Saturday, August 1, 2026

THE JOURNEY OF TARA : FROM KASHMIR'S TEMPLES TO TIBET MONASTERIES

                                                
                                                                                                         (Green Tara )


From Kashmir’s Temples to Tibet’s Monasteries: Green, White and Red Tara


I remember my mother reciting the complete Panchakanyā Mantra every night before going to sleep:

Ahalyā Draupadī Kuntī Tārā Mandodarī tathā,

Pañchakanyāḥ smaren nityaṃ mahāpātaka-nāśanam.


The verse means: “One should remember daily Ahalya, Draupadi, Kunti, Tara and Mandodari, for the remembrance of these five women destroys even the gravest of sins.” After completing the traditional mantra, my mother would add her own tender supplication: “He Devi, duṣṭa svapnaṃ mā darśaya,” meaning, “O Goddess, do not bring an evil dream into my sleep.”This simple nightly practice shows how sacred memory was preserved within the intimate world of the household, especially through mothers and elderly women. Tara, the wise queen of the Rāmāyaṇa and wife of Vāli, was one of the five women invoked in the Panchakanyā verse. Her name was therefore revered across the length and breadth of India, including in Kashmiri Pandit households, where Sanskrit prayers remained woven into domestic life. Later, when I  sought clarification regarding the identity of Tārā, I was told that the Tārā mentioned in the Rāmāyaṇa could be understood, within a syncretic devotional tradition, as a Rūpa, or manifestation, of the compassionate Buddhist goddess Tārā, who was subsequently worshipped across Kashmir, the Himalayan regions and Tibet. Such an interpretation reflects the long history of interaction among Hindu, Buddhist and Tantric traditions in India, where sacred names, symbols and feminine divine forms often acquired new meanings across religious boundaries. However,  in the Rāmāyaṇa, Tārā is the wise wife of Vāli and the mother of Aṅgada, admired for her intelligence, foresight and political judgement. The Buddhist Tārā, by contrast, developed as a compassionate saviouress within Mahāyāna and Vajrayāna Buddhism and became especially prominent in the religious cultures of Kashmir, Nepal and Tibet. The suggested identification is therefore best understood as a later theological association rather than as a direct linkage to Ramayana itself.


Between the eighth and twelfth centuries, Kashmir functioned as the principal conduit for Tantric transmission to Tibet, and a succession of Kashmiri Pandits carried the valley’s ritual systems across the Himalayas. In the early period, masters such as Vimalamitra and Danashila travelled to Central Tibet during the reign of King Trisong Detsen and worked on the translation of Kriya, Charya and Mahayoga texts that later became foundational for the Nyingma school. The eleventh century witnessed the largest movement. Atisha Dipankara Srijnana spent twelve years in Kashmir studying under Dharmarakshita and Bodhibhadra, and in 1042 he brought to Tibet the Lamrim teachings together with the practices of Green Tara, White Tara and the Twenty-One Praises, thereby establishing Tara as a pan-Tibetan deity. At the same time, Kashmiri specialists such as Ratnavajra and Vagishvara Kirti entered Sakya and transmitted Red Tara, Kurukulla, Hevajra and Guhyasamaja together with the four activity schema of pacifying, increasing, magnetising and subjugating. Dharmashri and Subhakara contributed Kalachakra, Medicine Buddha and the earliest Tibetan commentaries on the Twenty-One Taras, while Jnanasrimitra and other logicians reinforced the philosophical framework. By the twelfth century, as institutions in India declined, Shakya Shri Bhadra made the final major crossing in 1204. As the last abbot to leave Kashmir before its Buddhist monasteries were destroyed, he gave full ordination to the Second Karmapa and carried the Vinaya, Abhidharma and Hevajra lineages to the Karma Kagyu. Other figures such as Parahita, Kasarpana and the female master Lilavajra further diversified the transmission with Yamantaka, Chakrasamvara and Vajra Tara practices. Collectively, these Kashmiri masters transferred not only texts but an entire method of deity Yoga, Mantra and visualisation that had been perfected at Sharada Peeth and the monasteries of Srinagar and Baramulla. When Kashmir’s Buddhist centres declined after the twelfth century, the tradition was preserved in Ladakh at Alchi, Wanla and Lamayuru, where 11th–12th century murals retain the Kashmiri style of Tara. Tibet had already become the archive, and the lineages of Green, White and Red Tara that remain central in Tibetan ritual today are directly traceable to this Kashmiri exodus.


Under the Karkota and Utpala dynasties, the Kashmir valley supported royal courts, the university of Sharada Peeth, and hundreds of monasteries in which Hindu Shaiva Tantra and Buddhist Vajrayana developed in close proximity.  It is in this milieu that Tara emerged as a Tantric deity. The name Tara means both "Star" and "She who ferries across". She is absent from early Vedic literature. Her appearance coincides with the shift from Vedic sacrifice to Mantra, Mandala and deity Yoga.  


