The Chai Chronicles !!!

 Brrrr... The chilly winter morning with a lethal wind cutting through the fog, the stressed morning sun making a desperate but unsuccessful attempt to rise above the thick barriers of fog and pregnant clouds. Only the very brave or the very helpless have ventured out of their blankets onto the  streets. But through the impenetrable dark fog, a little dim light around the corner presents an unusual glimmer of hope...its a little tea stall (aka chai ki dukan, chai ki tapri, kitli).

A tea stall around the corner is a common occurrence across any city, town, village or hamlet in India. Every Indian (except those who are hung up on milk or those who prefer the exotic coffee) is a tea drinker. Not just tea but the quintessential Indian masala chai (Chai Tea according to Starbucks whatever that means) which is a sure shot cure for that unnerving winter chill or warm summer blues or on a cold rainy evening.  Just holding on to the hot beverage and slowly blowing into the boiling liquid brings the much needed respite from slumber and torpor. As you bring the hot cuppa to your lips, the strong fragrant vapors of the piping liquid rejuvenate the system and one short sip of the liquid brings to life every pore in the body and you feel enveloped in the warm, loving, almost therapeutic herbal embrace of ginger, cardamom cinnamon, pepper and cloves.

Chai in India is nothing short of a religion. Most Indians are used to sipping chai even before they wake up completely, be it winter or summer. The quintessential chai ki chuski (tasteful sip) gives the necessary jolt to push out the sleep and pump up the energy for the day. Every home has a recipe for the drink using specialized herbs or spices depending on the palate of the family and resourcefulness of the tea maker.

Indians drink tea all day long across all seasons.  In the Indian context Chai is not just a drink. A cup of Chai in India (which incidentally sounds so similar to the Hindi word for love (Chah)) has myriad of connotations. It can denote a mother's love, a wife's treat, budding friendship, building camaraderie, a break from monotony, relaxation and renewal depending on the time of the day and the person with whom it is shared. Though kids are not allowed to drink tea I started my tea innings at 4 as I hated the smell of milk and so my mother mixed it with tea to get me to drink it. Needless to say I was hooked and today I proudly consider myself one of the best masala chai makers and drinkers I know. :-)

With the chai being so much a part of the Indian way of life I always believed that just like the “mighty zero” and “the eternal chess” this too was a proud Indian discovery. But a chance program on the EPIC Channel (The only sensible Hindi Channel on Indian TV see here https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iagO0mQlIFM) opened my eyes to the facts. Here they are. 

• Tea was discovered in China 4700 years ago and came to India much much later brought by none other than the British. 
• The first commercial production of tea in India only began post 1820s. And much like their other contribution- the railways- Tea too became an indefatigable part of Indian way of life.
•  Thanks to the British, India began to give tough competition to China in production and export of tea not to mention the millions it made for the coffers of the British government. 
• Even today India is the second largest producer of tea but thanks to the trillions of cuppas sipped up by its billions, 70% of India's tea is used at home.

As  the chai so  the chai wala (Tea shop owner) occupies a position of importance in the Indian diaspora. A typical chai shop in India comprises of a small table with a stove and a couple of stools to seat the clients. Every chai wala has a special recipe and flavour and a very loyal clientele .The chaiwala provides specialized service to his loyalists as per their tastes and preferences-whether a kadak mithi (strong and sweet), malai marke (full of cream) or cutting (a real small portion). In fact he even plays the role of  the good listener and agony aunt to the harried tea drinker who pours out his sorrows over sips  of the soothing 'potion'.  The chaiwala is hence a key source of local undercurrents and gossips and to some extent a thought leader.No surprise then that a former "chaiwala" now occupies the most important, powerful and respectable position in the Indian Government . Long live the Indian Chai !!!!

Summer Wars !!!

