We had our first encounter with a garden spirit at the Makaibari estate’s tea tasting room. While sipping our prized first flush silver tip tea, we noticed something peculiar about a potted tea plant in the corner of the room. One of the tealeaves was walking down the branch. “No wonder this tea sells for 18,000 rupees per kilogram,” I thought. As we looked closely at the plant, we were astonished to see that the tealeaf had little leafy legs and what appeared to be a head. Our host informed us we were beholding a Tea Deva.

“A what?”
“Tea Deva, Tea Deva. A tea god!”
“Oh, a Tea Deva.” I suddenly realized we were in the presence of a Divine manifestation in the form of a bug.

We were told that this preying mantis-like insect first revealed itself in the garden in 1992. “It is very difficult to locate,” estate manager, Dev, told us, “because it is very similar to the tea leaves.” In fact, the Tea Deva apparently shares an empathic relationship with the tea bushes. In the early summer, the auspicious insect displays the same luster of a fresh new leaf and in the winter appears blistered and worn. As the story has it, in 1995 a hailstorm damaged many tea bushes in one part of the estate. A Tea Deva found in another unaffected location exhibited the same abrasions on its leaf-like body.

“If somebody locates a Tea Deva, lucky things happen for that person,” Dev told us. In addition to luck, there is a monetary incentive offered by the estate to any employee who finds one. The Tea Deva is then brought to the office for visitors to admire for a couple of days until it is set free.

Dev believes the appearance of this garden spirit is a direct result of applying farming practices that are attuned with Nature, “Rudolf Steiner [the father of Biodynamic gardening] says if your farm cultivation is holistically biodynamic and nature is protected, then the new life forms that emerge are a reflection of your main crop. Our main crop is tea, so the Tea Deva is the reflection of our tea. So, it is the natural certificate that we are holistically following biodynamic practices.”

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Our meeting with the tea deva inspired Jenny to create this image, while Indian packaging (tea, rice, matchboxes, etc.) inspired her graphic approach. She is offering archival prints of this ‘garden spirit’ on her site. Click here.

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10.1.08  **Scientifically speaking: The Tea Deva belongs to the Phylliidae family of leafy insects and is quite known for its talent to mimic its surroundings.

Namasté is the essential phrase and gesture one must learn when traveling in Nepal and India. It is used as both a greeting and a farewell, but its meaning is much deeper than a simple “hello” or “goodbye.” Namasté is a Hindi word derived from Sanskrit, the sacred language of ancient India. Sanskrit was used to write the Hindu scriptures, medical texts and classical poetry and is still used today to recite prayers and sing devotional hymns.

Namas means, “to bow, obeisance, reverent salutation or adoration.” While Té , from the root tvam, means “your or to you.” Namasté then simply means, “I bow to you.”

If you break the Sanskrit down to the root syllables, another level of meaning appears. Na means, “no, not, to negate,” while ma has many meanings including “measure, binding, time or death.” Put these together and the hidden meaning becomes that with no measure, no binding, no time and no death — or the boundless, free, eternal and immortal – Divine Consciousness. Our bow is coming from, and being offered to, that pure place of perfection that is within us all. It is the acknowledgement of our higher self – beyond the personality.

Namasté can be translated as, “The pure goodness within me honors the pure goodness within you” or “The God in me sees the God you.” This recognition of our self as not separate from the Supreme Self is a central tenant of Hinduism. The Namasté greeting, however, is nondenominational and universal. It is a greeting of souls.

Namasté is a mantra, or sacred phrase with a subtly powerful energetic effect. The energy of its meaning is created by the sound vibration of the word. It is spoken with the accompanying gesture of hands together in prayer position in front of the chest and the head slightly bowed. This hand position, called anjali mudra, signifies not only the gesture but also an attitude. The attitude is one of humility, love and compassion as well as transparent awareness. Mudra internalizes the mind unlike a handshake, which focuses energy outward. Anjali mudra balances the left and right hemispheres of the brain and our masculine and feminine aspects. It reminds us that we are not separate from one another or from the Divine Source, just as the two separate hands come together as one in front of the heart center.