In Kashmir, two distinct Taras took shape. First, Hindu Tara, the second of the ten Mahavidyas, depicted in blue, fierce, standing upon Shiva, associated with sound and liberation. Second, Buddhist Tara, a Bodhisattva manifesting as Green, White and Red, associated with compassion and skilful action.  


Because both traditions employed the same scribes, initiations and ritual manuals, they influenced one another profoundly. The outcome was a highly practical cult. Texts such as the Sadhanamala and the Tara Tantra prescribed precise colours, visualisations and purposes. This practicality made Tara readily exportable, and it is this Kashmiri template that Tibet later adopted in full.


 Centres of Tara Worship in Ancient Kashmir

  

Kashmir was not only a site of composition but also of active cultic practice. Although many structures were destroyed after the fourteenth century, textual and archaeological evidence identifies several key loci.


Sharada Peeth in Kupwara was the most prominent. A university and temple complex dedicated to Goddess Sharada, a form of Saraswati, it had by the eighth century become a major centre of Sanskrit learning and Tantra. It was primarily a centre of Śākta worship, though Buddhist scholars including Atīśa are recorded to have studied there. It is likely that Buddhist Tārā Sādhanas were taught alongside Śaiva practices in this syncretic environment.The ruins survive in POK.


The Martand Sun Temple complex at Anantnag was built in the eighth century by Lalitaditya. Though principally Shaiva and Saura, Martand also served as a hub for Tantric cults. Stone inscriptions and manuscripts recovered from the region record Tara Mantras.


At Parihaspora in the Srinagar Valley, an ancient capital, Chinese pilgrim Xuanzang records hundreds of Sangharamas in the seventh century. Excavations have yielded small Tara images carved in the green schist characteristic of Kashmir. These plaques were intended for personal devotion and for travel, precisely the kind of portable deity that would later be transmitted to Tibet.


The monasteries of Srinagar and Baramulla are attested in Kalhana’s Rajatarangini and in Tibetan biographical literature. They were centres where Kashmiri Pandits taught the Tara Kalpa. Atisha spent twelve years in Kashmir and, according to his biography, received Tara teachings from Dharmarakshita at a monastery near Baramulla. These institutions housed palm leaf manuscripts of the Arya Tara Sadhana and the Twenty-One Taras.


Finally, the cave and rock shrines of the Jhelum Valley reflect the Siddha strand of Kashmiri Tantra. Tibetan accounts describe rock carvings of Tara along trade routes to Ladakh and Gilgit. These functioned as way station shrines for merchants, and they form the background to Green Tara’s role as protector of travellers. By the eleventh century these centres were producing both texts and initiates. When Kashmir’s institutions declined after the fourteenth century, the lineage had already been transplanted to Tibet.


Tara in Western Himalayas


Tārā’s presence in the Western Himalaya to Kashmir reflects a deep historical and spiritual migration of Buddhist and Tantrik traditions. Originating in the great monastic centres of Bengal and Nalanda, Tārā was carried northward to Kashmir between the 7th and 11th centuries, where Kashmir became a major hub for Vajrayana Buddhism and Mahāvidyā worship. From Kashmir, monks, traders, and pilgrims travelled east through Zanskar and over the high passes into Lahaul and Spiti, bringing with them texts, rituals, and iconography of Green and White Tārā. In Lahaul, she was embraced as Dolma, the protective saviour of shepherds and travellers crossing dangerous Himalayan routes. While Kashmir later saw the decline of Buddhism, the valleys of Lahaul, Spiti, and Kinnaur preserved Tārā worship in monasteries like Kardang, Tabo, and Guru Ghantal. Thus, the Western Himalaya became both a refuge and a living continuation of the Tārā tradition that first flourished in Kashmir, linking the two regions through faith, art, and shared mountain culture.


The Three Principal Buddhist Taras of Kashmiri Origin


Kashmiri masters systematised Tara according to colour and activity. Three forms became central.


Green Tara, Syamatara, is the Protector. She is shown in emerald green with the right leg extended, ready to rise. Her mantra is Om Tare Tuttare Ture Svaha. Her function is protection from the eight fears: lions, fire, water, imprisonment and so on, understood psychologically as anger, pride and jealousy. The Sadhanamala describes her as the swift Tara. Kashmiri traders carried small green Tara images into Central Asia. In Tibet she became the personal Yidam of Atisha, who received her from Dharmarakshita in Kashmir, and she developed into the emergency deity of Tibetan Buddhism.


