6/15/11

Ode to chai

At 1:40pm every Monday through Saturday, as I sit in the back of the teacher staff room, any and all conversations, even those that I am a part of, become slightly muted as my concentration focuses heavily out the window looking into the hallway where anyone must pass before entering the room. Yes, it’s that time of the day, and I’ve been conditioned like one of Pavlov’s dogs to want nothing more than what I eagerly expect and wait for at that moment: chai.

Dineshbhai, the chaiwalla, with his characteristic short-stepped scuffle, darts around the room from teacher to teacher, dutifully pouring the hot, ginger and cardamom-infused goodness into small glass cups. Today, what amazed me more than my typical euphoria-inducing cup of chai was that in the months that I’ve observed Dineshbhai, I’ve never once seen him perform his daily routine lacking his unique demeanor of warmth, devotedness, and energy. As I was thinking about this today, I realized that somehow, in a way I can’t explain, his unwavering character makes the chai taste even better. Cheers, Dineshbhai! I raise my miniature chai glass to you.

It's a bird, it's a plane...

At first, driving through Bardoli the other day, I thought I saw hundreds, maybe even thousands, of birds flying in all sorts of crazy patterns in the sky. But I then noticed that they weren’t birds at all – they were all kites. January 14th marks the day of the very popular kite festival, and in some cities, there are kite-cutting competitions where kids will fly their kites, sprint through the streets, and with their kites try to cut the strings of any and all other kites in the sky. They’re just practicing, I was told, but it seemed with all the kites stuck in powerlines and discarded on the sides of roads that the battle had already begun.