Posted on by nikita

Chai pe charcha

street vendor making traditional indian chai

It wasn’t simply a conversation over a cup of tea, but the charcha was all about the amusing variety of ways people consume a cup of tea. 

For example, let me tell you about a friend of my cousin: he would arrange seven saucers on the dining table and pour tea into each of them. Then he would slurp it from every saucer, starting from 1 through 7. 

Instantly, this anecdote conjured up the image of Tom from my favourite Tom & Jerry cartoon in front of my unblinking eyes. Tom lapping his tongue, relishing what’s on a plate, before getting instigated by his all-time friend and foe, Jerry.

Just as their friendship is full of twists and turns, the real-world alliance of President Trump and his one-time dear friend, the Indian chaiwala, is also not immune to twists and turns. Lately, all his frequent taarif in honour of Mr. Modi seems to have turned into a virulent tariff. 

*****

Taarif karu kya uski jisne tumhe banaya…— an acquaintance who would empty the contents of the cup, the tea, into a thali and let the heat dissipate, thereby cooling it. By this time, she would get her daughter ready for school — dressing her in the school uniform, combing her hair, and preparing her lunchbox. Of course, she would know the difference between a tea that’s gone cold and iced tea. 

Just wondering, what she did with the tea scum? Would she just let it slip down her deprived throat, akin to kids who let bitter medicines glide down their resistant throat, or would she pinch it with her index finger and thumb, a neat pincer grasp, and discard the scum?

Surely, many of us must have come across people who remove tea scum and place it on the rim of a cup or on the side of a saucer. The sight of this waxy residue, stuck to the surface, is quite grotesque, like a ghostly skin on something once appealing. And if the vessels aren’t soaked or washed immediately, the scum gets as stubborn as it can, eventually bearing the brunt of the soapy scrub that is rubbed to and fro over it. 

*****

Scum. 

Sounds so derogatory. Like — ‘Hey! You scum! How dare you float on the surface of my tea! You thin, brown, good-for-nothing!’ 

Take a chill pill! I’m neither being racist nor disparaging. It’s just a vituperative outrage. Nowadays, the tu tadak and offensive language is considered normal, whether it’s satta, samaj, series, or cinema. Swearing seems to be the new vibe. 

Consciously or subconsciously, pejoratives are interwoven into many people’s day-to-day communication just like their staple food. It’s like daal-chawal for some, the absence of which is considered an incomplete meal; while, for others, it could be as soothing as an adruk ki chai.

*****

Chai adrukwali ho ya elaichiwali, no one dared to compete with a person I knew from my adolescent days when it came to drinking piping hot tea. For clarity’s sake, let’s assume that there were four people in a room who were to be served tea. This person would finish his tea before you reach the third person. We felt pity for the tender tissues of his mouth and tongue, and offered our condolences to them. But that’s how he enjoyed having his tea. 

And why just him? My aunt, who would always prefer things that are hot and happening, would cover her cup of tea with a tea coaster after pouring the first installment of tea into a saucer. Once she sips it, relishing every drop of it, she would pour the second portion into the saucer. That’s her style. 

It’s difficult to break the atomic habits she has built over the years, and why would anyone expect her to revise her preferences? After all, she doesn’t have to pay any GST on sipping the tea the way she wants. And, just as I decide what goes into my blog and what doesn’t, she also holds the fundamental right to determine what comes out of her cup.

*****

Journalist: SIR, how did you feel having tea with the ‘dead’ voters from Bihar?
Rahul: As dead as the Indian economy. 


Posted on by nikita

Spic and span, here’s my hand

She pricked the vegetable uttapam with the fork in her left hand, moved the knife back and forth over it with her right hand, like a saw on wood, and cut a bite-sized piece of uttapam. Then, she elegantly dipped it in chutney and gently put it in her mouth.   

By this time, I had already mindfully chewed a couple of pieces, letting them glide down my fibromuscular esophagus into my hangry stomach, making at least one aspect of my life easy — eating with my hands. 

Generally, I avoid eating food that requires a fork and knife. And if it’s too tempting, I let others lead, and I follow suit. But when I see them struggling to cut a piece, I pounce on it with my hands and simply devour it. To hell with table etiquettes.

I don’t remember at what age I learned the art of eating with my own hands, just as I don’t remember the sudden appearance of forks and knives in my home — how they stealthily entered our kitchen territory!  

Forks still find their way out of the kitchen drawers on some days in many households — these days, many people even eat fruits with a fork (at home)! But knives remain reticent most of the time. Unless you are someone who eats pancakes, known as pudla or puda in desi language, with a fork and knife even at home. 