White Tara, Sitatara, is the Healer. She is white and bears seven eyes on the face, forehead, palms and soles. Her mantra is Om Tare Tuttare Ture Mama Ayuh Punya Jnana Pushtim Kuru Svaha. Her function is longevity, health and peace. White Tara Sadhana was common at Sharada Peeth, and she was associated with healing springs in the valley. In Tibet, she became central to Gelug long life rituals, and every Dalai Lama has maintained a White Tara practice traceable to Kashmir.


Red Tara, Kurukulla or Vajra Tara, is the Magnetiser. She belongs to the Padma family of Amitabha and is depicted in bright red. In her principal form as Kurukulla, she has one face, three eyes and four arms, dances, and holds a flower bow, flower arrow, hook and noose, standing upon the four maras. Her mantra is Om Kurukulle Hrih Svaha. Her function is to magnetise people, wealth, students and opportunities, and to bring harmony. Kurukulla was extremely popular in Kashmir, where the Sadhanamala lists three distinct Sadhanas. She represented the attraction activity employed by rulers and teachers. In Tibet she was introduced by the Kashmiri Pandit Ratnavajra and by other Indian masters to the Sakya and Kagyu schools, where she remains the principal magnetising deity.


The four activity schema, white for pacifying, yellow for increasing, red for magnetising, and blue or green for wrathful, is of Kashmiri origin. Tibet preserved the structure without alteration.


Theological Rationale


Tara addressed a clear human need. The Buddha taught that liberation transcends gender, yet devotees required a maternal figure. Tara is in essence beyond gender but appears in female form out of compassion. She is called Mother of all Buddhas because compassion gives rise to enlightenment.  She is also a Yidam. The practitioner does not merely petition her but identifies with her. Green embodies courage. White embodies healing. Red embodies love and influence. This system of deity Yoga was perfected in Kashmir and transmitted to Tibet intact.


Transmission from Kashmir to Tibet in the Eleventh Century

                                             


The pre-Buddhist religion of Tibet is well-documented as Bon, an indigenous tradition of nature-worship, ancestor veneration and Shamanic ritual that formed the basis of the Tibetan court and folk practice before the 7th century. This is recorded in early Tibetan chronicles, confirmed by Chinese Tang dynasty accounts, and supported by archaeology and the continuing existence of Yungdrung Bon monasteries today. Major Tibetologists and academic institutions recognise Bon as the faith that preceded Buddhism, and they also recognise that Buddhism and Bon later influenced one another profoundly. You can therefore include it with confidence as established historical context.


Tibet received Buddhism in two phases. The decisive phase came from Kashmir.  Atisha Dipankara Srijnana, 982 to 1054, was born in Bengal and spent twelve years in Kashmir. By the eleventh century, Nalanda and Vikramashila were in decline, and Kashmir remained the last centre of full Tantric transmission. In Kashmir,  Atisha studied under Dharmarakshita and received initiations of Green and White Tara together with the 'Twenty-One Praises'. His biographies record that Tara herself instructed him to proceed to Tibet.   In 1042, Atisha entered Tibet, established the Kadam school, and made Tara a pan-Tibetan deity. Subsequently, Ratnavajra and other Kashmiri Pandits introduced Red Tara and Kurukulla to Sakya. Tibetans referred to Kashmir as Pandita Desha, the Land of Scholars. For three centuries, monks travelled there for texts. By the time Kashmir’s monasteries collapsed, the lineage was secure in Lhasa.


Reasons for Tara’s Centrality in Tibet

Four factors explain her prominence. First, practicality. Green Tara addressed dangers on mountain passes, White Tara addressed illness, Red Tara addressed leadership and community. There was a Tara for each problem.  Second, the feminine principle. Tibet already possessed Bon goddesses and dakinis. Tara aligned with this indigenous emphasis on the compassionate feminine.  Third, authority. Atisha, Tsongkhapa and the Dalai Lamas all practised Tara. The Jokhang Temple houses a Green Tara statue associated with Atisha.  Fourth, accessibility. Villagers could recite the Mantra, while Yogis could undertake retreats of one hundred thousand recitations. Both drew upon the same Kashmiri template.


The Twenty-One Taras and Kashmiri Provenance

 

The Twenty-One Praises to Tara that Atisha brought to Tibet are a Kashmiri composition. Each verse describes a Tara with a distinct colour and activity. The text functions as a ritual toolkit. Examples include Green Tara for protection from the eight fears, White Tara for long life, Red Tara or Kurukulla for magnetising and subduing, Yellow Tara for increase of wealth, and Blue Tara for pacification of obstacles. The entire system derives from Kashmiri manuals.


