In India, masala chai is an emotion, an invitation, a punctuation mark in the rhythm of life. It is poured at dawn and again at dusk, clinked between colleagues at roadside taps, offered reverently to guests, and sipped slowly during the monsoon as the world turns to velvet grey. There’s always time for chai…and if there isn’t, one makes it.
But masala chai’s story doesn’t begin in India. The British may have planted tea, but chai as we know it…milky, spiced, unapologetically bold…is entirely an Indian invention. Colonial gentility gave way to street-smart flair. Somewhere between the brass kettle and the kulhad, alchemy happened.
At its heart, masala chai is a rebel brew. It consists of a swirl of black tea leaves and full-cream milk infused with a riot of spices, such as crushed ginger, bruised cardamom, a flirt of cinnamon, a whisper of clove, sometimes pepper, and sometimes tulsi. Every street vendor swears by his blend, and every household guards its recipe like heirloom jewellery. Some like it strong enough to wake the ancestors, while others prefer it mellow, with just a hint of heat.
And then there’s the performance. The boil, the froth, the dramatic pull — chai isn’t poured, it’s aerated mid-air, back and forth between vessels until it’s just the right shade of comfort. It’s theatre with a bit of elbow grease.
In today’s world of pour-overs and cold brews, masala chai holds its own…proudly old-school, yet endlessly adaptable. It’s been deconstructed in Michelin-starred kitchens, bottled for boutique shelves, and hashtagged across social media. But the soul of chai remains earthy, egalitarian, and utterly addictive.
One sip, and you’re hooked. Because chai isn’t just what’s in the cup. It’s the gossip it brews, the silences it softens, the nostalgia it carries, just like India, its complex, chaotic, comforting, with just the right amount of spice.
