how to make chai correctly

The most indispensable requirement for making a good chai is sorrow. Many people think that what makes a chai good is love—mistake. It is not love¹. It is sorrow. This is why older people make better chai. They understand sorrow better than you, and it practically oozes out of their wrinkled hands.

Henceforth, adopt a posture of sorrow as you get to your instruments. And I do not mean the constipated sorrow of someone who has walled themselves off their own feelings—that kind of loveless, unfeeling countenance is only well-suited for more clinical formulations such as pourover coffee. What I have found helpful is to reflect on the image of a long thread of shared sorrow that winds through your ancestry and carries with it the deep historical injustices, pain and poverty of a less wise society.

Start by washing your hands with hard municipal water. Pour slightly over a half cup of reasonably potable water into a pot and turn up the stove. Avoid humming a tune while doing so. It will deflect the sorrow. Before the simmer starts, take half a young ginger and crush it in a khalbatta. Don't jackhammer it. It must be a spaced out, gentle-sounding, yet cell-rupturing impact. Let gravity guide the motions and not forearm musculature.

At this point, the water will threaten to boil. Put a teaspoon and a quarter of tea leaves. The correct chai brand to use is that which is preferred by your grandparent. This rule implies that your offspring must use the chai brand preferred by your parents. At this point, transfer the pulped ginger into the pot as the water reaches full boil. Water, tea and trace ginger are sufficient for a good chai. However, you may permit yourself to add either a couple of pellets of either fennel or cardamom, or an amputation of a star anise. If you feel like you are in a phase of life where you are turning a new leaf, add lemongrass.

Right after this, cool down the concoction with fresh, unboiled milk. Like your sorrow, it must be felt, not measured. Your sorrow will guide you to a colour that may range from a deep red to a rich brown. Those who hum a tune or take on a buoyant disposition may find themselves making an disappointingly light-coloured concoction.

Let the heat work its way up again. If your grandparent's chai brand is good, then there is nothing more to be done here. However if you were born in an ill-placed generation, you may permit yourself to add a small teaspoon of jaggery, just enough to take the tannic edge off. However do not let it sweeten.

Filter and pour. Sip it slowly with ciliary muscles relaxed and your head held high.