Hindu and Buddhist Tara: The Kashmiri Divergence


Because both forms developed in Kashmir, they share methods while diverging in theology. Buddhist Tara belongs to Vajrayana. Her centres were Sharada Peeth and Buddhist monasteries. Her forms are Green, White and Red and peaceful. Her mantra is Om Tare Tuttare Ture Svaha. Her goal is to ferry beings across Samsara. Hindu Mahavidya Tara belongs to Shakta Tantra. Her centres were the Sharada Peeth and Shaiva temples. Her form is blue and fierce, standing upon Shiva. Her mantra is Om Hrim Strim Hum Phat. Her goal is Moksha and Siddhi. Both employed the Kashmiri method of Mantra, Yantra, and visualisation. After the fourteenth century, they developed independently.


Contemporary Legacy


(8th century, Kashmir Tara, brass, at the Royal Ontario Museum (Canada))


In Kashmir, the ancient seat of learning at Sharada Peeth now lies in ruins in Pakistan-occupied Kashmir. Local Hindus continued for centuries to venerate Tārā within the wider cult of Sharada, but this tradition suffered a severe setback after 1947, when the shrine came under Pakistani control following the tribal invasion. The later rise of armed insurgency in the Kashmir Valley, which forced almost the entire Hindu population into exile, further disrupted the region’s living traditions of worship and cultural continuity. Kashmir’s Buddhist inheritance now survives largely through manuscripts, sculptures and other artefacts preserved in institutions such as the Sri Pratap Singh Museum in Srinagar. In Ladakh, by contrast, the Kashmiri Buddhist artistic tradition survives in situ at Alchi, Wanla and Lamayuru. In Tibet, by contrast, the worship of Tārā remains a vibrant and continuous religious practice. Tārā Pūjā is commonly performed on the eighth and twenty-fifth days of the lunar month. Many monasteries maintain a chapel or shrine dedicated to her, while Thangkas depicting the Twenty-One Tārās are widely displayed in monastic spaces and private homes.

Further, Taragam, a village in Qazigund Tehsil of Anantnag district has a shrine dedicated to the goddess Tārā. It survives in the village and continues to attract devotees. Recently, an idol of Ugra Tara has been installed at the shrine. The existence of the shrine and the persistence of local religious tradition establish Taragam as another recognised centre of Tārā worship in Kashmir. The antiquity of the shrine needs further research.

In the West, since the 1960s Tara has become the most widely practised female Buddhist deity. Green Tara is used for anxiety, White Tara for health, and Red Tara for work and relationships. The scholarly consensus is clear. Without Kashmir there would be no Tibetan Tara. Without Sharada Peeth and the monasteries of Baramulla there would be no texts. Without Atisha there would be no transmission.

Conclusion


Tara’s history mirrors that of Kashmir. She was born in the Tantric laboratories of Sharada Peeth and the monasteries of Srinagar, where masters asked how fear, illness and desire might be transformed. The answer was given in terms of colour, Mantra and visualisation. Green to protect. White to heal. Red to attract. In 1042, Atisha carried her across the Himalayas. The temples of Kashmir fell, but Tara endured and flourished in Lhasa.


When a Tibetan grandmother recites Om Tare Tuttare Ture Svaha, or when a Sakya lama performs the Kurukulla rite, they continue a lineage that began in the caves and courtyards of Kashmir.


Tara demonstrates that Tantra was not primarily concerned with magic. It was concerned with method. Methods for courage, healing and influence, applied with compassion.


From Sharada Peeth to the Jokhang of Lhasa, the mountains differ. The goddess remains the same. The instruction remains the same. Act, heal, attract, always for the benefit of others.


( Avtar Mota )


PS


(a)

The name Tārawatī, occurring in a verse attributed to the Kashmiri poet Samad Mir, should not automatically be identified with the Buddhist or Śākta goddess Tārā. Tārawatī was a common personal name among Kashmiri Pandit women, like Somāwatī, Līlāwatī, Indrawatī, Rūpawatī and Gunawatī. Some writers have nevertheless linked this verse to the worship of Goddess Tārā. Such an interpretation appears inaccurate, or at least insufficiently supported, because it exceeds what is apparent in the verse itself. The poet’s appeal to Tārawatī, his request for a compassionate glance and his promise to offer flowers may suggest reverence, longing or devotion, but these expressions do not establish that the addressee is a Buddhist or Hindu deity. Similar imagery is frequently used in Kashmiri love poetry, Sufi verse and mystical compositions addressed to a human beloved or symbolic feminine figure. Unless the poem’s title, its surrounding verses, the editor’s commentary or other reliable contemporary evidence explicitly associates Tārawatī with a particular shrine or goddess, the verse should not be presented as proof of Tārā worship in Kashmiri poetry. Scholarly caution requires that the name be understood first in its ordinary Kashmiri cultural context rather than being burdened with a theological meaning that the text itself does not convey.

(b)

Sources /Books Consulted


Beyer, Stephan. The Cult of Tara: Magic and Ritual in Tibet. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1973.


Kaul, Shonaleeka. The Making of Early Kashmir: Landscape and Process. New Delhi


Khosla, Romi. Buddhist Monasteries of Kashmir and Ladakh. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013.


