I wasn’t shamefaced to ask for that third cup of tea in those heavy hanging two hours at my fiancées place! Well it’s always good to make a few things clear in the very beginning. I am a theic, a proud one. I don’t do drugs, or drink, but Once in a blue moon I don’t mind puffing a cigarette or two.
So she (my fiancée) made tea for me. I insisted on watching her. I watched her working patiently. As the water simmered, she poured a pinch of pulverised masala for tea. She went on telling what all it contained. “Cloves, cardamom, dried ginger, nutmeg and cinnamon. Isn’t it mouth watering?” I kept silent, because I did not want to preassume the taste. She poured the tea in one of those “kulhad” cups that I adored!
I slurped the perfectly balanced drink. The creamy, hot tea swirled with my tongue, refreshing my taste buds all over again. The steam out of the cup made patterns in front of my eyes. A dark forest as if I had entered. The darkest hour of night and the brightest twilight, the owls howling and flying directionless, the mist spreading across the rivulet flowing somewhere near or far. I was drowning in the cup, I was trippy. I did not want it to be over..I wanted to delve deeper into that forest. I drank it to the lees, looked into her eyes with the utmost admiration, kissed her pretty hands, and I was not shamefaced to ask again….
Can I have another cup, please?