Detours and Tea Leaves III
Part Three
The squeak of brakes and a sudden jolting stop force my eyes open. I stretch out my stiff limbs and stifle a yawn, still in a dream state, I slowly come to and glance around. The first thing I notice is the remarkable contrast between the dust of Aluva and the surrounds of a leafy, verdant landscape. The bus ride had been long enough to usher in a new morning, but I'd fallen asleep shortly after boarding. Teleported from urban chaos to bountiful hills.
As I step off the bus, the vibrant green tapestry of the tea plantations unfold before me. The air is crisp and invigorating, filled with the earthy scent of tea leaves and the subtle perfume of wildflowers that dot the landscape. My eyes trace the rolling hills, where neat rows of tea bushes cascade like waves, rhythmically swaying in the gentle breeze. The sun, breaking through the morning mist, casts a golden glow over the plantation, turning the dewdrops on the leaves into shimmering jewels. It's a scene of serene beauty, and for a moment, I'm lost in its tranquility, feeling a connection to the land and its timeless charm.
Making my way toward the competition stage, I tread along a narrow path lined with lush foliage, the soft rustling of leaves underfoot blending with distant sounds of laughter and chatter from a gathering crowd. The stage, set against the backdrop of the picturesque hills, is abuzz with activity. Colourful banners, each bearing the name of a competing team, flutter in the breeze. The air is alive with anticipation for the contest. This blend of nature's calm and the festival's dynamic energy is exhilarating, and I find a spot to sit to fully immerse myself in the scene."
Catching the eye of one of the British tourists, a broad smile comes upon both of our faces and I wave. Already deep into contest preparations, their rapport and cheerful disposition, laughter and chatter were fuelling their confidence. My gaze travels across the stage assessing the range of cultures and tradition on display.
"Samurai Sippers" in their elegant kimonos, move with a grace and precision that's almost meditative.
The "Dragon's Cup" team's deep reverence led by a renowned tea sage who all team members defer to and consult when assembling their station.
There is vibrant energy and aroma of a special masala blend coming from the "Masala Chai" team, a group of Indian aunties each with decades of experience in the art of chai making.
"Minty Maghrebi". A team composed of Moroccan tea enthusiasts, their love of mint tea evident in the way they prepare their ingredients, with an elaborate looking berrad used to serve each sugary, minty cup.
A team from the "Indian Institute of Technology - Madras" is a contrast to the traditional approaches around them. A precisely measured experimental approach to brewing tea, and their methodical understanding of the chemistry behind tea flavours likely to give them an edge in creating a perfectly balanced brew.
This isn't just a competition; it's a gathering of skill and spirit from across the globe, unified by their love of tea. Just a few hours earlier, the thought of a tea-making competition might have struck me as trivial, even amusing in its seriousness. Wasn't it merely a contest about brewing tea? A daily routine for many, turned into a spectacle? Yet I'm eager to watch the contest unfold, to see how each team's unique approach will come together in a symphony of flavours and aromas.
Each group is a whirl of activity, their excitement palpable. The sun is now high over the Munnar tea plantation, casting a warm glow on the sea of green around me. I'm sitting on a bench in front of the competition stage, lost in the buzz of team's preparations when I feel a tap on my shoulder, and I turn to see an elderly man with a gentle smile. He's wearing a simple, crisp white kurta that seems to blend with the serene surroundings.
"Which is your team?" he says in a soft, amiable voice. His question, though casual, carries an unmistakable wisdom in its tone, compelling an immediate response from me. "It's all quite fascinating," I reply, returning his smile. "I've never seen anything like this back in Kalumburu." I start to talk about the experience of getting a ride from the British tourists when he interrupts.
“Hold that thought if you don't mind. This sounds like a good story, how about you tell me while you try your hand at making your own tea? I'm Hari by the way. Always in a hurry, they tell me!”
His playful joke forces another smile out of me and I accept with no hesitation. The idea of brewing tea, here amidst the experts and connoisseurs, is both daunting and exhilarating. There is a warmth and comforting demeanour in Hari's sparkling eyes. His face etched with the wisdom of years speaks of a lively curiosity.
I follow Hari over to a small, makeshift tea-making station behind the stage where the other contestants are still preparing and wonder where to start. As I fiddle with the teapot in front of me, my mind is far more occupied with the stories bubbling inside of me, eager to spill out, than with the intricate art of tea-making. While teams of experts are meticulously crafting their supreme versions of tea, here is just Hari and me, and my somewhat chaotic attempt.
I start with the water, sharing with Hari the story of my home in Kalumburu, the beaches and surging wet-season river, my voice laced with nostalgia. When the water boils, I move on to steeping the tea, my actions more automatic than thoughtful, lost in the tale of my adventures with Tili. The laughter and energy of those memories seemed to infuse the air around us.
As I gently pour milk into the brew and the serene amber of the tea transforms into a tempestuous whirlpool, I recount my somewhat comedic misadventures on the Indian train network. With clouds of white billowing in two cups, a swirling yet fleeting storm echoes the unexpected twist of my ATM card ceasing to work. Adding honey to my cup and sugar for Hari, I share memories of my afternoon with Dr. Aravind, the serendipity in our meeting, and the unexpected encounter with the British team.
But it is as I mention my ultimate destination, Uttiramerur, that I notice a distinct change in Hari. His already attentive demeanor shifts to one of heightened enthusiasm. He leans in, his eyes sparkling with a mix of curiosity and delight. It was as though the name of the village had turned a key within him, unlocking a well of excitement and interest.
Hari's questions about Uttiramerur are thoughtful and full of an eagerness that matches my own. His fascination is palpable, his every gesture showing a deep appreciation for the journey and its significance. There is a sense of connection in his enthusiasm, a shared understanding of the allure of small, uncharted places and their hidden stories.
In that moment, as I finish preparing the tea, it feels like our worlds have come together over a simple cup of tea and a shared curiosity. The steam rises from our cups and seem to carry with it not just the aroma of the tea but the essence of our newfound affinity. Hari's attentiveness to my story make the tea-making experience something far more profound than a mere drink; it was a moment stories, dreams, and connections were weaved.
"There's a certain energy about you, a sense of adventure that's hard to miss. It's refreshing,” Hari says. A soft, unguarded laugh spills from me as I give him the cup, and we make our way back to the stage.
He takes a cautious sniff and then a sip, his expression a mix of polite concealment and amusement.
"I think you've just invented a new flavour.” he begins, setting the cup down. "I think we can both agree that this tea is a bit of a work in progress, but I wouldn't trade the experience of making it with you for anything. The story behind it is priceless."
Our laughter rings out, echoing my gratitude for this unexpected friendship. Hari checks his watch. “Oh my, I've lost track of time! I must get back to my duties.” He gives me an apologetic look. “I'm afraid I have to leave you to enjoy the remainder of the contest, but thank you for the delightful diversion.”
With a friendly pat on my shoulder, he walks towards the stage. I sit down in my seat in front of the stage, as I watch Hari, unexpectedly, ascend the stairs.