Malvika's Ramblings

Chai Corner

Morning. 9:00 a.m. The sun is out. Groggy. Walk out of my bed, out of the door, beyond dusty verandas to the corner tea shop. Next to the tea-shop is a large iron gate, locked and barred. Office goers stand on the other side of the gate holding forward their thermos flasks like children at a school canteen. If somebody approaches the gate, all of them yell out helpfully "It's closed, it's closed!", trying to save the person a few extra steps even though he invariably comes up to the gate before turning back.

Ajit, a Bengali guy, mans his tea-shop in Shahpur Jat, a hardcore villainous Delhi neighbourhood. He empties his kettle filling thermos flasks from his side of the gate. He strains tea from his aluminum saucepan. He bends over the pan stirring tea with a knife, reusing tea-leaves. He stands on a block of stone to look over the saucepan, into the steam. He steps down nimbly to scurry about without seeming like a scurrying teashop boy. His aunt comes and yells some domestic duties to him from the other side of the gate. He says he is ‘busy’ and asks her whether he should listen to her or do his work.

A white dog with a black eye patch saunters by. A brown mutt folds one forepaw over the other and stretches down. No begging for tidbits. He is a well fed street dog and has his pride. I get my tea, especially strong with less milk and lots of ginger, and I sit back on threadbare mats over stone blocks to blow it cool and sip it slow.