Sweet Chai O' Mine

A Love Letter to Chai—Before the West Drowned It in Syrup

I was barely a few hours old when the scent of chai wove itself into my existence. My father walked into the maternity ward, catching his first glimpse of his newborn daughter—cradling a steaming cup of chai from the tiny restaurant beside the hospital. He probably didn’t think much of it, but that simple act sealed chai into my family’s story forever.

Growing up, the rhythm of my household was set to the clinking of cups at precisely 6 AM and again at 4 PM. My parents' chai-drinking wasn’t just a routine; it was a ritual. I'll spare you the details of the additional cups they consume on account of their social drinking (chai, of course) and other justified excuses. We’ll get to that later.

Now, I don’t even drink tea myself, but I can’t imagine a life without its presence. So, let’s steep ourselves in this tale—a journey through chai’s origins, its role as a social glue, the many varieties it takes, and, of course, how the West annexed it and drowned it in syrup.

I’m Sarah—someone standing at the edge of university life, with a camera, some scraps of inspiration, and a head full of stories. If you're into design, writing, or figuring things out as you go, I’d love your company (and your feedback!) on this unfolding journey.

The Birth of Chai

Long before chai became the beloved drink it is today, it began as an ancient Indian remedy. More than 5,000 years ago, this concoction was brewed purely from spices—ginger, black pepper, cloves, cardamom—each carefully selected for their healing properties. Ayurveda, India’s traditional system of medicine, embraced this spice-infused drink as a cure-all, a warm elixir meant to soothe ailments and lift spirits.

And then came the British.

In the 19th century, determined to break China’s monopoly on tea production, they established vast plantations in Assam and Darjeeling. Soon, tea leaves found their way into India’s spiced infusions, transforming medicinal brews into the milky, sugary tea we recognize today. The British aggressively promoted tea through strategic marketing—introducing tea breaks for laborers and supporting independent chai vendors along the expanding railway network, making it the drink of the working class.

Yet, as with many colonial influences, while they may have introduced it, India made it its own.

The Social Glue

In India, chai is more than just a drink—it’s the pulse of daily life. It wakes up households, fuels conversations, and smooths over social friction like nothing else. Every morning, the aroma of chai drifts through kitchens, accompanying biscuits or rusk, while in the evenings, it signals a well-earned pause from the day’s hustle.

But chai’s true magic unfolds on the streets. Chaiwalas—humble roadside vendors—brew their kettles to perfection, serving steaming cups to anyone and everyone. Businessmen, students, laborers, philosophers, and dreamers congregate around these stalls, exchanging ideas, gossip, and friendly arguments, all punctuated by the clinking of tiny glasses.

Chai has brokered peace in family feuds, sealed business deals, and finalized wedding arrangements. Political debates are fueled by it, and life decisions often seem incomplete without it. In a country as diverse as India, where differences in class, caste, and language could easily divide, chai unites.

A millionaire and a rickshaw driver might never sit at the same dinner table, but they’ll sip the same chai from the same roadside stall, both warming their hands around identical glasses.

If diplomacy ever needed a secret weapon, it wouldn’t be forged in steel—it would simmer gently in a battered aluminum pot.

A Cup for Every Taste

Chai isn’t just one thing; it’s a spectrum of flavors that stretch across the subcontinent. The robust masala chai, infused with warming spices, is the most famous, but it’s just the beginning.

In Kashmir, they sip delicate, saffron-tinted Kahwa, garnished with almonds. Mumbai’s fast-paced commuters swear by cutting chai—strong, sweet, and served in half-glass portions. The pink Noon Chai, brewed with salt and baking soda, is a sight to behold, while Kerala’s Sulaimani Chai—black tea kissed with lemon—is a digestive delight.

Each region boasts its own take on chai, and with every sip, you’re drinking a bit of its history and culture.

A photograph that I took with chai in a traditional clay cup (Kulhad).

Before and After Tea Bags

There was a time when making chai was an art. Loose-leaf tea was carefully measured, spices were crushed fresh, and the slow simmering allowed flavors to meld beautifully. A teapot wasn’t just a vessel; it was cradled in cozies, keeping its brew warm and ready for the next pour. These intricately embroidered, crocheted, or patterned tea cozies were truly an art form worthy of their own dedicated discussion.

And then came tea bags.

Convenient, sure. But also a tragedy.

The essence of chai—its aroma, its depth, its ritual—was compressed into tiny pouches filled with tea dust. Fast, easy, but never the same.

The West’s “Chai Tea” Blunder

And then, chai crossed the ocean.

What started as a humble, flavorful drink turned into a capitalist fever dream. Suddenly, menus offered vanilla chai, coconut chai, rooibos chai, turmeric chai, and the infamous chai tea latte (a name so redundant it translates to tea tea latte).

The West took chai, stripped it of its identity, and drowned it in syrup. Instead of a rich, complex brew simmering with spices, we got oversized paper cups filled with frothy, spiced sugar water. The very thing that made chai special—its slow brewing, its connection to tradition, its unassuming charm—was replaced with mass production and pumpkin spice.

The Last Cup

I promised earlier to spill the beans—or should I say, tea leaves—on the other cups of chai my parents savor throughout the day. These range from the surprise cups demanded by unexpected visits from relatives or friends, to those brewed solely because something delicious emerged from my mother's kitchen, apparently impossible to fully appreciate without chai.

There's also the crucial post-dinner cup, famously justified as “necessary for digestion.” And let’s not forget my father’s steadfast companionship, partaking in my mother’s farewell cup before bedtime. Clearly, both have been genetically blessed with the CYP1A2 gene, which conveniently throws any caffeine-before-bedtime caution right out the window.

As for me? I don’t drink chai, but I live in its world. And while it may have evolved in unexpected ways, chai remains what it has always been—a comforting embrace, a shared moment, and the quiet force that keeps us connected.

So go ahead, craft your own pop-drink wonders, channel your creative spirits, invent exotic concoctions, and give them quirky names that tickle taste buds, but as my father would say:

“For heaven’s sake, let chai be chai. Don’t ask me how many pumps of vanilla or pumpkin spice I would like in my cup!”

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If you liked this, here are some other attempts at humour that you might enjoy:

• Run, Butter Chicken, Run!

  How One Dish Took Over the World While the Rest of Indian Cuisine Watched in Silence

• You. Are. A Very. Talented. Individual.

  How my parents realized their six-year-old had been running a one-year-long con.

• Unscripted: A Survival Guide to Indian Roads

  Part improv. Part leap of faith. Part street theatre.

Thank you for reading all the way through—it means more than you know. If you felt something, learned something, or even just want to help me get better at this whole writing-and-designing-my-way-through-life thing, I’d love for you to subscribe, share a thought, or leave a gentle critique. Every bit of feedback helps me grow.