Kinsley, David. Tantric Visions of the Divine Feminine: The Ten Mahavidyas. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1997.


Shaw, Miranda. Buddhist Goddesses of India and Tibet: Devi and Tara. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2006.


Rajatarangini of Kalhana. Translated by M.A. Stein. 2 vols. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1989.


The Complete Works of Atisa Sri Dipaṃkara Jnana, Jo-bo-rje: The Lamp for the Path and Commentary with Twenty-five Key Texts. Translated by Richard Sherburne, S.J. New Delhi: Aditya Prakashan ( sourced through Internet Archives)



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Thursday, July 30, 2026

CULTURAL EVAPORATION OF TEA IN THE US

                                              
                    ( Coffee Machine in  Kitchen)






 The Cultural Evaporation of Tea and the Rise of Coffee in Public Life In the US 



Walk through New York, Jersey City, Chicago, Washington, Boston, or any major American city at 8am, 2pm, or 10pm, and the pattern is identical: a paper cup, a cardboard sleeve, a plastic lid. Tea has, for most public purposes, evaporated. In its place stands coffee: mocha, cappuccino, cold brew, oat flat white, consumed while walking, with a mobile phone in one hand, a bag on the back, and coffee in the other.  


The streets are lined with huge, spacious coffee shops that function as offices, meeting rooms, and transit lounges. This is not merely a change in taste. It is a change in tempo, in political economy, and in civic ritual. To understand it, we must link three histories: the origin of coffee as a global stimulant, the American rejection of tea after the Boston Tea Party of 1773, and the corporate expansion of US coffee chains from the 1970s onwards. Together they explain why coffee, not tea, became the beverage of mobility and public life.


 The Origin of Coffee: From Ethiopian Highlands to Global Commodity


Coffee originates in the highlands of Ethiopia, likely in the region of Kaffa, around the 9th century. Oral tradition tells of a goatherd named Kaldi who noticed his goats became more energetic after eating red berries. By the 15th century, coffee cultivation had moved to Yemen, where Sufi monasteries in the port of Mocha used a boiled infusion to stay awake for night prayers. From Yemen it spread through the Ottoman Empire to Cairo, Damascus and Istanbul.  


In these cities, the  Qahvehane, or coffee house, emerged as a central institution. It was a place for politics, poetry, chess and news. Unlike the tavern, it did not serve alcohol. It served a bitter, stimulating drink that encouraged talk rather than intoxication.


European traders brought coffee to Venice in the early 1600s. By 1650 London had its first coffee houses, soon nicknamed “penny universities” because for the price of a penny one could sit for hours, read pamphlets and join debate. Paris, Amsterdam and Vienna followed. Thus coffee entered the West not as a domestic drink, but as a public, civic stimulant tied to commerce and discourse.  When coffee arrived in the American colonies, it already carried this DNA. It was the drink of merchants, printers and revolutionaries. Tea, by contrast, arrived as a taxable commodity of empire, shipped by the East India Company. That distinction would prove decisive.


 The Boston Tea Party and the Politicisation of Beverage


On 16 December 1773, American freedom fighters in Boston boarded three ships and dumped 342 chests of tea into the harbour. The protest was aimed at the Tea Act and the principle of “taxation without representation”. But its cultural consequence was larger: tea became associated with monarchy, mercantilism and British ritual.  In the decades after independence, American leaders consciously promoted coffee. The Continental Congress served it. Revolutionary pamphlets were drafted in coffee houses in Philadelphia and New York. To drink coffee was to perform citizenship. To drink tea was, by implication, to perform loyalty to the old empire.  The result was a durable binary. Coffee became public, masculine, Northern and associated with work. Tea became domestic, feminine, Southern and associated with leisure, eventually iced and sweetened in the South. The Boston Tea Party did not eliminate tea, but it marked it. That marking set up a 250-year asymmetry that still structures American beverage culture.


 Why Tea “Evaporated” and Coffee Scaled: Time, Infrastructure and Branding

  

Three structural forces completed the shift in the 20th and 21st centuries. First, time and labour. Tea culture, whether British, Chinese or Indian, is durational. It requires a pot, a steep, a pause. Coffee, especially after the invention of the espresso machine, was engineered for speed: extraction in 25 seconds, served in a to-go cup. In an economy that monetises every minute, coffee aligns with acceleration. Tea does not. Second, infrastructure and the rise of national chains. Unlike tea, coffee developed a retail infrastructure built by a handful of US corporations:


1 Starbucks 


Founded in Seattle in 1971 as a bean retailer, it was transformed by Howard Schultz after a 1983 trip to Milan. Schultz imported the Italian espresso bar and rebranded it as the “third place”, neither home nor work. By 2025, Starbucks operated over 16,000 stores in the US, with a menu of latte, cappuccino, mocha and cold brew that became a national vocabulary.  


