Life Lessons and a Cup of Tea

Years have gone by since my father passed away. Of the many memories that I treasure of him, there is one that rises today from the warmth of the teacup in front of me. As I gaze at it, I am transported back in time to the home where I grew up.

Teatime was ‘together’ time in our home with my parents and siblings. On weekends my father insisted on making the evening tea for everyone. The kitchen came to life with his energy and enthusiasm. He would fill the electric kettle with water and then turn it on. Waiting for the water to boil, he would take the tray from the lowest drawer and place it on the countertop. He and I would open the glass cabinet and out would come the pink floral tea set that comprised of a teapot, a milk pot, a sugar pot. There were cups and saucers with the same pattern that waited each weekend for their outing from the cabinet.  I would bring the teaspoons out, lay them in the tray and then arrange the biscuits and savoury snacks in two serving bowls.

With the water in the kettle about boil, father would pour one-third cup of hot water in the tea pot and gently swirl the teapot to give it a warm rinse before tossing the water in the kitchen sink. The milk would be heated and put in the milk pot. Then father would take out two tea containers from the shelf above the counter. He put a teaspoon of Lipton Green and half a teaspoon of Brooke Bond Red in the tea pot. Over time I had learnt from him that the long, thin, swirling leaves of Lipton Green gave the fresh flavour to the tea and the very, very tiny black tea leaves of Brooke Bond Red gave the tea its colour and strength. The beep of the kettle signalled that the water had boiled. Father poured the boiling water into the teapot, put on the lid and then from the hook on the wall, he took the Kashmiri embroidered tea cosy and covered the tea pot to keep the tea hot.

While father carried the tea tray to the drawing room, I followed him with the snack bowls. The living room was known as the drawing room in those days. This was my mother’s time to relax, and seeing us, she would put away the magazine she had been reading and wait expectantly. Father smiled, gave two minutes for the tea to brew, removed the tea cosy, stirred the tea with a tea spoon and then poured the tea in the cups. Then went in two teaspoons of milk and one teaspoon of sugar. Father stirred the tea and offered the fresh cup of tea to my mother. My siblings and I nibbled at the snacks and got ready to partake in the conversation. Over a cup of tea, the conversations were ordinary and yet felt extraordinary and memorable. There was the sense of togetherness, warmth and happiness and in the moment nothing else mattered. This was family.

The cell phone rings loudly and breaks my reverie. I find myself back in the present. The realization dawns on me today that the time in the kitchen on weekends with my father was not only about learning how to make a good cup of tea, but it was also about learning life lessons, such as:

• Whatever you do in life, big or small, have a clear sense of purpose
• Bring process and precision to the task
• Pay attention to the minute details
• Make work fun
• Engage people
• Believe in gender equity
• Let your actions show you care
• Life is too short: spend quality time with family

Today is my father’s birthday. He would have turned 96. The life lessons I learnt from him continue to define my identity and guide my actions.