To a T(ea)

Pic courtesy: Amanda M.

Recently, Caitlyn's school was auctioning off a pretty tea cosy to raise funds for breast cancer.
"What's a tea cosy, mum?" asked Caitlyn.
"A tea cosy is a cover for a teapot. It keeps the tea inside from getting cold," I answered, showing her pictures of them on (where else?) Google Images.
"Ohhhh, it's like a blankie or jacket for the teapot!" she exclaimed.
It then struck me that Caitlyn - like most kids of her generation - has never seen people around her use a teapot, let alone a tea cosy.

After all, her mum is one of those strange people who doesn't drink tea or coffee. And when B wants his morning cuppa, he just boils water in the electric kettle, scoops some loose-leaf tea into a tea ball (none of that teabag nonsense for this Indian!) and lets it steep in a cup. A splash of milk later, and it's tea-time...

B's tea this morning

But in the olden days, tea was brewed the old-fashioned way.
Since my dad always woke up at cock crow, his job was to make the tea before the rest of the household arose. There was a separate 'tea chatty' (vessel) in which he would bring the water to a vigourous boil. Then he would add the tea leaves (Orange Pekoe from 'Coin Tea') and sugar. Once it had steeped for a few minutes, the milk was added. (Milk came in glass bottles with silver and blue striped aluminium foil covers - but that's another story.)
Dad then poured this tea into a teapot which was covered with a blue tea cosy - one that had been hand-embroidered by my Nana.

I like to think the aroma of freshly brewed tea wafting through the house woke up my Nana, mum and the rest of the Pereira household. Well, except for my cousin, Wen - nothing, not even his incessantly ringing alarm clock, could rouse him out of his slumber.

We would all sit around the old wooden table in the 'back room', eating gutlis or chappatis slathered with jam and Amul butter - and the teapot with its tea cosy would take pride of place at the centre of it all.

Are you a tea- or coffee-drinker? What's your favourite brew - chai? mocha? latte? herbal tea? Did your family ever use a teapot or tea cosy?

Keep it Up!

C1 was awarded a Principal’s Certificate at her school assembly today. It was, as the photo shows, for her good handwriting. ‘I’m so proud of you,” I told her. “Keep it up!”




'Keep it up'. Three little words that take me back three decades to recall an incident from my childhood. Thanks to my parents who make sure they recount this story at every chance they get, it’s hard to forget...

I must have been in Year 1. It was the end of the school term and I had returned home with my report card. A stellar one at that. A+ in every subject. Five stars all over. My six-year-old self was bursting with pride.

Once everyone in the D’monte Street household (Nana, my parents, my uncle and aunt and cousins) had ooh-ed and aah-ed over said report card, it was placed up on the altar. Now, this altar held pride of place in our sitting room. It was the receptacle for not just the expected statues of Jesus and Mary, and other religious paraphernalia like candles (in their shiny brass holders) and an array of rosaries, but also for some unfathomable reason, all “important” documents – recently received letters, electricity bills, etc. Even more strange, below it was our “dirty clothes box” – a place where all our linen was shoved, ready to be handed over to the dhobi, but that’s another story...

So of course, the report card was kept in its lofty spot with Jesus, Mary and Joseph for company.

Later that evening, dad’s older sister, my aunt Vilma, dropped in to visit Nana who told her of my achievement. “Well done, Alison! Keep it up, my girl!” she said, slipping a fiver into my hand. (Yes, 30 years ago, Rs. 5 could buy you the world!)

“But Aunty Vilma, I’ve already kept it up,” I replied, pointing to the altar.

Amen!

Do you have any incidents from your childhood that make you laugh or squirm? What kind of a student were you – a goody two-shoes or an up-to-no-good one?