2 Dunkin’


 Founded in Quincy, Massachusetts in 1950. With more than 9,000 US locations, it positioned coffee as fast, affordable and working-class: “America Runs on Dunkin’”. Its drive-thru model matched suburban commuting.  


3.  Peet’s, Caribou, Dutch Bros, and independents.


 Peet’s Coffee, founded in Berkeley in 1966, trained early Starbucks buyers and popularised dark roast. Dutch Bros, founded in Oregon in 1992, scaled the drive-thru energy-drink model. Thousands of independents copied the Starbucks template: large seating, Wi-Fi, and a barista behind an espresso machine. This system created a uniform object, the 12oz to 20oz cup that could be consumed in any city, at any hour. Starbucks sold customisation and “third place”. Dunkin’ sold speed and routine. Tea had no equivalent national narrative for the street. It remained a grocery item, not a service.


The “huge spacious coffee shops everywhere” are the direct descendants of the 17th-century coffee house, but scaled for the platform economy.  They provide three things.  


(a) Real estate: A $6 cappuccino or mocha buys three hours of heat, light and Wi-Fi in a city where office rent is prohibitive. Students write essays, freelancers meet clients, remote workers take Zoom calls. The coffee shop has become a privatised public utility.  


(b)  Mobility: The design of the cup, lid and sleeve assumes movement. This produces the image you describe: person walking, mobile in one hand, backpack on, coffee in the other. This is the embodied posture of the 21st-century worker: multitasking, in transit, always on. Tea, which sloshes and cools, is poorly suited to this.  


(c) Menu as cultural capital: To order a “venti oat milk flat white” is to display fluency in a global code. The Italianate taxonomy, espresso, macchiato, cappuccino, popularised by Starbucks after 1985, is legible from Boston to Bangalore. Tea menus remain regional: chai, Earl Grey, matcha and thus less universal in a cosmopolitan setting. Crucially, these chains also colonised space. A single block in Manhattan can contain three Starbucks and two Dunkin’. They standardise furniture, lighting, and music. This creates a familiar environment that reduces the friction of work. Tea rooms, by contrast, never scaled in this way. They remained boutique, slow, and locally specific.


(d) Class, Health and the Moral Economy of Coffee: There is also a class dimension. Coffee, especially black coffee or Americano, is coded as ascetic and productive. It signals: “I am working.” Expensive milk-based drinks like mocha and caramel macchiato signal creative-class status. Tea, particularly herbal or fruit tea, is coded as wellness, femininity, or convalescence.  Health discourse reinforced this. From the 1990s onwards, coffee was marketed with studies on alertness, metabolism and antioxidants. Tea was marketed for calm and detox. In a culture that prizes output over rest, the stimulant won. The pandemic accelerated this further: takeaway coffee was deemed “essential” while tea rooms closed.  Thus coffee became not only faster, but morally superior in the logic of neoliberal work: it keeps you going.


(e)  Coffee as the Drink of Media, Mobility and Acceleration: The dominance of coffee also reflects a change in consciousness. Coffee is a stimulant that matches the logic of the smartphone: short bursts, constant refresh, no waiting. Tea asks you to pause. Coffee asks you to go.  Sociologist Hartmut Rosa calls this “social acceleration”.⁸ Our institutions, technologies and bodies are all being sped up. Coffee is the pharmacological and cultural technology that makes that acceleration feel normal. The Boston Tea Party rejected a beverage of empire and slowness. We have, in effect, institutionalised that rejection.  The drinks themselves reveal this. Few Americans drink coffee as 18th-century merchants did: black and bitter. They drink mocha, cappuccino, caramel macchiato, milk-heavy, sweetened, and designed for palatability and customisation. This is coffee as a platform, not as a tradition. Tea, by contrast, remains marked by its origins. “Assam”, “Sencha”, “Earl Grey” all recall a geography. “Grande” recalls only a size.


Conclusion: The Afterlife of 1773


The origin of coffee in Ethiopian monasteries and Yemeni ports gave it a history as a drink of wakefulness. The Boston Tea Party gave it an American political meaning as the drink of the republic. The rise of Starbucks, Dunkin’ and the franchise model gave it a national infrastructure of space and speed.  


Tea has not disappeared. It has moved to the kettle, to bubble-tea shops, and to the home. But in public space, from morning through evening, coffee won because it matched the city we built: mobile, networked and productive.  


To bring tea back to the street would require more than new cafés. It would require a rethinking of time, a willingness to steep, to sit, to not be in motion. Until then, the legacy of 1773 continues in every to-go cup: a nation that chose coffee, and with it, a particular way of living in public.


