A Cup That Understands Winter

– a Talesmith Short by Rajesh Muthuraj

Winter in our childhood never arrived with weather forecasts.
It arrived when getting out of bed felt like an insult.

There was fog on the playground, nearly frozen school shoes, and a blanket that suddenly weighed more than our weight. And somewhere in the kitchen, tea was already awake; unlike us.

The tea was always ready before we were.

A kettle whistling softly at the early hours. A steel tumbler or a chipped cup placed near the window. Someone older—father, mother, grandmother—warming their hands around it, staring into the cold as if mentally getting ready for the day. We didn’t know it then, but that cup of tea was not a beverage. It was emotional support.

Winter mornings were hard.
Blankets whispered, “Five more minutes.”
The floor screamed, “You should have worn slippers.”

Tea didn’t remove the struggle. It simply said, “Drink me first, then we’ll talk.”

One sip woke the body.
Two sips woke the brain.
By the third sip, winter still existed, but we were brave enough to face it, like warriors in sweaters that were two sizes big.

Back then, tea came with instructions we never asked for:
“Drink it slowly.”
“Don’t make noise.”
“Why are you still sitting? You’ll be late.”

Years later, winter has upgraded its syllabus.
Now it comes with deadlines, back pain, and life-relevant questions that appear only at 6:30 a.m. Yet tea remains loyal. Office pantries, balconies, roadside stalls with glasses so hot they demand respect; tea shows up everywhere, pretending nothing has changed.

Tea has watched us grow.
From schoolbags to laptop bags.
From pocket money to EMI statements.
From “I’ll become something” to “Let’s see what happens.”

And in winter, tea becomes honest. It doesn’t motivate us with speeches. It simply sits there, steaming, silently saying, “You’ve survived worse. Let’s think it through together.”

Even arguments pause when tea arrives.
Someone says, “Tea?”
Winter nods.
Egos melt faster than the sugar cube.

Winter may be cold, but tea makes it bearable.
Winter teaches patience.
Tea teaches survival with style.

So every winter, we return to the same ritual:
Cold hands. Warm cup.
Big problems. Small sips.

Because some things never change.
Not the cold.
Not the tea.
And definitely not our refusal to get out of bed on winter mornings.

Some warmth comes in cups, some in stories. Find both at Talesmith.