The winter has come and gone. !! The first signs of the end of winter in Gurgaon are not the warm evening air or people sans the colorful shawls and sweaters or the absence of lazy foggy mornings. It is the resurfacing of the sly creepy slithering lizards which the place is infested with. If you are, like me, psychotic about the creatures, Gurgaon can be a nightmare to live in. These lizards have clearly established their domain in the city. No amount of care and cleanliness and fumigation of your home can help you get rid of these omnipresent creatures. They might just creep upon you from anywhere. In the building porches, corridors, gardens, behind the book shelf, under the kitchen cabinet, on the shower curtain or worst still slithering on the floor. There are just millions of them everywhere. Maybe Gurgaon is the safe haven of lizards and they come and settle here from all over the country and perhaps even migrate from colder climates.  I do not have facts or research to support this but my bet is that "Gurgaon lizards" (henceforward referred to as "the creature") are the fastest in the world. I suspect they are also blessed with uncanny supernatural powers to appear and disappear at will.

 When I first moved to Gurgaon from Mumbai I lived in a large and sparsely furnished home away from the city, in the Aravali Hills. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that I would have to deal with "the creatures" besides missing the hustle bustle of Mumbai and its vivacity. They were of varied shapes, sizes, colors and personalities parked themselves all over the house in their respective corners slyly marking their territory. But they all had a singular common trait- total and complete fearlessness from humans and their arsenal (read measly jhadoos and insect sprays). No amount of efforts and attacks had any effect on them. They just kept coming back and back again. My act was the same every time. "Creature Spotting-cringing-screaming- jhadoo-spray and finally running-hiding and cursing my fate”. Slowly I grew tired of this constant fear mongered war and my Mumbaiyya spirit of "dealing with all adversity" clicked in. One fine wintery morning I had a divine realization.

This war was nothing but a natural progression of living in North India. While in the west where I was born and grew up the culture was of "Being and letting be”, in North it was "Me before he/she". Many blame it on the multiple wars and military attacks to this part of the country over the centuries resulting in a constant struggle for survival of the fittest. I don't really know to what extent it is true but the fact is every interaction in this part of the country is about power play. Whoever is the first to establish the stamp of authority and power is the winner all the way. If you wilt or flinch in the slightest.there!!! the power is gone to the opponent. Be it with the doodhwala (milkman), sabjiwala (vegetable vendor), maid or neighbors and even new found friends. Once you allow the other person to wield authority, you cannot complain of being "taken for granted" or "not consulted" or "lied to". Always always always establish the power. Be it by aggression, assertion or a plain and simple shouting match as the circumstance or opponent category may require.

Once this realization was complete I got my act together in more ways than one.   I decided to mend my ways to deal with the "the creature" too. I realized that just like the rest of the things in North India this play was also about power. So after the first winter (when incidentally the cold blooded creatures disappear completely. Oooh don’t I love the season!! ) I told myself, this is my house and these creatures are not welcome. So I wielded power and fortified my home with specially ordered "Laxman Rekha" chalk (which is said to keep away lizards), got a pest control treatment (though the company rep confirmed their treatment had no effect on "the creature") and equipped myself with a long "jhadoo" and multitude of insect sprays. So when the first of "the creatures" appeared I nearly welcomed them, waiting with bated breath to see the effect of my "power play". But Alas!!! They remained unaffected. It was just business as usual for them. I was totally flustered and irritated. I was ready to pack my bags and move rather than live in this lizard infested place. And we did!!! To a more central location in the city where "the creatures" existed but in lesser numbers.

I have been living for six long years in this house and am in my seventh year in Gurgaon but the war is on. My routine of creature spotting-cringing-screaming- jhadoo-spray and finally running-hiding still continues. Sometimes I wilt and occasionally the creature makes a run for it but the war continues from one summer till the next. My latest divine realization in this case is Man (or woman) exerts no power over "the creatures" and also that not every war can be won. Some you have to just keep fighting!!!!

Dhondu !!!!

Dhondu was barely 10 years old when my badi mummy (as we addressed my maternal grandmother) brought him home as house help. It was the late nineteen fifties and like thousands others in rural India Dhondu was ripped away from his village in Mahad in Maharashtra and sent to Mumbai to make a living. His family of poor farm laborers relentlessly toiled in the fields to grow food but had little to fill their own bellies. So Dhondu was the designated savior to a long line of hungry siblings and ageing parents who depended on him to eke out a living and save them from starvation. 