Namasté is a practice of yoga, or union, of the body, mind and soul. The body performs the mudra and speaks the sacred word. The mind reflects on its meaning. The soul unites with the infinite soul of the other person and with universal awareness. When sincerely performed, there is a realization, if only for a moment, that we are surrounded by the divine presence.

Sometimes the Namasté mantra is not spoken out loud, but internally. In India, the gesture itself is understood as Namasté. It is customary for a younger person to perform Namasté to an elder first. Namaskar means “the act of performing Namasté,” but “Namaskar” is also said when addressing an elder or highly respected person, with the hands together in front of the forehead. The hands may be taken over the head when in the presence of a saint or an image of God, sometimes while falling into a full prostration.

In yogic esoteric anatomy, a chakra is an energy center where consciousness resides within the subtle body. When we Namasté with the hands over the anahata or heart chakra, in the center of the chest, we connect with the seat of divine love. With folded hands touching the forehead or third eye, the ajna chakra, we bring our vision to that which is beyond the physical form, the higher self. When placing our hands over our head on the crown or sahasrara chakra called the thousand petal lotus, we are merging our soul with the primordial vibration of OM, the awareness that created the universe.

When greeting a Muslim, the appropriate salutation is the Arabic, As-salam Alaykum, ”may the peace and blessings of God be with you,” and the response, Alaykum As-salam. Sometimes, by mistake, we offered Namasté to Muslims. While this is traditionally a Hindu greeting, it was still taken with respect. When greeting Buddhists in South Asia, one also uses the Namasté greeting.

Performing Namasté is a blissful opportunity to see the Divine in all beings. It is one of the ways that being in India almost forces you to perceive God. Namasté acts as a good starting point when meeting someone and the perfect final word. It is my favorite Indian custom and one that I try to preserve back home.

In addition to stories from our India travels, our chai pilgrimage continues on at home in New Mexico. Saturday was the big Bhandara Festival at the Hanuman Temple here in Taos. It was Neem Karoli Baba’s 35th Mahasamadhi anniversary. 108 Hanuman Chaleesas were sung from 4 am until late afternoon while a huge feast was cooked outside over fires. We made one of the many 13-gallon pots of masala chai that day. Below, Patrick smashes loads of ginger to make a warming-chai for the chilly, Fall morning.

After the tea and cardamon steeped, Jessie and Patrick strain the masala into the sweet, boiled milk.

And Maharaj-ji got the first sip as always.

We were especially happy the frost held off on our garden so we could bring flowers for Bhandara. Dhalias, gladiolas, zinnias, zulu princes, cosmos,

and thousands of marigolds for malas!

These are the Bhandara t-shirts I designed this year for the temple. I wanted it to be really kid-like and playful. The young Hanuman is printed large on the back of the shirts. He is trying to catch the sun made from his tail. (Patrick is wearing this shirt in the top photo.) An older, wiser Hanuman is printed small on the front with Maharaj-ji’s saying, “Love everyone, serve everyone, remember God.”

I wish I had pictures of the BEAUTIFUL temple room, the kids’ performance of the Ram Lila, and the fancy new chai dukhan that our friends Baltizar and Ananda made…but my camera’s batteries were out of juice. It was a really sweet day filled with many prayers and community. So many Indians make the pilgrimage to Taos, too, coming from all over the country, bringing India closer to home.

Chai from a clay cup – that raw, slightly bitter, textured taste of earth, mixed with gingery-sweet milk tea – is the taste of India. An Indian adventure would be incomplete without the experience of sipping chai at an open-air chai stall, and the gratifying, childlike pleasure that comes with tossing your cup and hearing the “pop!” as you watch it hit the ground and break into bits.

All over India, potters spin these small cups out of river clay, which are then sun-dried, half-baked in an open fire and delivered to local chai stalls. Before pouring your chai, chai wallahs customarily tap the unglazed cup to dislodge any loose dirt particles. Even so, you inevitably ingest a small bit of melted clay. We find the gritty taste enhances the character of the chai. One could even argue that the minerals in the dirt provide the added benefit of a daily multi-mineral supplement. (I have been tempted to add a little dirt to my chai at home.)

After use, your chai cup dissolves back into the earth.

