Chai and Biscuits

I am having some chai. No biscuits, I had only three left in the packet and I took them to work as a snack. But chai is fine by itself too.

I drink my chai in a small, hand-painted, bone-china cup. It is a white cup, about three inches high, with a dark blue border around the rim and base, and delicate red tulips and sweeping green leaves painted on it.

My father bought me a set of 6 of these cups from India, and they're all so pretty and unique. One of them got chipped while my in-laws were here (someone must have mishandled it in the sink). I was rather unhappy about it.

I like the concept of sitting down each evening to have some chai. It naturally forces a relaxed conversation, something we probably don't indulge in enough in this day and age - the time to sit down and chat about things at leisure isn't something that's readily available, I guess.

I think my most favorite part of the day while growing up was when my dad came home from work at seven 'o' clock each evening, and would sit down with his chai and namkeen at the dining room table. Sometimes we'd snack in front of the TV, or in the kitchen, but mostly on the dinner table.

We'd chat about the news of the day, discuss plans for the evening or weekend, and collectively sigh about my mother's latest tantrums (when she joined us, naturally that did not enter the conversation).

I remember how I sat, usually in my PJs, with one leg folded under me at our mahogany table that can seat 12. The surface was covered with a transparent plastic sheet, to protect the beautiful panels from my regular knock-downs of glasses of water. I would rub away at the plastic and make squeaky noises.

My father would have two bowls - one for the nuts, one for the shells. He would crack open the pistachios and give them to me, fish around for the cashew nuts because he knows those are my favorite.

If I had showered before he came home, he would look at me and say with a laugh, Aray wah, aaj mooh dhoya hai, lag raha hai jaise chand nikal aaya. I would roll my eyes each time, but I suppose I did get very dirty in school.

I loved doing that with my father growing up, and I love doing it when I go back home even now, only now it's the kitchen table that we sit around and I crack open the nuts for him.

I love to offer him his chai each evening as he wakes up from his afternoon siesta, and creating the excuse to sit down and chat about all the random things in the world.

Simple and silly as it sounds, chai brings people together. I liked doing it when my in-laws were here, it helped melt away the initial ice and make us comfortable.

Sarwar doesn't drink chai, or anything that's caffeinated - it makes him twitch all night, but that's fine, because we sit down and talk each evening anyway.

But there's something about the conversation that results from a good cuppa, that nothing can replace. I suppose it may be all the more special to me because it's something I associate with my father, and I think it has become pretty obvious by now that there's nothing in this world than I love more than my Dad :)