Editor’s note: Tariq is a fictional composite character created for the Chai With… series, inspired by the everyday people, habits and chai rituals that shape life in Britain.
Tariq is an architect in Manchester who likes his first chai strong, lightly sweetened and finished before the day begins asking questions of him. We imagine a conversation about drawing by hand, family habits and the cup he refuses to replace.
At around quarter to seven, Tariq’s kitchen is still quiet enough to hear the milk catch at the edge of the pan. His flat in south Manchester looks onto a row of wet brick terraces, and on most mornings he stands by the window with a chipped blue mug while the kettle, toaster and radio compete for the same patch of counter. He does not check email until the chai is gone. “That rule has survived every job I’ve had,” he says. “It’s probably the only boundary I’m actually good at keeping.”
When did chai become your drink, rather than simply something that was always around?
Probably university. At home I drank whatever appeared in front of me, which was usually very milky tea made by my mum. Then I moved out and realised nobody was going to appear with a cup at the correct moment. I started making it myself and immediately became much more opinionated. My first attempts were terrible. Too much cardamom, then too much ginger, then I’d boil it until you could almost stand a spoon up in it. Eventually I worked out that I like quite a plain cup. Strong tea, milk, one crushed cardamom pod, a little sugar. That’s it.
You work with drawings, materials and detail all day. Does that make you fussy about the objects you drink from?
Embarrassingly, yes. I have one blue enamel mug that is objectively not very good. The handle gets hot and there’s a chip near the rim, but the proportions are right. I bought it from a camping shop years ago. I’ve got nicer cups, handmade ceramics and all that, but I always go back to the blue one in the morning. There’s something comforting about not upgrading everything.
What part of the day belongs to chai?
The first twenty minutes. After that, tea becomes functional. In the studio somebody is always making a round and I’ll happily drink whatever arrives. But the first cup is different because nobody has spoken to me yet. I usually sketch something while I drink it. Not work necessarily. A chair, the view from the window, the shape of the cafetière. I still draw by hand a lot. It slows my brain down enough to notice what I’m looking at.
What did you inherit from the way chai was made at home?
Timing more than recipe. My dad would come home and there would be tea within minutes. If relatives arrived, tea. If somebody had bad news, tea. If somebody had good news, also tea. I think I absorbed the idea that making a drink is a way of saying, “Sit down, I’ve got time.” We weren’t a very verbally expressive family, so cups of tea did quite a lot of the work.
Has living in Manchester changed the way you drink it?
I drink more chai outside the house now. Ten years ago, if someone wrote “chai” on a café menu I’d assume it would be a syrup. Now there are places where you can get something much closer to what I actually want. I still rarely order it, though. I’m too curious about how they’ll make it, which means I’m already judging the cup before it arrives. That is not a relaxing way to have tea.
What are you unusually particular about?
I don’t like cinnamon in everyday chai. I know that sounds severe. Cinnamon has its place, just not in every cup. And I don’t like it too sweet. If the first thing you taste is sugar, I lose interest. My mum thinks this is hilarious because apparently I used to put three spoons in when I was a teenager.
What do you reach for when you have had a difficult day?
Oddly, not chai. I’ll make plain black tea and eat something salty. Chai is more of a beginning drink for me than a recovery drink. If I’ve had a long day on site, the last thing I want is another process. I want a bag in a mug and five minutes on the sofa.
And finally, who would you most like to have a chai with?
My grandfather. He died when I was quite young, so most of what I know about him comes through other people. He worked on buildings too, although in a very different way from me. I think I’d ask him what he made of the fact that I now spend half my life discussing door handles on video calls. He would find that completely ridiculous.
Chai With… is an editorial portrait series from Ghar Ki Chai, exploring the people, places and small rituals around chai in Britain.