Doesn’t this cutlery look like armaments?

In a restaurant, when I see a systematically arranged fork and knife on either side of a plate, they conjure up an image of a military arsenal. Once the delicious food is lovingly placed on the table by the swiftly moving waiters, you pick up your fork and knife as if preparing for some kind of ambush — an attack on the unarmed food in front of your greedy eyes. For instance, using a knife and fork to eat hara bhara kabab, masala dosa, stuffed samosas, and a few other food items. 

Who needs a fork and a knife when you have five tines on each hand? And how can you chuck the joy of slurping a mango seed in an Indian summer till a couple of stubborn fibres get stuck between your teeth? (A tribute to summer)

I distinctly remember one aunt from my childhood who would run behind her small daughter, a fussy eater, trying to feed her with her loving hands. The daughter would scamper from one house to another in the neighbourhood. As soon as the aunt caught hold of her, she would forcefully stuff a big triangular piece of roti, concealing some sabji in the center, into her small mouth.

Imagine her chasing her child, fork and knife in one hand like weapons, threatening her child to eat — like a miniature, AI version of Rani Laxmi Bai. 

Of course, good table manners are needed,  whether you’re dining at home or in a formal setup. And frankly speaking, many Indian food items don’t even require cutlery except a simple, solitary spoon. But fascination with foreign culture has gradually overshadowed even our eating habits along with the choice of food. Often, people suppress the natural urge to eat with their hands, either because of the setting or social expectations. And as the adage goes, ‘When in Rome, do as the Romans do. ’ 

Instead, I would say, Rome or home, let your senses lead the way. 

*****

Mother: Today we have daal bhaat for lunch.
Daughter: Where’re my chopsticks?

Posted on by nikita

Sacred Saffron: The smell, the sight, the scare.

“Kesar joiye che biju?” 

The word kesar immediately conjured up images of kesari dhwaja everywhere in the city. Coincidentally, I was preparing mithai on 22nd January 2024. And my mom had called me to ask if I needed more saffron for my mithai preparation. 

January 2024 was the month of saffron. Saffron was omnipresent. And now, it seems, it is omnipotent too. The demand for saffron flags had skyrocketed, generating earning opportunities for the seasonal hawkers. Suddenly, roadside hawkers, who make a cameo appearance before the 15th of August, 26th of January, and 25th of December, selling miniature Indian national flags and Christmas caps, showed up out of thin air even this time. There was a surge in saffron flags and banners of varied sizes with the image of the deity, His devotee, and His controversial abode. Huge saffron banners covering the length of high-rise buildings were also put up to remind people of their culture and religion. 

Is it just the colour people need to remember, or even the associated conduct? 

I completely respect people’s love for their religion. After all, India is known for its varied range of religions. But what confuses me is the frenzy attached to religion. And for that matter any religion. As the date of consecration ceremony was approaching near, I felt more apprehensive.

What if such a show of a particular religious belief led to some unforeseen disorder and disturbance?

And then, the next month was the month of red. Suddenly, we see a sea of red across the city. A display of red clothing and lingerie in shop-fronts. Gift shops display paraphernalia related to Valentine’s Day – all lovely reds. I am not sure if even today this day is celebrated with the same fervour as in the days of Archie’s card. I remember seeing huge cards in gift shops with poetic messages for loved ones: even red and pink teddy bears and soft heart-shaped cushions. I was blessed enough to see them, but not enough to receive any.

With time, the idea of cards and gifts seems to have changed just as the understanding of the meaning of valentine. During my time, the celebration was limited between lovers: a boy and a girl; a husband and a wife. Oh! The romantic charm of yesteryear’s tokens! Today, not many people would want to make an effort to go out and shop for their loved ones. BTW, love is not just a feeling; it’s an effort. Now gift items like flowers, chocolates, jewellery, and so on are just a click and a doorbell away. So, no more the moral Sang(h) and Rang to worry about. No more worries about saff-run (to your houses). Love is still in the air. 

You must be thinking why am I celebrating vasi uttarayan now? Because even today when I sit back and think about these events, I ponder – Do we need religious tokens in excess to establish our religiosity? Do we need to make a show of it? Do we need ostentatious religious rituals to prove that we are religious? And nationalists as well? 

*****

Of course, we do need tokens of love. Even if hearts fly across the screen.

Friend: Maryada Purushottam Ram is a vyavahar (demeanour).
Me: Agreed. It’s not a vyapar (business).