The tale of chamomile tea

Tale teller: Simran Ramsay

The sea was kindling its own symphony as the clouds floated across the sky to its beautiful ebb and flow. Watching this, pensively sat Tiara. She sipped her warm tea slowly. The tea bag dwindled as the cold wind blew. Tiara held on to her cup for warmth, her glassy eyes held a sort of longing and a smile crept onto her face. To any onlooker, it may have looked bizarre, but if you could take a peek into the surge of thoughts that flooded her mind, you’d feel at peace amid that storm, just like she did. She was living in the memories of her adolescence when she’d sit across the shore with her older sister, sipping chamomile and watching the waves lap gently. It was almost like the tea was the glue that strengthened their relationship. Every evening they’d sip it together and watch the sunset. It was the one time they reserved for each other and over the years this ritual continued… until it didn’t. Her sister had moved away to start a life of her own.

It was Rakshabandhan, the faint sound of “phoolon ka taro ka” was playing in the background but the sweet melody of the song was annihilated by the ear-shattering screams of Simran and Tiara. “ You wore my jacket without asking ” 

“It’s just a jacket, stop making a big fuss ”

“You should have asked first. I hate you !”


Simran stopped midway, Tiara had already stormed out of the room, slamming the door on her face. 

Later that evening, the sun set into an orange glow, and along with it, set a deep, guilt-ridden realisation. Tiara knew the way she had behaved was exaggerated and childish. A restless sadness was gnawing at her, making her uneasy. So she decided to make things better as she opened a tin can and inhaled the rich aroma of her sister’s favourite tea. The water boiled and the tea brewed and along with it, a new ritual arose. From then on, there was nothing that a cup of tea couldn’t solve – whether it was a howling match or an everyday skirmish.

She giggled to herself as she remembered all those times, wishing desperately that she could relive them, but a fortunate realisation tingled her heart — she knew that at this very moment, as her mind meandered in the bylanes of nostalgia, her sister would be looking at the same ocean, sipping the same warm tea, and smiling to herself… from miles away.

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