( Avtar Mota )





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WHY COFFEE REPLACED TEA IN MUCH OF EUROPE

                                          

   ( Coffee Machines are essential item in every European kitchen)

       

Why Coffee Replaced Tea in Much of Europe

Coffee is more than a stimulating beverage. It is a cultural institution that has shaped European habits of work, conversation, leisure and intellectual exchange. Its aroma became inseparable from the café, the newspaper, the business meeting and the prolonged discussion among writers and artists. Prepared in several forms, from strong espresso to filtered coffee and milk-based varieties, it proved adaptable to changing patterns of urban life. Coffee could be consumed quickly by a worker beginning the day or slowly by friends gathered around a table. Its rise in Europe therefore marked not only a transformation in taste, but also a movement from the ceremonious domestic ritual of the teapot towards a faster, more individualised and increasingly public culture of drinking.

Coffee did not uniformly replace tea throughout Europe. Britain, Ireland and Russia remained strongly attached to tea. Across much of continental Europe, however, coffee gradually became the more characteristic public and everyday beverage. Its ascendancy resulted not merely from changing taste, but from commerce, urbanisation, sociability, labour habits and colonial expansion.

Coffee and tea entered European markets during the seventeenth century as expensive imported novelties. Both were initially valued partly for their supposed medicinal properties. Tea arrived principally through maritime trade with China, while coffee reached Europe through Ottoman and Mediterranean commercial networks. Coffee soon acquired an important advantage because it developed a distinctive public institution, the coffee house. In Paris, Vienna, Venice, Amsterdam and other European cities, cafés became meeting places for merchants, writers, artists, politicians and intellectuals.

The café encouraged conversation, debate and the circulation of news. Newspapers were read, business agreements were discussed, and political opinions were exchanged over cups of coffee. Coffee consequently became associated with the expanding urban public sphere. Tea, by contrast, was more closely connected with the domestic interior, polite hospitality and the family table.

Coffee also suited the emerging work culture of modern Europe. Unlike wine or beer, it encouraged alertness without intoxication. Merchants, clerks, journalists, officials and students could drink it while continuing to work. Its stimulating quality made it particularly attractive in societies increasingly organised around punctuality, commerce and intellectual production.

Colonial expansion further strengthened coffee’s position. European powers developed large coffee plantations in the Caribbean, Latin America, Java and parts of Africa. The exploitation of enslaved and coercively controlled labour increased production and reduced prices. Coffee thereby became available to a much wider public. National preferences nevertheless remained important. Britain’s commercial interests, taxation policies and imperial cultivation of tea in India and Ceylon helped tea retain its commanding position there.

Where coffee displaced tea, it also altered domestic material culture. The elaborate tea set, once a visible symbol of refinement and hospitality, gradually lost some of its everyday importance. Teapots, matching cups and saucers, milk jugs, sugar bowls, tea strainers, tea trays, tea cosies and tea coasters were used less frequently in households that adopted coffee as their habitual drink. Some of these objects became largely ceremonial and were brought out for formal visitors rather than employed daily.

The tea cosy, designed to keep a large teapot warm during prolonged conversation, became increasingly unnecessary when coffee was prepared rapidly and served in individual cups. Similarly, the traditional tea set, once proudly displayed in drawing rooms and dining cabinets, often became an ornamental remnant of an earlier domestic culture. Tea coasters, trays and strainers were sometimes stored away or retained chiefly as family heirlooms.

Coffee introduced its own equipment and rituals. Coffee pots, grinders, filters, espresso machines and smaller cups entered European kitchens and cafés. The replacement of one beverage by another therefore involved more than a change in consumption. It transformed kitchens, dining tables, social customs and decorative traditions.

Coffee’s European triumph was neither complete nor universal. It prevailed mainly where café culture, urban employment and colonial supply encouraged it. Tea continued to dominate where domestic custom and imperial commerce supported it. The history of the two beverages thus reflects Europe’s regional diversity, while also showing how changing tastes can make an entire range of familiar household objects increasingly unnecessary.


( Avtar Mota )



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Wednesday, July 29, 2026

MY NEW POEM ," UPROOTED GODS"

                                            





(Uprooted Gods)


My ancestors were trees,  
torn from the peaceful forest,  
and planted in the city habitation.  
They survived.  
That was the first wound.

Mother;  
A chinar.  
She carried her shade along with  
Mountain trunk.  
Sky-wide branches.  
Green leaves.

And a chinar doesn't ask  
the faith of tired travellers  
who sit under its shade.  
Mother proved it right.

Men came with hunger,  
They cut her branches,  
Swept away even her fallen leaves  
And fed them to hand-held braziers  
to warm their bodies  
while her own heart went cold.

She never complained.  
She smiled.  
A Chinar tree she was,  
Shelter for birds.  
Comfort for her own people.  
And comfort for strangers too.

