The Chai Expert

I never ventured into that shop - it screamed exclusivity and high prices. I could never think of paying hundred rupees for a cup of tea. That would be insane. But the first time I mustered up the courage to actually spend that money - why not, I am earning, and these are experiences to be counted into life. I always tell my friends now, what if I get hit by a truck right now, and my wish was to have a chocolate mousse? I never dream of a Gucci bag or a three day stay in a 7 star resort, I dream within my means. And back then, hundred rupees for chai, was well within my means.

The waiter approached me with a black thick menu card. My eyes went directly to the prices - thirty rupees, masala chai. What? I missed drinking this? I enthusiastically leafed each page, and that is when it struck me, oh my, so many varieties of tea. Who knew? Back home, tea was of two kinds, actually three. One with thick creamy milk, with sugar. Two without milk, but with sugar. And three, which was my amma's special, black, with sugar and a small teaspoon of ghee. Yum. But here, pages after pages, for headaches, colds, fatigue, romance, who knew.

I decided. Masala chai. Thirty rupees. First step done.

As years went by, I adapted quite naturally into the role of a tea expert. Oh, need sleep, drink this one. Got a headache, migraine, you say, drink that. Chamomile, Orange Blossom, Peppermint, the list went on.

But the very first sip of exotic tea every time, takes me back to that day, I decided to try to step out and have that cup of masala chai.

Thank you Cha Bar. For memories and courage.

What Growing Up Also Meant

My windows at home had blue stained glass. Amma said the architect who built it 30 years ago had suggested it because it was in fashion then. I loved them too. Beyond fashion, it also seeped the light from the road, bluish white, like a blue night's sky filled with moonlight - yes, I loved them too, in my room.

Home was small, small boxy rooms. But I had loved growing up there. I had loved my room, facing the small lane in front of the house, with greenest of green trees near my window, and from where I could hear rain falling gently singing melodies on the steps leading to the upper floor.

Home smelt of prawn fry, now when I smell back. It also smelt of amma's sarees, neatly folded in a huge trunk, with sachets of sandalwood powder bought from Kerala's art emporiums. It also smelt of rain. That earthy smell when the first drops hit the ground. I had loved it back then, and yearn for it now.

Home was Achan's folded arm chair, still intact. Amma's wooden wardrobe with secret cabinets. It was sweetness of red juicy guavas from the only tree in the backyard. It was Ammini aunty's chicken curry, and Lissy chechi's beef stew for Christmas.

Those were lovely days.

When playing with Mary chechi meant learning how to make ulli papaddom. Walking to the dance class lazily, to be pampered by Shyamala aunty and Surendran uncle, and their parents. Being naughty and forgetting dance steps, and singing all the wrong notes in Salim sir's music class. Walking back in anticipation, craving for Amma's chicken curry on Sundays, with potatoes soaked in the chickeny gravy, to be had with soft Modern bread, and washed down with hot milky tea.

All my teeth was plucked by Thekele Aunty. She had a weird Kozhikode accent. Later, she also fought with Amma and Achan about something trivial, and then we had to build a huge wall separating their house from ours. It was also Thaatha and her beautiful daughters, who put mailanchi for me in beautiful designs.

Home was all that.

Home. 

Another Time, Another Life.

Meera wanted to go back. But she kept telling herself, this one trip to meet him. Wouldn't it be wrong not to? After all, she had spent considerable money and time to reach this far. She confided in her best friend, her sister almost, about her apprehensions about the trip. Anu knew how much Meera wanted to go for the trip. To meet him, one more time. God knew how things would turn out to be, the next time they met.

Anu called their childhood friend. Come soon, she said. We need to make this trip. Go with Meera...couldn't we go?, she enquired. Krish knew these girls since school. They had grown up together. He knew Meera like the back of his hand. He said he would plan everything, but needed money. Meera was rich, her husband was, in fact. He wondered, what would she be telling him? About spending this money. They were told not to post any pictures on Facebook. So it meant she was doing this in stealth. But it was the need to meet him, one last time as lovers? Lovers? How lame. Meera had been married for three years to another man, a man who was chosen by her parents. She seemed happy with him, settling for the life of luxury, designer clothes, foreign vacations. But why did she come back to India, then? Surely, it couldn't have been so happy. Else why would she return to meet her long lost lover? There was that word again. Lover. They were children, holding hands in school, pretending to be in a relationship. But that was school. Hadn't Anu pretended the same? Anu, with the relationship issues with everyone, the sour childhood, with her tantrums he had come to love. But he was confused too about what she wanted from him.

Anyways, there was time to think about all this. For now, the trip. Yes. To Pondicherry. In car. Two women, girls really, and him. To meet the lover, yet again.

Meera transferred money to his account. Anu is broke always. So Meera said she would pay for the car and the hotel, and the expenses. Fully paid trip. Wow.

But in the car, Meera went back, to another time, another life. She dreamt about a life that she lived now. With Mohan, it was so easy. She loved the fact that he gave her money, in her account, every month. Took her for dinners, bought her jewellery, flowers, trips around the world. She adored him. But love? No.

Love, was in another time, another life, almost. She had met Vivek in school. He was popular. Girls worshipped him. She wasn't bad either, was she? With her good looks, wealthy background, popularity was hers too. But they had just been in sync - from the first day they met. Behind the stage, he had been pushed forward by a bunch of his friends. He proposed a friendship. Meera knew it was coming and she knew her answer as well. She would love to be friends. Then it began. Rumors spread, but they didn't seem to care. She loved Vivek and he loved her. Parents got a whiff, and she was whisked off after classes, back home. No more cool drinks and puffs after school. But they met during breaks, he bunked classes for her. It went on.

Then they lost touch. He had become too local for her taste, too much of a country lad. Parents sent her off to study more. She fell in and out of love. But nothing was the same as with him.

A marriage and three years later. She realised. She had to go back to her another time. another life.