Tea and Love

From matka chai in Kolkata to quiet afternoons in Singapore, every cup tells a story.

Let me begin by saying that the title of this post sounds a bit corny — Tea and Love. Couldn’t I have come up with something more creative, more original?Guilty as charged. But honestly, I couldn’t think of a better connection.

I hail from the South of India, where filter coffee has been a staple in most households.But life had other plans — I’ve lived in many cities, learning to assimilate, to blend in, to belong in my own quiet way.

My early schooling years were in Kolkata, and that is where my first memories of tea took shape.Who can forget the ginger tea in matkas or kulhars by the Victoria Memorial?

That taste, that moment, that fragrance — they’ve stayed with me forever.Even now, when I feel tangled up, my nerves frayed, my mind buzzing with a million neurons firing all at once — I go back there.To that cup.To that peace.To that small sanctuary of stillness that only tea, and maybe love, can offer.

Over the years, my relationship with tea has grown like a well-tended friendship — familiar, forgiving, and full of discovery.

I like tea in any form — milk, unapologetically Indian, messy, bubbling over with ginger, lemongrass, cardamom, and sometimes a dash of saffron or a sprinkle of dried tea tree herb when I want to luxuriate and feel loved up. I like my tea black and mellow, green and sage, orange or any-hued.

There’s something about tea steeping in a cup — that quiet swirl of colour and scent — it’s the perfect setting for stories to be shared, for friendships to be forged, and for relationships to be nurtured.

Let’s now do the Tea Cha Cha — let me break it down.Whether it’s chai or chaya in India, matcha in Japan, or Earl Grey in London, there’s something comforting about holding a cup between your palms and feeling its radiating warmth.

Life, as it often does, brewed a new chapter in Singapore, where I lived for a few years.I had just had my son then, and my dad stayed with me for a while — a quiet anchor, as always. Our afternoon tea at four became a ritual I looked forward to. The window in my kitchen opened out into the Singapore airspace, and I loved standing there, watching aircrafts land and take off with a cuppa in my hand.

It felt as though dreams were taking flight — each plane a small reminder that life was moving, expanding. Maybe the kernel of an idea to build my own brand was born right there, over a cup of tea.

And more recently, just a few months back, Dad had taken it upon himself to make the afternoon tea. It was infused with so much love and enthusiasm that every sip felt like a blessing — manna for a tired and weary soul.He had found his perfect tea groove, and it was pitch perfect.

Now, whenever I sip my tea and inhale its aroma, I know Dad is around — smiling, saying cheers.His quiet, silent presence remains the gravitational force that keeps me tethered, grounded, and motivated to become a better person — to build the best brand I possibly can.

I write to sometimes escape the quotidian life. I am a tea heretic, and what I say about tea being a concoction of aromas might be sacrilege to the purists who walk the straight and narrow. But to me, tea is a promise — of something better, undefined and floating.A bridge to mend and strengthen, and always, always bursting with love.