In addition to being environmentally sustainable, the clay cup is a sanitary alternative to drinking chai from a glass. Generally, chai glasses in India get only a hand rinsing in a bucket of cold water instead of being sterilized with soap and hot water. When drinking a glass of chai, you are touching lips with the many chai lovers who have sipped chai before you. This, of course, presents the risk of being exposed to a myriad of communicable diseases. The water itself is also cause for concern. Unlike the chlorinated water in American cities, the water here is alive, and may be host to an array of bacteria, viruses, amoebas and parasites. Although chai is boiled thoroughly and poses no threat, the glasses are often reused while still dripping wet. Even a few drops of this water in your chai can cause upset stomach, diarrhea or worse. It is best to avoid this unpleasant experience by patronizing chai stalls that use the one-use clay cups.

The size and shape of the cups vary throughout different regions of India. The average clay cup holds about three or four ounces, but can vary from the size of a shot glass in Gujarat to the uncommon, American-sized, 10-ounce chai we found across from the Hare Krishna temple in Vrindavan. On several occasions we enjoyed a small, 2-ounce cup of chai for only 1 rupee (about 2 1/2 cents). The meager portion conditioned us to sip slowly and savor our chai, as well as giving us the opportunity to socialize at more chai shops throughout the day.

In Benares clay cups are called puruas, in West Bengal, bhaar, and across much of India they are referred to as kullarhs. At train stations, the cups are jokingly nicknamed pi ke put, pi ke meaning “to drink” and put referring to the sound it makes when it hits the tracks: “drink and chuck.”

With the introduction of plastic cups came the plastic pile-up from patrons accustomed to tossing their cups out the window. The Minister of the Indian Railway System has banned train chai wallahs from using plastic, but unfortunately this new rule is not always enforced.

Although technology in India has advanced at a rapid pace, ancient, yet timeless, traditions like the clay cup are preserved because of their modern applications. Considering the resources saved and the potential litter that would otherwise be created by millions upon millions of chai drinkers, biodegradable clay cups are a sustainable solutuion to our diposable dilema.

Our favorite way to drink chai in India is in tiny, one-use clay cups. If there are 3 chai wallahs next to each other, we always choose the one with clay cups. It’s authentic, tactile and fun. And the cups themselves are beautiful, in the most simple way. Many travelers attempt to carry one home to remember India by, taking the utmost care to preserve the delicate vessel by swaddling it with meters of fabric. I know—I’ve tried.

In Benares, we followed every man carrying a basket of clay cups on his head in search of “the potter behind the wheel”. Eventually, we found him. We met Mata Prasad, a clay pot wallah, in the courtyard of his family’s compound near Assi Ghat. It was the morning of Shivaratri, and although he was not working, he welcomed us to sit with him. Hundreds of clay pots laid out to dry on the roof covering his workspace—a simple open-air room with a dirt floor, a wooden bed, hooks for his clothes and a potter’s wheel.

Mata Prasad’s six grandchildren swarmed around him, and as their shyness wore off, they revealed a common twinkle in their eyes, a trait they obviously inherited from their grandfather. His name means “Gift of the Divine Mother.” His voice is aged and raspy but high-pitched and playful. He speaks Hindi with long, drawn-out syllables, and if you could only hear him and not see him, you would hear his smile.

We share a mutual friend, Hement Ji, who translated for us. “This is my small factory,” he told us. “Making these pots has been a tradition in my family for many generations.” We asked when he first learned his craft, and he exhaled a heavy chuckle. His eyes opened wide as he looked back in time. One of his first memories was playing with the water buffalo and cows when he was 13 or 14 years old—back when the British were still here. “Maybe, I was 15 or 16 when I started working,” he said. “This time I am not remembering, but I am guessing I am 60 or 70 years old.” If you do the math, he’s been spinning pots for a long time.

We returned the following day to observe Mata Prasad in action. He was wearing the same faded red t-shirt, white lungi, and kid-like smile. He squatted in front of his wheel, nearly an inch from the earth, picked up a large wooden pole and pushed the stone wheel in a counter-clockwise direction until it twirled out of its awkward wobble into a mesmerizing whirl. He had an economy of movement, gently touching the mound of clay and patiently waiting for it to form him a pot. Each one appeared like magic from behind his hands, and he effortlessly freed it at the base with a string he wore around his left wrist. After the pots sit in the sun to dry for one day, he makes a fire in a small mud room and bakes the pots for 12 hours until morning.

