... Mom's garden?" Uncle Amit laughed so hard his glasses nearly fell off. Then he told me my description was perfect. "Everyone experiences tea differently," he said, wiping his eyes. "There's no wrong answer, only your answer."

That was the moment. It wasn't some grand revelation about tea. It was my tea-mad uncle telling me it was fine to experience things my own way. After that, our Sundays were less about proper tea terms and more about spending time together. I told him about drama at school, he told me terrible tea puns (they really were bad), and we tried to outdo each other describing what we tasted.

These days my kitchen looks a lot like Uncle Amit's old study. I've become the person who makes everyone smell the leaves before they drink, and my friends think I'm a bit mad, especially when I start going on about my latest Nepali tea find. Sometimes, brewing my morning cup of Gold Black Tea, I catch myself pushing up glasses I don't wear and grinning the way he used to.

Last week I heard myself tell my nephew, "You can't rush good tea." He gave me exactly the look I used to give Uncle Amit, and I wouldn't change it for anything.

P.S. Uncle Amit still sends me tea from his travels. The last 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 tea connoisseur with roots in Calcutta, India.
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Frequently Asked Questions

What does white tea from Ilam smell and taste like?
Floral White Tea from Ilam smells of spring blossom with hints of soft rose and peach, and it tastes light, sweet, and delicate. Everyone describes it a little differently, and there's no wrong answer.

Does Nepal Hills Tea ship to Canada?
Yes. Nepal Hills Tea ships across Canada from Peterborough, Ontario, with free shipping on orders over $60 CAD. Most provinces receive orders within 3 to 7 business days.

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