This afternoon in Ranchi, as I sit on the balcony, the soft drizzle paints the world in shades of calm. The gentle tapping of raindrops against the windowpanes feels almost like a lullaby, and I am enveloped in that rare kind of stillness only rainy days can bring. The sky wears its grey robe, the air feels cool and damp, and in the midst of it all, there is a quiet invitation—to slow down, to breathe, and to indulge in life’s simplest comforts.

And what better companion to rain than a warm cup of tea?

For many of us tea lovers, rainy days aren’t just about weather; they’re about ritual. They are about brewing that favorite cup—sometimes strong and bold, sometimes light and soothing, sometimes creamy and spiced. Each kind of tea has its own mood, its own voice, and on days like this, it feels almost essential to listen.

Today, I asked my son, Judhajit, to prepare Oolong tea, one of my all-time favorites. It wasn’t just the weather that made me crave it. It was also a memory—a recent one—from our trip to Darjeeling.

Earlier this year, our family spent some days in Takdah, a quiet gem in the Darjeeling hills. Our homestay host, a gentleman deeply steeped in the culture of tea, gifted us not only with warm hospitality but also with knowledge. He gave us a detailed demonstration on how to brew tea the right way—patiently explaining the importance of water temperature, steeping time, and the unhurried rhythm of the process.

We brought back with us not just packets of fresh tea leaves but also the essence of that ritual. Since then, every time we brew a pot of tea at home, it feels like more than a beverage. It feels like a ceremony, a bridge between the quiet hills of Darjeeling and our everyday moments in Ranchi.

Oolong tea itself carries a fascinating story. Originating in China’s Fujian province during the Ming Dynasty, it was crafted by farmers who perfected the art of partial fermentation. Unlike green tea, which is unfermented, and black tea, which is fully fermented, Oolong is carefully allowed to oxidize partway—giving it that complex balance of strength and delicacy.

Legend has it that the name Oolong (which translates to “Black Dragon”) was inspired by the dark, curled appearance of the leaves after processing. Over time, Oolong gained immense popularity among Chinese scholars and poets, who considered it a tea of refinement, something to be savored slowly, sip by sip.

Its journey eventually reached Taiwan, where unique varieties flourished in the misty mountain regions. Today, Taiwan and Fujian remain the heartlands of Oolong, though its charm has captivated tea lovers worldwide—including here in India, where tea culture has always been an inseparable part of daily life.

In Darjeeling, while Oolong is less common compared to the famous black teas, small estates have begun experimenting with it, producing delicate, floral variants that carry both Chinese artistry and Indian terroir. What I sip today is part of that living story.

Oolong is neither as grassy as green tea, nor as robust as black tea—it rests beautifully in the middle, carrying the best of both worlds. The leaves are partially fermented, creating a brew that is complex yet mellow, with notes of nuttiness, sweetness, and sometimes even a floral whisper if you listen closely enough.

As I cradle the warm cup in my hands and take a sip, I feel the layers of flavour unfurl slowly on my tongue. There is a subtle sweetness, a gentle nuttiness, and above all, a smoothness that makes it so easy to drink. The cool, damp air outside seems to heighten its aroma, intensifying its presence, almost as if the tea and the rain are in conversation with each other.

The caffeine content in Oolong is just enough to awaken without overwhelming—a gentle energy boost, unlike the sharp kick of coffee. It feels balanced, like the tea itself knows the pace of the day.

Why does tea taste better on rainy days? Perhaps it’s the contrast—the warmth of the cup against cold fingers, the rising steam meeting the mist in the air, the comfort of flavour against the grey monotone of the weather. Or perhaps it’s something deeper, something cultural, something that goes beyond taste.

For centuries, in households across India, rain has been synonymous with tea. Be it a roadside kulhad of chai savored under a dripping tarpaulin roof or a carefully brewed pot shared with family on a verandah, tea binds us to rainy days in ways that feel almost primal. The patter of rain, the wafting aroma of tea leaves, and the gentle chatter of loved ones—all blend together into a kind of symphony that soothes the soul.

Beyond taste and ritual, Oolong brings with it health benefits that add another dimension to its charm. Studies suggest it can aid in weight management, improve heart health, and even lower the risk of certain cancers. While I don’t drink tea solely for health, it’s comforting to know that each sip is as good for the body as it is for the spirit.

As the rain continues outside, I sip slowly, feeling stress melt away with every gulp. The world feels gentler, worries feel lighter, and in that moment, life feels perfectly balanced—just like Oolong itself.

Sometimes, happiness is not about grand achievements or dramatic events. Sometimes, it lies in the quiet ritual of brewing tea, in the warmth of family, in the cool embrace of rain, and in the humility of being present.

So here’s to Oolong tea.
Here’s to rainy days.
And here’s to the timeless truth that the little things—if savoured slowly—are the ones that bring the deepest contentment.

Cheers, from a rain-kissed afternoon in Ranchi.