Inside: a secret fire.  
A fire of compassion.  
A blaze of simplicity.  
Embers of nishkama — selflessness,  
burning where no one could see.  
And she hollowed.

Truth, simplicity, compassion burn  
like quiet fire within the chest.  
Stripping away the weight we carry,  
And leaving the heart both clear and open.

Those who hold these virtues,  
do not bend.  
They rise,  
upright,  
steady,  
and tall.  
Yet at their core  
they turn to hollow,  
An empty space that holds  
no pride.

It is not absence,  
But a clearing.  
No boast,  
No swelling of the self,  
Only room to take another’s burden  
And stand unshaken in the wind.

We too felt that heat.  
Look at me.  
A scar of simplicity.  
Of empathy.  
Of truth.

My father  
A bamboo.  
Tall.  
He was already hollow inside,  
to make room for new ideas,  
to hold the weight of others without asking.

Elasticity made him unbreakable  
Even under pressure.  
He swayed with adversity,  
then stood straight again.

Hollow within, he stood tall,  
And became a flute for the stormy winds,  
What soothing music  
he created for others.  
Impervious to distraction,  
He grew towards light, not noise.

He had node structure.  
Clear principles not easily compromised.  
Knots on his spine like vows.

They used him too:  
For furniture,  
For mats.  
For staircases to go up  
and dump him on ground,  
A tool in every hand.  
A back for every burden.  
Chanakya said,  
"Straight trees are cut first."  
So they cut him.  
He made no sound.

Now;

The city needs no Chinar.  
The city needs no bamboo.  
So they went home.  
Back to the forest.  
To breathe air that asks nothing.  
To be held by cloud and wind.  
To be washed by night rain.  
To face the first sun.  
To run with birds, with animals, with life.

I am the son of a Chinar tree.  
I am the son of a bamboo tree.  
I have no friends in the city now  
No well-wisher.  
Unknown,  
Strangers,  
I confront everywhere now,  
I carry the baggage of truth,  
The baggage of empathy,  
The baggage of simplicity  
Inherited from my parents.  
In this city,  
They call it a scar on the soul.  
And scarred souls have no place to rest.  
Who will wash this scar clean?

(Avtar Mota)




PS

Critique of the poem by an English teacher from the US 

Avtar Mota’s “The Uprooted Gods” is an ecopoetic elegy that figures the parents as archetypal Kashmiri trees ; the Mother as a Chinar, embodying hospitality and unconditional shade, and the Father as Bamboo, embodying ethical resilience, hollowness as capacity, and nodal integrity. Structurally a diptych in free verse, the poem sets the organic “forest” against the extractive “habitation,” tracing diasporic uprooting as the first wound: survival through self-erasure. Allusions to Chanakya and the Bhagavad Gita politicise and spiritualise this sacrifice, while anaphora and stark, declarative lines create a liturgical rhythm of mourning. The poem culminates in the speaker’s inheritance , “Scars of simplicity. Of empathy. Of truth” , and an unanswerable question that transforms private grief into a broader lament for cultures that give shade until they are consumed, then are deemed no longer needed.




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CHINAR S

Tuesday, July 28, 2026

MY NEW POEM ," IN THE FIELD"

                             


(In the Field)


In a world that neither acknowledges  

nor encourages,  

we still draw the line and stand.  


What if the chariot is empty today?  

What if no Murlidhara answers,  

and the sky returns only silence?  

What if the Kurus multiply their fronts  

just to exhaust us, to break us?  

Still ,  act we must.  


Action is our revolt against indifference.  

Action is our karma when nothing is owed to us.  

We do not wait for meaning to be given.  

We carve it into the world with our hands.  


The field demands one thing:  

That we do not kneel.  

That we fight, 

even unseen.  

That we become the reason

the field remembers

we were here.


( Avtar Mota )


PS

Critique of the poem "In the Field" by a friend who teaches English in the US :


“In the Field” is a poem of secular karma. Mota takes the framework of the Bhagavad Gita in absence of the divine interlocutor, leaving us with action without sanction and duty without witness. The empty chariot and the silent sky are not just images of abandonment, but a statement of metaphysical fact , meaning is no longer given, it must be made. In this void, Mota redefines revolt not as protest, but as persistence: “Action is our karma when nothing is owed to us.” It is an existential ethic, close to Camus, yet grounded in dharma or duty .


Stylistically, the poem is admirable for its austerity. The short, declarative lines, the anaphora of “What if” and “That we”, and the unadorned diction create a tone that is both prophetic and soldierly. Mota writes with moral clarity and restraint. He does not lament; he commands. In doing so, he emerges as a poet of ethical endurance ; one who turns exile, indifference, and silence into the very ground on which the self chooses to stand.



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CHINAR SHADE by Autarmota is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 India License.
Based on a work at http:\\autarmota.blogspot.com\.