My badi mummy was a strict regimental matriarch with a large family and an even larger extended family. She was a devout Vaishnav and strictly followed all the rituals and regimens of the sect which required pujas and rituals at regular intervals throughout the day. Besides, she loved to cook and entertain. Little Dhondu was overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of his responsibilities as badi mummy's assistant. He was hardly four feet tall, wheatish and stubby with thin undernourished limbs but had the enthusiasm and wide eyed curiosity of a little kitten with a new ball of wool. He worked hard and followed instructions diligently. He was mostly happy with his emancipation from a deprived existence to a place of plenty. badi mummy was a disciplinarian and tough boss but loved to feed. So little Dhondu happily transitioned from sharing watered down meals at his village home to platefuls of hot, fresh food which badi mummy generously laid out in front of him after a hard day’s work. Dhondu ate to his heart’s content sometimes over stuffing himself so much that he couldn't move. He was then angrily rebuked by badi mummy who couldn't tolerate even an iota of inefficiency or laziness. 

Dhondu worked as hard as someone his age could, doing chores and running errands throughout the day. Initially he remained content and happy with a full stomach but as time passed, his thoughts often veered to his carefree life back home.  He missed the open fields, his small but welcoming mud hut, his friends, his siblings and most of all, his mother. He often felt lost in the big city where he felt the plates were full but hearts were empty. Many a time he would cry himself to sleep, dreaming of his days of diving and splashing in his village pond with his friends.

Then one morning a couple of months after his arrival, he fell sick. His throat itched, head ached and his body burned with fever. He was miserable but did not utter a word and kept on with his chores. However the next morning his fever spiked and he was covered in red angry boils all over. He was shivering with fear and silently sobbing when badi mummy went up to his bed near the pantry. He was scared she would fire him and send him home and so closed his eyes and cried even more. He wished his mother was with him. She would wipe his tears with her old torn sari, make sweet black tea for him and cuddle him till he fell asleep. But in this big city he had no one to call his own. He was so alone. Dhondu flinched when his chain of thought was suddenly broken by a soft, warm touch over his burning forehead. To his utter astonishment he found badi mummy sitting cross legged by his side. Her usually firm face looked softened in the morning light as she gently patted his head. Dhondu was dumbstruck and barely moved lest this be a dream. But badi mummy just sat there uttering soothing words of comfort to the lonely suffering boy. As Dhondu’s fear turned to relief he burst into loud uncontrollable sobs.

Dhondu’s chicken pox was very severe. He suffered a great deal for the next two weeks. The fever, the rash, the cough and the discomfort was unbearable for the poor village boy. But badi mummy tended to him round the clock at times as a caring mother and at others like a strict nurse would. She fed him hot khichdi and cool barley buttermilk and applied boric powder and neem leaves to soothe the itching eruptions. Little Dhondu  was overwhelmed by the tender care, something he had never experienced before. Even his own mother burdened by life’s challenges had never pampered him as much. As Dhondu was nursed back to health his fear of badi mummy disappeared and turned to veneration. Badi mummy too became softer towards him as if the sickness made her realize that he was just a little boy. And a new relationship was born.

For fourteen long years, badi mummy and Dhondu made an irrepressible team running the home like a well-oiled super-efficient machine. Dhondu became a strapping enthusiastic young lad who was badi mummy's shadow. They had an amazing understanding. He deciphered what she needed even before she said it aloud. He was devoted to her and was her pillar and rock. She in turn trusted and depended on him implicitly. As she grew older and weaker, Dhondu was her stick and support. He could convince badi mummy on issues even her children dare not. She bent many rules for Dhondu including allowing him to touch her precious puja vessels. Dhondu was unflinchingly by badi mummy’s side through all life’s ups and downs, from children’s engagements, weddings, births of four grandchildren, financial debacles and nanaji's illness and demise. Come what may Dhondu never left badi mummy's side. He was her support, her helper, her assistant and her hand to hold on to. He was completely and totally a part of her large family and an even larger heart. 

Even for me and my younger cousins Dhondu was our favorite babysitter and playmate. He looked after us with care, cooked for us, fed us, took all four of us to the park or to the beach and even told us bedtime stories. I very clearly recall one instance when all elders were out and we demanded he feed all four of us together as he told us stories of his village days. He so lovingly obliged and slowly and patiently fed each one of us in turns as we munched away listening to him in rapt attention. 

