If psychotherapy was created in South Asia, chai would be a part of it.

Imagining theoretical orientations and their take on chai as a part of the conversation.

If Therapy Was Created in South Asia

If therapy were created in South Asia, chai would be a part of it.

It’s not a social lubricant or substance like alcohol, so it would creep its way through the cracks of theoretical discourse and find a place in the therapy room similar to that of water or a box of tissues. Except, unlike tissues, chai wouldn’t be a passive presence. It would insist on being noticed, celebrated, and debated—its aroma, temperature, and sugar content taking on a life of their own.

Therapists would argue over who should make the chai: the therapist or the client. After all, if therapy is about creating a safe and equal space, can the therapist hold the authority of the kettle? Would the act of making chai together become a form of co-regulation? Or would it blur the sacred boundaries between helper and helped?

Some theoretical orientations would argue that the chai-making apparatus should remain in the room, where the therapist and client can brew tea together as part of the therapeutic process. Others would insist that the mere presence of a kettle and cups on the table might lead the client to project unresolved maternal feelings onto the therapist.

Questions of self-disclosure would spark heated debates. Should the therapist allow the client to see how much sugar they use in their chai? Or is this an ethical breach? Perhaps the therapist should prepare their chai before the session starts, as part of their session prep, alongside reviewing their notes.

Psychoanalysts, of course, would be adamant: the client must never know how sweet (or bitter) their therapist’s chai is. To do so would risk undermining the projections necessary for the therapeutic process.

An excerpt of early excavations into the psyche resulting in a case study might have read as such:

"Today I had my 5th session with the patient. We had been establishing a deeper relationship, and we were in the midst of a conversation about the family drama involving her mother-in-law when she 'accidentally' dropped the chai onto the floor. We must explore if the chai was dropped with unconscious motivation so as to erect walls around the topic, in effect keeping me or anyone else out—but really exposing a hidden fear of being seen. Or perhaps, this is how she engages with others relationally. Perhaps she tends to drop the chai around her mother-in-law often as well. Might her mother-in-law feel similarly to me when she drops the chai? These are my questions to explore in the next session."

Psychoanalysts would cling to moments like this as evidence of the deep, symbolic layers of chai. To them, nothing in the therapy room—including spilled tea—would ever be an accident.

What better place to spill tea than the clinic?

Humanistic psychotherapists, on the other hand, would champion transparency. They’d claim that the only way to build an authentic relationship is to brew chai openly, together, with no sugar secrets.

Existential therapists would reject chai altogether. Instead, they’d offer coffee—an intentional choice to awaken clients to the harsh reality of existence. But not too much coffee, lest it trigger existential anxiety (or heart palpitations).

Cognitive Behavioral Therapists might chart the effects of chai on the autonomic nervous system. They’d likely prepare a worksheet: "How does chai influence your emotional response?" Clients would be encouraged to track their chai consumption and label its impact on their thoughts, feelings, and behaviors. Over time, they might develop an evidence-based belief that chai = calm.

Critical therapists, of course, would launch a full-on rebellion. They’d argue that chai in therapy is a colonial leftover, a legacy of British imperialism that should be interrogated. “Why chai? Why not Kashmiri kahwa or masala doodh?” they might ask, attempting to decolonize the psychotherapeutic enterprise, one cup at a time.

Behaviorists would see chai differently. They’d hope to condition their clients so that the mere presence of chai would evoke feelings of safety and calm. Their dream would be for clients to experience the same therapeutic warmth every time they had chai outside the therapy room—though let’s be honest, that’s already happening.

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And then there’s the practical side. The logistics of chai in therapy would be chaotic. Therapists would quickly find themselves in dilemmas: Should they brew chai for each session individually? What happens when a client refuses chai altogether? Worse yet, what if a client brings chai from home—over-sweetened and brewed to their own disastrous standards? Does rejecting it become a therapeutic rupture?

Families, too, would get involved. In true South Asian style, therapy might transform into a full-on tea party. Uncles and Aunties would insist on sitting in, armed with their own chai preferences and unsolicited opinions about the therapist. Therapy might devolve into a battle of chai recipes before the therapist even gets a word in.

We would argue and argue for decades about the ethics of chai in therapy, each school of thought clinging to its beliefs. Psychoanalysts would call Humanistic therapists reckless. CBT practitioners would brand Critical therapists as unnecessarily antagonistic. Existential therapists would insist we’re all missing the point entirely.

Eventually, research would reveal a truth too simple to satisfy anyone: It is not the chai itself that heals but who one is sharing the cup with.

This revelation would send theorists into a tailspin, each claiming the finding as evidence for their approach. Relational therapists would feel vindicated. CBT therapists would tout it as proof of their 16-cup “gold standard.” Critical therapists would begrudgingly acknowledge it but continue fighting for decolonized caffeine.

But still, no one would ever find the definitive answer to the proper use of chai in therapy.

And perhaps that’s the ultimate lesson of therapy—not everything needs to be explained, theorized, or evidenced. Sometimes, you just need a warm cup of chai to sit with the chaos of life. Unless, of course, you're an existential therapist. In which case... get a coffee.