Tea with a drop of pasina mixed!- Nazeef Manegar.

Tea with a drop of pasina mixed!

I had my breakfast in Vitla, a place where morning birds visit to eat puri -baji. The canteen is small and provides only three menu dishes; idli wada, buns and puri baji. The benches are rusty and it’s dirty everywhere. I watched the ‘lazy birds’ who have just crooned out of their nest to face the day. The most unacceptable scene is when the waiter pours us water from the jug that hasn’t taken bath for weeks. The plate is washed but still the traces of dal could be seen.

The market is getting busier slowly and people are rushing into the canteen. There are poor, rich but mostly average earning employees in their official dress. There are also gym freaks in their sports shoes and skin tight t-shirts that showcased their six or eight pack abs. there are bus drivers with conductors. Auto rickshaw drivers with a napkin around their neck. From the backyard, enters a waiter with a small towel of red color and white borders on his shoulder. He picks up all the finished plate which still has some leftovers. The canteen has six waiters and a small boy who works as a cleaner there.                             

In the corner of a hotel, I see a bunch of boys with mobile phones on their hand. I remember the days when we were teenagers and used to visit mahadeva canteen in our town to eat slurry gobi manchuri. We used to laugh, make noises and eat with mirth. But now we all are encircled in a chain where I hardly see anyone talking to each other. The lips are getting zipped and eyes are getting glued to the screen.

From the entrance I see a beggar with a huge bag on his back. I often find this kind of beggar around the garbage. They are always picking something from the trash. He stood their silently with a hand outstretched. I thought about his life. A life submerged in darkness. A life where there’s little hope and more anxiety. But then I looked around all those boys, drivers, middle age men, employees, waiters’ and every single person who came in and went out. I observed their faces that were coated with sadness around their eyes. As if they want to have rest for a while, walk on a beach and be in a state of bliss.

In a state of deep thought, waiter pops in and keeps the plate on my table. The puri baji is tasteless but I have become so accustomed to it that I eat it anyhow. All I have to do is survive the next ten minute in this infinitesimally small canteen.

The only thing that’s worth, it is the hot brimming tea which tastes heavenly (the only reason to come). For me the chai wala is none but an artist. The way he works, stirs and pours tea into the glass is what I appreciate the most. But I often avoid the scene as chaiwala’s pasina drops like the water dropping from the window pane during the rainy season. May be that’s why the tea tastes so good!

Sometimes I wish to eat in a five star hotel where there are only few people. May be I would wear a Zara men shirt and pant from a diesel. I would step down from a BMW. Staff from hotel will come running towards me. One will carry my bag. The other will make my seat arrangement. From the north-west corner of the hotel, the waiter with a red turban will approach me. I will sip green tea with seven layer salads and the waiter will stretch his hand out saying ‘bhaiya, thees rupai’

What? 30 rupai? I blurted. 

I realized I came into the real world. The mediocre world!

Thus, the ten minutes of survival in that exhausting canteen has come to an end. I headed towards the fatso uncle. He was the owner of the canteen. He had a big moustache to which I often thinks of his forefathers who might be a courtyard. I paid thirty rupees for puri baji and the tea with a drop of Rosie pasina mixed!

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