Tea time

The dreaded illness had taken over her mother’s existence not once but twice. The first time, her relatively stronger matriarch took it in her stride and battled it fiercely. A decade later the illness struck again, this time on a much frailer woman. And this evening, Roli and her father were the only ones left in the physical realm of life.

The last few months had been a crash course on living independently, from learning how to cook rice, to managing house bills as her parents rushed to the hospital every other week. But she hadn’t tried making tea, she was afraid she would become truly independent if she learnt that.

It was almost time to sleep, but a feeling kept the 20-year-old awake. Her father sensed her restlessness and asked, “It feels incomplete, isn’t it?” Roli burst into tears as the reality truly sunk in.

After what seemed like endless tears, Roli’s father nudged her up. “Come with me to the kitchen,” he said.

The father and daughter stooped over the stove, letting the water and two spoons of sugar heat up. Just as it began to boil, he sprinkled the Darjeeling tea leaves and switched the knob off, letting it simmer on its own for a bit. In a few seconds, the familiar whiff of the tea Roli’s mother made tingled their senses. A sense of happiness surged through them both as they were transported back to the time when she was around them, fussing and feeding them.

Late into the night, the duo sat and sipped their cups of tea, feeling just a little bit at home.