Tea

It was an excruciating day. I stopped at a nearby tea stall to drink a warm cup of cinnamon tea.

The tea would alleviate my stress and help me cope with the challenges that life was hurling at me.

I nestled the cup between my palms, letting the warmth radiate through my skin.

I let the vapour settle on my face and took in the intoxicating aroma of cinnamon. 

It was quite heady and strong. I sat on a rickety metal chair closely observing my surroundings.

The walls were covered with worn down posters of retro heroes. 

The paint was peeling off along the edges. 

The sound of samosas crackling in oil reminded me that I was ravenous.  

The place was clogged with people. Smoke clouded my vision. I could hear the sound of milk packets being opened.

The boiler was squeaky clean and was chugging away tea-infused aroma.

The tiles on the floor had so many scratches that I could see the hard concrete below.

The chatter of people filled the room.

What was it that people were chasing in posh coffee shops? 

Was it the price tag of exorbitance that they could exhibit in front of their peers or the fact that these shops used excellent marketing techniques to lure customers ? 

Or was it the free wifi that they offered?

What is the ado about a cup of tea ? 

All it needs is some milk, some tea leaves and sugar.No.

It is more than just brewing these three ingredients together. It has to be perfect and at the right temperature.

Not too sweet that it will give you diabetes or not so bitter that it feels like medicine. Tepid that you can feel the taste evoking your tastebuds. 

Not cold that it is lost in a gulp. 

For a lot of times in life, we have been told to toil, give it our best and surpass expectations. Every single time. For all the effort that didn't fructify, we have a satisfactory cushion to land back on that praises us for merely trying.

More often than not, we are lost in the trap of surreal truths that we are forced to accept just because it looks appealing. We don't judge the item by the innate quality that it is supposed to carry, but who advocates it and how it should be perceived. This game has perplexed me. The tea I was drinking that day was a miracle. It helped me clear my thoughts, gave me some perspective and valued my money. It satisfied my tongue, didn't overload my stomach. Can one cup of tea really do so much? Apparently, it can. The taste lingered in the mouth for a long time.

I didn't have to make small talk, listen to cliche music, order poor imitations of exotic snacks and peer into my phone. Swipe my card for a cup of tea and crib about it not having the same taste I had conjured in my mind.

After all, we judge a cup of tea by the cup it comes in and the ambience it is surrounded by.

I failed to understand how a perfectly brewed tea as this was lost in the crowd.

Was it because it failed to reach the hearts of those who judged based on its nativity? Was it because it was not enamoured by the elite?
Or was it because the mouths that were to heap praises on this humble brew were mutely mesmerized, that their lips sealed in quiet embarrassment to support their florid counterparts?

Ironically the tea that gloats in the mound of glory is not the hero of the story I was imbibed to believe in.