Lost in tea!


I miss sitting on the porch with my grandparents, drinking cups of tea, talking about the here and now, and all that was, and all that we hope will be. At home, in the hills of Darjeeling, tea plays an important part in almost everyone’s life. And until recently, in more than a couple of mug full’s, for my grand dad who still enjoys his tea but his consumption has surely reduced to when I was a schoolboy. I especially enjoy watching my grandparents sit on the porch and look out in to the far horizon, across the valley that stretches out in to the plains and the sun, almost as if in replay, poses a fiery red as it crosses to set in the West, beyond the hill that lies behind our little home. No conversation. No loud noises except the occassional honks of cars passing by in the distance, as it echoes through the emptiness. Just the calm, quiet, and stillness of that moment and the occassional flicker in their eyes as they gaze into the distance… it tells me more than words could ever say and I love those moments of quiet.

And as though in sudden awakening, one of them will start talking about their years as children. I love listening to my grandmothers never ending stories of ‘sokpa’s’ (Yeti) that according to her enjoys munching on cartiledge rather than meat and how it cries, stories of shepards who would disappear along with their herds, stories of places deep in the mountains similar to Noah’s ark where every possible living creature lives for a day when life in this world will come to an end and there’ll be need for regeneration, stories of wizards and witches, golden geese and UFO’s, and more… and as she tells them, I can see it in her eyes… the excitement and the fact that its not that she’s growing old and senile but the fact that I’ve heard these stories from her ever since I was able to understand what people around me were talking about. She has stories of mysterious lands and creatures and beings that today would be laughed upon as nothing but an ‘old wives tale’ but there is no mistaking what I see in her eyes… To me, her eyes tell the truth that she’d been there and she saw what she saw, or at least that is her impression of what she saw, and that there can be no denying her the fact that she witnessed things that we, her grandchildren, will probably never see. I can’t but wait to be home again, up in the hills, sharing a cup of tea with them, listening to the same stories over again and this time, I think I’ll record them, so I can tell them over to those who’d like to listen of some truly amazing things that most would discount as pure imagination.

Lost in tea is a few short verses of my moments with them, lost in tea 🙂

Lost in tea
Over jugs, mugs, cups, and vessels unknown
Trickling over the spouts of metal mouth’s
Of stories untold and mysteries that unfold
Through shrill cries of the wind in the valleys below
We sit, lost in tea

Lost in tea
Over earthen pots, udders of milk and cold burning coal
Spilling in little spots and splashes of warmth
As the fragrance reaches deep within our souls
Capturing memories of fiery sunsets
O’er the mountains as she goes, lost in tea

Lost in tea
Over little cup cakes and morsels of love
Life, she goes, moving slowly across the horizon
As we stumble and fall, standing up only to crawl
In silent prayers as we speak
Raptured in dreams we sit, lost in tea!

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2 Responses to Lost in tea!

  1. slpmartin says:

    Love the background information that led to the poem…sounds like a wonderful way to spend the day.

    • navdib says:

      Always is and always will be – I never get tired of the many stories my grandparents have of their days as children in the foothills of the himalaya’s even if its the same stories repeated over and over again… I miss those moments a lot 🙂 someday, perhaps I’ll pen (type) the stories down for all to enjoy 🙂

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