Mata Prasad spins about 500 pots in a day. The three shapes and sizes are used for yogurt, milk sweets and chai. When Patrick asks if he drinks chai, he laughs. “Huh, Huh,” (yes, yes) as he moves his head from side to side in the affirmative ‘Indian head waggle.’ “Two times in house, and wherever I will go, my customers, who purchase my pots, they offer me chai, chai, chai.” These half-baked, biodegradable cups, called puruas in Benares, are used once and then returned to the earth.

Nothing quite compares to drinking chai from one of these clay cups. Its primitive shape cradled in your hand and its warm dry rim on your lips accompanied by an earthy smell and taste strikes a tribal cord deep in your bones. When I tell Mata Prasad I prefer drinking chai in puruas, he quickly agrees, “Huh, Huh, because this is holy Ganga Ma’s clay. ” He uses clay that forms on the holy river’s banks after the monsoons, so like his name, Mata Prasad’s clay pots are also gifts of the Divine Mother.

As we say Namaste and thank him, he replies, “You are most welcome to come back again.”

And just so you can be amazed too, we have it all on video below!

Amidst the traffic of rickshaws, motor scooters, market goers and a small herd of water buffalo being led down the road, we discover the popular Pappu Chai Shop. Early in the day, it is a gathering place for elder intellectual types who read the newspaper, debate political issues and get their morning dose. After hours, it becomes a hang out for bhang (edible marijuana) users. We were told this chai stand has been here for 80 or 100 years.

We sit down outside on a low concrete wall next to Ashu, a regular customer and owner of Shiva Rooftop Restaurant down the street. Over the noise of honking cars and bicycle bells, we ask him what makes Pappu chai so special. “Because it is hygienic,” he tells us. “They clean the gilaas [hindi for glass] every time by the hot water. It is unique way. You will never see like this one.” It is true. In all our time in India we have never witnessed soap or hot water being used to clean glasses or any chai-making implement. We observe as a young boy first rinses the glasses in cold water like other chai stalls, then gives them a thorough cleansing with hot water that has been boiled on an open fire. The health of chai drinkers across India would surely benefit from this trademark disinfecting method.

Manoj operates his chai stall with precision, speed and dexterity. A third generation chai wallah, he employs an unconventional chai making technique handed down from his grandfather. Instead of making a pot of chai, each glass is prepared individually in an assembly line fashion. First, he carefully calculates the number of glasses by a count of seated customers, expected regulars and estimated drop-ins. The glasses are then grouped together into three parallel rows and a spoonful of sugar is put in the bottom of each glass. Hot milk is then ladled on top of the sugar. Manoj measures the tea by hand into a tea “sock,” with tea carefully being added or taken out to suit the amount of glasses being made. Boiling water is then slowly poured over the tea until it is fully saturated and the tea water starts to come through. When the flowing tea has a dark, rich color, it is quickly passed over the glasses with one hand while hot water is poured from a kettle in the other hand. He first moves the filtered tea long-ways over the line of glasses, then back and forth. A little more tea is added, then again across the glasses. The chai is made from “new tea every time — not boiling again and again.”

We learn that Manoj makes around 700-800 glasses of chai per day from 5am until 10pm. We ask Ashu, “how much per glass?” He answers, “2 rupees,” and before I could do the dollar conversion of take off the zero and divide by 4, the chai wallah starts laughing and talking to us. Ashu translates, “There are many customers that come every day and they are friends and take chai free. Many one is coming here and many crowd and he’ll give you chai and [snaps fingers] “challo” (meaning let’s go) — not paying the money. But they’re not caring about these things because they’re very much very good fellows.”

Finally, Manoj stirs each glass vigorously, with the rhythm and calm fervor of a classical Indian drummer. The ‘clink-clanking’ of the metal spoon against glass is like a dinner bell to the customers. In the madness of anxious hands grabbing for their glasses, Manoj hands us our chai. It is dark, bold and on the edge of being too bitter. I like it. Even though the tea is not boiled like most, it bears a distinctive strong tea flavor that provides quite a wake up call. We attempt to give Manoj 4 rupees for our chais but he just shakes his head and smiles.