Life is Amazing. Is it not!! It brings together the unlikeliest of people who end up enhancing and enriching each others lives and giving it meaning and direction.  Dhondu received love from unexpected quarters which transformed his life and in turn his quiet devotion and rock solid presence gave badi mummy the much required support and strength in her later years. 

Dhondu must now be in his sixties and has a family of his own. A family which I hope he would have nurtured with the same love, care and values in which he grew up. And I am sure badi mummy must be showering her choicest blessings on him from time to time from her abode in the heavens!!

Those were the Days !!!

Friendship is an emotion close to every heart and at every age.In childhood, friends are playmates, in adolescence they are partners in crime and  'chief source of information' :-) But in youth they are the be all and end all of existence. 

In fact youth is the time when the 'friend antenna' is always in receptor mode. The world is your playing field and the motto is 'the more the merrier'.  So, you have your childhood friends, school friends, college friends, dance class friends, tuition class friends and then  of course all the friends' friends, cousins' friends, friends' cousins and cousins' cousins  are all your friends. 

 And why not ? This is the stage in life when you are taking baby steps into the 'real' world where friends are your guide and support. They are a breath of fresh air from the 'do's and don'ts and 'should and should nots' of elders and monotony of siblings and families. They are in effect the family you can actually choose. Someone who has the same likes, dislikes and preferences as you . Someone who understands you, whom you can pore your heart to, discuss and share your dreams as well as dark desires and secrets. What would life be without friends to love, fight, tease argue and hangout with. ??

But alas!!! as life progresses, situations change, paths alter and some friendships fade away.New people enter life and professional contacts, spouse's buddies or parents of children's' friends become your friends. New friendships are formed and fresh memories made. But the old friendships remain etched in our hearts in gold. And those days are unforgettable...

Here's to my Old buddies and to the memories of those fantastic days.. CHEERS to OUR FRIENDSHIP GUYS LOVE YOU ALL :-)

Those were the Days !!

Those were the Days !! 

When friends were  life,
We met every day and there was rarely a strife,
Our hearts were overflowing with shared secrets,
Of Crushes and Loves and conflicts with parents.

Those were the Days!!
Of our endless discussions on the ways of the world,
On hopes , dreams, aspirations and options untold.
Dreaming of happiness, love, romance and ambition,
Life would only get better from here was the clear assumption.

Those were the Days!!
When the first rain, a book sale, a movie ticket, a concert pass, a party invitation,
Were enough to make us happy and excited and call for a celebration.
Watching romantic movies made us gush and mush,
Their tall, dark handsome heroes were our major crush.

Those were the Days!!
Which now seem silly and immature,
For some of us they are but a blur.
Coz we are now adults full of responsibilities,
Mature, responsible and dealing with our realities,
But every time we light a candle or a lamp….
Let’s take a moment to think of the times..
When we shared the beauty of life and its splendor, When life was just friendship, fun and laughter and nothing more

Why Oh Why ?

Her lips were painted a hue of the dusky sky in autumn,
Her beautiful almond shaped eyes kohled to perfection,
Her starry bindi twinkled on her forehead like a star,
Her long shapely hennaed hands adorned with red and white wedding bangles,
But her eyes as heavy as dark clouds on a monsoon day,
Why oh why did he stand me up?

It was midnight and he was not home yet,
No message no phone.
Be ready he had said, for a movie and dinner date
Worrying endlessly,
Heart beating like a bullet train,
She waited, chugging out dark, scary thoughts
Why oh why did he stand me up?

Ting tong !!! Finally the sound she awaited,
She scampered to the door,
She would run into his arms, pour out her  tensions on his sinewy chest,
And lovingly  curse him and ask,
Why oh why did he stand me up?

Ting tong went the impatient bell again,
She grinned, twas so much like him to not  hold back his horses,
She peeped through the key hole,
And the night turned darker than hell !!!

Why oh why did he stand me up?

His shirt was a crisp white as in the morning, save the little red  stain on the chest,
His curly hair in a neat heap as he always liked,
His favorite black leather satchel by his side,
His handsome face so peaceful in a frozen half-smile,

She fell into his limp arms, pounding his chest, sobbing like a baby,
The weight of the wedding bangles crushing her arms,
Her henna but a crimson smudge !!!

Why oh why did he stand me up !!!