Ila hadn’t slept well. By the time the sky cracked open with pale winter light, she was already awake. Even at 8 a.m., the morning felt dark and heavy.
Why not sip my morning masala chai, she thought.
She turned the gas knob and set water to boil. Two spoons of her favourite Red Label, a pinch of dried ginger, a few crushed pudina leaves. Her hands hesitated over the sugar jar. She pushed the thought away and added it anyway. When the concoction rose in a bubbling swirl, she poured in a little milk. The kitchen filled with the familiar, comforting fragrance.
She set the steaming cup on the window ledge and reached for her book. But the rising steam pulled her attention back, soft and white against the cold morning air.
How quickly this year passed. Is it really December already? Only a month left…
Her thoughts unraveled:How will I manage the house, the baby, the office? Will she cry during important calls? Throw tantrums when I’m on the laptop? Am I even ready for all this?
A distant train rumbled — first a hum, then a growing roar as it approached. The sound snapped her from her thoughts. She reached for the cup.
“Oh, not again,” she sighed. “It’s cold already.”
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Chai and Chatter Chronicles 