Life, like tea, needs patience to reveal its true flavor.

After visiting Kal Vairav and Sankatmochan, we rushed back to the hotel for a bit of rest. Soon after, we headed to Assighat by scooter rickshaw. It was noon, but the December sun in Banaras was gentle. 

This was one of our annual pilgrimages to the ancient, holy city. I was pleasantly surprised to see the impact of the Clean India movement on the ghat—it was visibly cleaner than last year. This time, I nudged my wife to climb the stairs leading to a Pizzeria that served wood-fired pizza. 

We took a seat facing the Ganges, noticing that most of the customers were foreign tourists. The menu was a mix of Italian and Indian dishes. After savoring pizza and coffee, we headed back toward the riverbank to catch a boat.

            “What’s the rush?” A voice broke the quiet urgency of our steps. I looked back to see a sadhu sitting on the steps, a small kettle and tea-making paraphernalia arranged around him.

        “Don’t stop, keep walking!” my wife whispered sternly. She knows my tendency to get drawn into conversations with sadhus, which often end with me parting with more money than wisdom. Ignoring her, I walked toward him.

   The sadhu smiled, a twinkle in his eyes. “I’m in a hurry to keep a schedule, so I’m going to catch a boat,” I explained. “We are all in a hurry, going up and down the stairs of life,” he mused. “Some rush down to the Ganges, hoping it will wash away their sins.” Intrigued, I couldn’t resist engaging further. 

      My wife tugged at my sleeve, but I stayed. “I suppose one dip can’t cleanse the sins of a lifetime,” I offered. “But it gives a momentary sense of relief.” “Yes,” he said, nodding. “The dip cleanses the visible dirt on the body, but not the subconscious.” His words struck me as profound. I have always believed that not all sadhus are frauds. Some, I feel, have chosen this path to escape the chaos of life.

    I wanted to know more about this one. “How long have you been a sadhu?” I ventured to ask. He laughed, a rich sound that echoed off the stone steps. “You are a sadhu too, in your moments of solitude. A family man like you gets only brief moments of silence, but in those moments, you find peace. I might give 50% to my sadhuness, but you, perhaps, give 10%.” 

     I smiled at the thought and sat beside him.

    My wife, realizing she couldn’t pull me away, went down to arrange the boat. The sadhu began pumping his kerosene stove to make tea. In the chilly afternoon by the Ganges, a cup of tea was welcome. He carefully boiled water, added tea leaves, then tulsi, and let it steep. 

   When I asked for black tea, without milk or sugar, he teased, “Have you used up your life’s quota of sweetness already?” When he handed me the tea in a clay *kulhar*, the aroma was extraordinary. I sipped, savoring the warmth. “This is wonderful,” I said, genuinely impressed. “You see,” he replied, “to make good tea, I had to control the boiling time, measure the ingredients, and let it steep just right. Life is like that. You have to endure the boiling, the hardship. But if you wait patiently and put in the effort, something beautiful will come of it. There are no shortcuts.” 

 N  His words, simple yet layered with meaning, resonated deeply. I realized he wasn’t just offering tea—he was offering wisdom. In today’s world, few people give their time; most give only money. As we talked, I felt the rush of my day slip away. He seemed to be enjoying our conversation as much as I was. 

     At one point, he pulled out an envelope and handed it to me. “Open this when you’re alone,” he said. Then, picking up an unusual guitar with only one string, he began to strum it softly, chanting "Om." The deep, rhythmic sound from the lone E string filled the air. Curious, I asked, “Why does your guitar have only one string?” “You’re observant!” he chuckled. “The other strings are unnecessary for me.

  This one string is enough to chant ‘Om.’ Sometimes, less is more.” I took this as my cue to leave. As I stood up, I instinctively reached into my pocket for money, but there was no bowl, no place to offer it. He didn’t expect any.               As   I walked down the steps toward the river, the boatman waiting, he said, “Ah, you had a long chat with the *ketlibaba*?” “Does he serve tea to everyone?” I asked. “No, not many stop to talk to him. He mostly sits there, reads books, and plays that odd guitar. I’ve heard he’s from a wealthy family—different from other sadhus.”

       Later, back at the hotel, I opened the envelope. Inside was a letter.

 --- **Dear Friend,**

 I don’t know your name, but when you passed by, I felt a strange sense of familiarity. I’m not truly a sadhu, at least not permanently. I’ve been playing the role for a month as part of an exclusive group of professionals who, like me, sometimes feel the need to step away from the rat race. This spot on the ghat is reserved for those in our circle, and there are people around who ensure our safety. I’m the CEO of an MNC and was once as disturbed as you might be. I met the previous *ketlibaba* here and, after a conversation, received this same letter. After discussing it with my family, I decided to spend a month living as a sadhu. You’ve been chosen as the next *ketlibaba*. You have ten days to decide. There’s a guest house where you can stay, with food and lodging provided. When your month is over, you’ll pass on the letter to someone else, just as I’m doing with you. If you're interested, call me at the number below.

 Regards, Ketlibaba ---

 I was stunned. The offer was both bewildering and intriguing. Could I, too, escape for a month? Would I find what this man had found? Back in Kolkata, I would discuss it with my wife and son. Maybe I’d bring along my books and painting supplies for my newly acquired hobby. What do you think, my friends? Should I take the plunge? --- **Philosophical Reflections:** 1. *“Life is like tea. It requires patience, effort, and the right balance of ingredients to make it worthwhile.”* 2. *“We are all climbing the stairs of life, some rushing up, some down, but the true journey is within.”* 3. *“Solitude is the rarest luxury for the modern mind. Those brief moments of silence are where we glimpse our true selves.”*