The Masla of Masala Chai

© 𝕾𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖘𝖍 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖗𝖆

by Ms Chai “Tea” Patti, with Ms Chaiwali Ka Pati

They say brewing masala chai is an ancient, sacred ritual, passed down like temple secrets from mothers to daughters over eons. But when any hapless husband, especially an IITian, dares to “reverse engineer” the process, the outcome is less “ancestral wisdom” and more “abstract modern art”: baffling, messy, and entirely subject to the Ms. Always Right’s (AR) gleeful, unrelenting peer review.

The saga begins with the Right Utensil Selection. Unsuspecting IITian Husband (IH) proudly pulls out a pan from an impressive collection of pots & pans, chest swelling with the confidence of a man who once cracked JEE. Wrong! “Why this one?” The Cucina Queen (CQ) sniffs. “It’s too small, it’ll boil over.” No problem. IH upsizes to a larger one. CQ narrows her eyes: “Why waste gas, heating all that empty steel?” Congratulations, Sri JEE topper jee , crash and burn, even before ignition. Apparently, tucked in a remote dark place, there was the Goldilocks size pan, in between Too Small & Too Big. Mysteries of life!

Next, the Water-to-Milk ratio. IH pours water in the Right pan, adding milk, eyeballing the fascinating mixing phenomenon with the bravado of the one who had once mastered second integrals. “Aha,” the Culinary Empress (CE) pounces. “Too much water! This isn’t sherbet. And why did you add milk now? Why?? That comes only after two (or is it three) boils of water & chai... do you ever listen to me?"

"And the wrong milk! Skim only! Not 2%! Not full-fat!!” CE sputters and shudders. “Instant obesity, lifelong guilt, and a nasty film at the bottom of the pan that would need much scrubbing." SYSTEM ERROR starts flashing in IH's brain like the malfunctioning VTVMs of ET Labs with no "Voltage Tapping" Hammer in sight.

Then comes the Main Ingredient, the tea. IH, showing off his refined taste (from vague recollection of the late night Hall Canteen sessions), reaches for the finest loose-leaf Darjeeling (or was it Wagh Bakri?) in the pantry. Fatal mistake. Kitchen Goddess (KG) gasps as if he just drizzled ketchup on biryani. “Darjeeling? For masala chai? Didn’t they teach you the most basic life skills? Did you learn anything at that place… this Kgp?!” The undisputed and unwritten rule of masala chai is crystal clear to everyone else but IH: true masala chai requires a sacred dust-and-leaf blend in secret proportions, known only to wives, daughters, MiL's, and nosy aunties who appear uninvited to dispense unsolicited advice. The right color, heady aroma, and tantalizing taste can not be achieved through ordinary powers, only mystic kitchen calibration. And measurement? Forget it. The gold standard is three (or four?) of KG’s precise fingertip pinches, not found in any Metrology textbooks.

On to the Masala. IH sprinkles ginger powder, cardamom seeds, and cloves with the dramatic flourish of a man staging a TED Talk. She recoils in horror. “Ai yai yaeee! Fresh ginger nahin dala? Elaichi aur lavang ke sath, freshly crushed, woh flavor & fragrance, dry powder mé nahin hota! Who makes masala chai like this!? You’ve turned it into an IIT chem lab demo. Chai should whisper... masala, not scream like a teenage boy's body spray.” IH dials back the spice, she sighs: “Then why even call it masala chai? This is just hot milky ditchwater cosplaying as chai.”

Then the Boil. IH watches, proud of the bubbling brew, like  Nehru Ka Tempo High Hai, reverberating on Scholars Ave. Easy peasy, muses the ex-IITian. The Social Director (SD) hovers nearby, eyes narrowed. “Don’t you dare let it spill,” she warns, as one rogue bubble apparently can trigger global collapse. If he lowers the flame too early: “This is not how you extract flavor. Tsk.” Too late? “Congratulations, you’ve murdered the tea leaves. May their soul rest in peace.” Apparently, two and a half or three-quarters (!?) boils (who else here knows about this "fractional" boil concept, chaps?!) with dynamic, real-time control of the flame on the second from the largest size burner.

Finally, the Pour. IH strains with surgeon-like focus. Domestic Diva (DD) tut tuts. “Too fast, it splashes. Too slow, it dies a bitter death before the cup. Do  you even know how to pour properly?”

At last, steaming cups are presented. IH beams, expecting applause, confetti, fireworks. Maybe a ticker-tape parade. Da Boss sips, she pauses for maximum drama, then delivers the verdict:

“Well, not bad… for an IITian. But Mrs. Sharma’s husband down the street, he's a non-IITian, mind you, ummm... You should ask him for his secret.”

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the eternal truth: no matter how many degrees an IH might collect, engineering, economics,  astrophysics, from any and all academic institutions including WhatsCrapp U, when it comes to chai, they will forever remain a dazed and confused fresher stuck in remedial training, under the tart-tongued professor. All the while, the "Samosé garam nahin kiya?" question hangs in the air unanswered...

Notes:

I was told to assure everyone that "this doesn't reflect our personal relationship" and is "entirely fictional." Any resemblance to a real-life IITian-non IITian couple is purely coincidental. No IH egos were (permanently) bruised during this episode.