Morning Chai Dilemma
This writing captures a story about a simple daily ritual, the morning chai, and the decisions we make in unexpected situations. It intends to showcase a mix of emotions, from desire and temptation to guilt and humor, all wrapped up in the context of a morning routine. The story also reflects the human tendency to prioritize one’s desires but also the power of humor and rational thinking to overcome moments of weakness. Overall, could it be a charming and well-written narrative? You tell me :).
There is usually enough milk every morning to make two cups of masala ginger chai, one for me and one for the helper. However, unusually, there was only enough milk for one cup today. I found myself oscillating between thoughts on how to handle this situation.
I could either make one cup of tea to share, which would be a very small quantity for my body that requires a certain amount of morning chai. The evolved part of my brain did remind me to ‘let go of attachments’ , ‘desires’ and ‘cravings’. After some deep contemplation, I made up my mind. I was the only one who would be having some morning chai today.
As I prepared MY chai, I gathered the courage to ask the helper if she could forgo her chai. To my surprise, she happily replied, “Didi, don’t think too much; you have your chai. I don’t want chai today,” and she was found giggling, perhaps at my moment of weakness.
The chai was ready. I took the cup to my sacred room to savor it. She came to me and asked, “Didi, if I were ever kidnapped, and the kidnapper called you and asked you to give up chai in exchange for my freedom, would you rather attempt to set me free or keep your chai close?“
I said, “Ah, there you go,”…
Guilt starting to creep in. But before guilt could take hold, thanks to my human mind, I responded, “No, such a kidnapper doesn’t exist.” As I finished my sentence, I went back to relishing the small sips of my morning masala ginger chai.
Because, chai to my body, is like a musical instrument to my thoughts, shaping the rhythm of thoughts from which my writing takes form… much like the steady rhythmic pattern of a typewriter.