Chai Pilgrimage

Amidst the traffic of rickshaws, motor scooters, market goers and a small herd of water buffalo being led down the road, we discover the popular Pappu Chai Shop. Early in the day, it is a gathering place for elder intellectual types who read the newspaper, debate political issues and get their morning dose. After hours, it becomes a hang out for bhang (edible marijuana) users. We were told this chai stand has been here for 80 or 100 years.

We sit down outside on a low concrete wall next to Ashu, a regular customer and owner of Shiva Rooftop Restaurant down the street. Over the noise of honking cars and bicycle bells, we ask him what makes Pappu chai so special. “Because it is hygienic,” he tells us. “They clean the gilaas [hindi for glass] every time by the hot water. It is unique way. You will never see like this one.” It is true. In all our time in India we have never witnessed soap or hot water being used to clean glasses or any chai-making implement. We observe as a young boy first rinses the glasses in cold water like other chai stalls, then gives them a thorough cleansing with hot water that has been boiled on an open fire. The health of chai drinkers across India would surely benefit from this trademark disinfecting method.

Manoj operates his chai stall with precision, speed and dexterity. A third generation chai wallah, he employs an unconventional chai making technique handed down from his grandfather. Instead of making a pot of chai, each glass is prepared individually in an assembly line fashion. First, he carefully calculates the number of glasses by a count of seated customers, expected regulars and estimated drop-ins. The glasses are then grouped together into three parallel rows and a spoonful of sugar is put in the bottom of each glass. Hot milk is then ladled on top of the sugar. Manoj measures the tea by hand into a tea “sock,” with tea carefully being added or taken out to suit the amount of glasses being made. Boiling water is then slowly poured over the tea until it is fully saturated and the tea water starts to come through. When the flowing tea has a dark, rich color, it is quickly passed over the glasses with one hand while hot water is poured from a kettle in the other hand. He first moves the filtered tea long-ways over the line of glasses, then back and forth. A little more tea is added, then again across the glasses. The chai is made from “new tea every time — not boiling again and again.”

We learn that Manoj makes around 700-800 glasses of chai per day from 5am until 10pm. We ask Ashu, “how much per glass?” He answers, “2 rupees,” and before I could do the dollar conversion of take off the zero and divide by 4, the chai wallah starts laughing and talking to us. Ashu translates, “There are many customers that come every day and they are friends and take chai free. Many one is coming here and many crowd and he’ll give you chai and [snaps fingers] “challo” (meaning let’s go) — not paying the money. But they’re not caring about these things because they’re very much very good fellows.”

Finally, Manoj stirs each glass vigorously, with the rhythm and calm fervor of a classical Indian drummer. The ‘clink-clanking’ of the metal spoon against glass is like a dinner bell to the customers. In the madness of anxious hands grabbing for their glasses, Manoj hands us our chai. It is dark, bold and on the edge of being too bitter. I like it. Even though the tea is not boiled like most, it bears a distinctive strong tea flavor that provides quite a wake up call. We attempt to give Manoj 4 rupees for our chais but he just shakes his head and smiles.