Chai has always been my quiet obsession. I don’t know when the addiction began or why that first sip feels like home, but if there’s one beverage that has stood by me through early mornings and late-night writing, it is chai. Lately, I keep telling myself I should try Matcha or some other kind of cha… but like all gentle promises, it keeps moving to “maybe next week” or “after that.”
If you watch enough Viki.com dramas, you’ll know this: there is always that one polished villain who pours cha with unsettling calmness while plotting something unspeakable. My mind churns, my stomach flips, and the cup in his hand becomes a silent threat to the poor lead.
But real Korean cha is nothing like that scene.
Cha is meant to steady the nerves, not shred them.
It asks you to slow down, soften, breathe.
It’s the opposite of drama.
So let’s forget that villain for now…
Chai Moments in India
In India, chai culture is loud, lively, and unapologetically kadak. It’s the kind you sip at a corner tea stall with a plate of hot fritters, or the kind that arrives at your office desk in a paper cup — half comfort, half survival tonic. These are our desi “watercooler moments,” except here the water is boiling, the steam is rising, and the conversations are always a shade spicier.
Then there’s the Nair Kadai chai: the holy trinity of early morning tea, crisp newspaper, and rolling gossip. This is where the neighbourhood wakes up together, one tumbler at a time, and the day’s stories start brewing long before breakfast.
Cha in Korea: Stillness in a Cup
Korean cha, at least the way K-dramas present it, belongs to a very different aesthetic universe. It has a quiet literati elegance — the kind of drink a thoughtful professor or a well-read uncle would pour while offering life advice. In those scenes, the moment the cup touches the saucer, eclectic thoughts begin to flow.
The Abhujis and Harabhujis of Korea call their young ones to talk sense into them, not with shouting or melodrama, but with a meditative calm that somehow balances the speed and confusion of youth.
Indian Adrak Chai vs Korean Ginger Cha
I’ve always felt Tamil Nadu and Korea share a certain unexpected kinship. Both of us are, at heart, coffee states. Our mornings don’t begin gently — they begin with piping hot kappi poured in the iconic dawara–tumbler, that metallic sunrise of sound and steam. So I’m never surprised when I see Korea leaning toward coffee more than traditional cha.
But dig a little deeper and you’ll find that our grandmother-level herbal instincts are strikingly similar — though the way we express them could not be more different.
Indian Adrak Chai
In India, ginger is not an ingredient — it’s an emotion.
Our adrak chai is a full performance:
- crushed ginger boiled fiercely in water
- tea leaves thrown in
- a splash of milk
- a swirl of sweetness
- strained into a steel tumbler or ceramic cup
It wakes you up, clears your throat, lights a little fire in your belly, and tells your immune system to get its act together. It’s ayurvedic, everyday, and deeply homely — comfort with a kick.
Korean Saenggang-cha
Korean ginger tea has an entirely different personality.
Saenggang-cha is not tea with ginger — it is ginger itself, finding its calm.
- thin slices of ginger gently simmered
- sweetened with honey
- sometimes scooped from a gooey ginger-honey preserve
- no milk
- no tea leaves
- no strong boil
Where Indian adrak chai slaps you awake, Korean ginger cha tucks you in.
Where We Meet as Humans
We often tell ourselves that we are divided — by race, creed, religion, politics, and the stoic principles we cling to. But beneath all these layers, we are far more similar than we admit. And these similarities are meant to bring us closer, not push us into corners.
Celebrating our differences can open doors for gentler, more constructive conversations — the kind that lead to peace, not just within ourselves, but in the spaces we share with others.
Yet living together as a single, caring unit has become a rare achievement. Modern life scatters us into nuclear families and solitary routines, leaving behind silent rooms and quiet loneliness. In the process, we are raising a generation that feels unsure of itself, unsure of others, and sometimes unsure of how to feel at all.
The calm voice of an elder and the small rituals that once anchored families are fading fast, leaving life hurried, overstressed, and strangely hollow.
A Ritual That Could Bring Us Back
Perhaps the simple act of sharing tea — whether it is chai at home or cha in a quiet Korean setting — can be a small beginning toward healing what we’ve lost. A daily tea ritual, done together as a family, doesn’t just offer warmth; it invites conversation, presence, and emotional stitching.
These tiny gatherings may be the first step in correcting the drift we’ve taken. They can bring back bonds that feel frayed, and gently guide us toward a life that is more mindful, more connected, and maybe even more creative.
I sit with my chai,
He settles down with his cha —
Warm cups, shared silence.
Credit: Co-Authored with Mira (AI Powered ChatGPT)
Itinerant Storyteller 