Cutting chai

"Ek cutting", how many times in a day does the chai vendor hear this! Chai or tea, the humble beverage, has such a pull that even the high and mighty succumb to its charm. And talking of chai, in Mumbai, no one can escape the lure of its aroma emanating from a nearby street vendor's stall. Fondly known as cutting chai or simply cutting, when one does not want a full glass, this hot concoction peps up a lazy day. Any average Mumbaikar would vouch for it. At times I wonder what Mumbai would have done without these chai tapris. They are such life savers. It offers the common man a break from his drab existence. Whether it is simple conversation, friendly banter, serious talk or striking a deal, the unassuming chai has seen it all.

Be it a station, outside an educational institution, markets, offices.... you name it, the chaiwala will make his presence felt. His omnipresence is all the more strengthened by people yearning for that cutting. His important looking assistant, always seem to be scurrying everywhere with a hot kettle in one hand and a couple of glasses in the other. The paraphernalia consists of an old stove, probably brought from a second hand vendor, or inherited from his forefathers, a battered vessel, an old creaky table and of course, the magic ingredients, to churn out the never ending flow of chai. You ask for a cutting and what you get is not half a glass, but almost three-fourths of it, poured by the large hearted seller. The enterprising ones throw in a couple of worn out benches, spice it up with music from an old radio to give that complete experience. At any point of time these kitschy joints are crowded by people of all ages, enjoying their sip. The much needed respite for a normal office goer comes in the form of a cutting. How else would they beat the monotony of figures to show the required profits? So, in a way the chaiwalas are responsible for the economic growth of our country. In fact, all our netas should be given a 'cutting allowance'. This would help them from falling asleep when a parliament session is on.

Monsoon sees a spurt in their sales chart. The piping hot tea, with rain droplets falling into the glass, make it all the more divine. I remember the chaiwala outside my college who used to serve us such great chai, that the taste still lingers on. Years later, on one such wet day, I decided to pay a visit to his stall. I hoped it was still there. It was, but something was amiss. The vendor looked up but could not recognize me. And did I notice it right? He had become blind in his right eye. I inquired about his missing assistant. It seems some years back, the only stove that he had owned had burst. He lost his eye and his assistant in that accident. All his savings gone into his treatment, he had to wait for a long time to pick up the threads of his life. I groped for words. With a heavy heart I said, "ek cutting."