Chai Pilgrimage

One unforgettable soul we were determined to reunite with on our chai pilgrimage was a young chai wallah named Shivam.  We met him on our previous visit to India and it was his loving memory that inspired us to return and document a tea-sipping journey.  At that time, Jenny and I were in Rishikesh and looking for a leisurely way to spend one of our final days in India together.  We decided it would be fun to just wander around and find places to drink chai.

The first chai shop we encountered was inside an unobtrusive, white cement building. The words Aman’s Tip Top Service Center on the sign were barely discernable beneath layers of dirt and smoke stains, but nonetheless, attracted us in for a peek. It was poorly lit on the inside and appeared unoccupied.  A low, pink, iron grate separated the ‘kitchen’ from two tables. On the shelves were toilet paper and cases of bottled water for sale, little else. Then we saw a small boy standing on a crate, still barely taller than the countertop, who seemed to appear from the ethers.  I pointed at him and asked, “chai wallah?” He looked up at us with bright, wide eyes and waggled his head. “Chai?” he asked.  “Do masala chai,” we responded together.

This was Shivam, the youngest chai wallah we had ever met.  He lit up his gas burner and quickly began working.  With scrunched forehead and eyebrows, he smashed a cardamom pod and a tiny nub of ginger and tossed them into the warming pot of water. He added loose black tea and milk and stirred the mixture with a metal spoon.  After coming to a boil he added a couple heaping spoonfuls of sugar and swirled the pot until it almost boiled over.  The pot looked twice the size of his head, but he handled it with the ease of someone who had made thousands of cups of chai.  He was focused.  His tongue stuck out in concentration as he poured the brew through a pink plastic strainer into another pot, then into two glasses.  He delivered our chai with a big, crooked grin.

The taste of that chai and Shivam’s adorable countenance remained etched onto our chai-loving hearts, until four years later, we went back to India seeking more simple, yet memorable, chai moments.  We returned to Aman’s Tip Top Service Center, same name, now serving biscuits and sodas, more tables, inside and out, and bustling with Western travelers who are likewise charmed by Shivam.  He has learned some pretty good English, probably more from his exposure to tourists, than from school.  When he is not in school, he works at his father’s shop making chai, now training his little brother.  We showed him some pictures we took of him on our last trip.  He looked at them and showed us his same endearing smile.

A wallah is one who performs a specific task. A rickshaw wallah drives the rickshaw, a dhobi wallah washes clothes and chai wallahs, you guessed it, they make chai. Chai wallahs are everywhere in India. Everywhere. From busy urban street corners to hidden alleyways, at bus depots and railway platforms and walking through the train car, along riversides and on footpaths that lead to pilgrimage sites in the middle of nowhere — when you need a fresh cup of tea, the chai wallah is always near.

Chai wallahs take pride in their chai. After all, each and every day, it is their responsibility to sustain and nurture the masses by providing the beverage that keeps India running.

To stand out from the rest, many chai wallahs develop a stylized preparation and presentation for their chai.

Some chai wallahs put a little something special in their chai, a smashed up nub of ginger, a pinch of garam masala powder, or a strand of saffron on top, to make it unique and keep their customers coming back. Often it is the performance that sells the chai. Many chai wallahs let the chai boil up until an instant before it is going to spill over the side, then with great agility, swirl the pot an inch over the flame, suspending it in an almost-boiling-over state before removing it from the heat, then doing the trick again. In Kolkatta we witnessed the “metre-pour”, where the chai wallah blends the chai by pouring it back and forth between the pots at two arm-lengths apart.  Frothy chai latte to go?

Most chai wallahs prepare their chai in small batches on a per order basis. In large cities, however, the chai business is often divided into one central chai wallah who makes enormous batches of chai, and the sellers who fill orders and deliver to local shops. For the chai courier, the faster you can run through the congested city, the more chai you can sell.

It is often the same at train stations, where many chai wallahs are selling from the same huge vat. When pulling into a train station in India, the first sound you hear is the chorus of chai wallahs singing their sales pitch. Breaking chai into two syllables and accentuating the second, ‘chai-eeeeeee, chai-eeeeeee’, the chai vendors signal their location to the passengers. You can just hang out the window and get a chai to go. If a loud voice doesn’t draw attention, a creative performance on the train can make a sale. Walking down the aisles, some wallahs display their skills by pouring the chai in a long thin stream, as far from the cup as possible, without spilling a drop.

I generally like to purchase my chai from the wallah with the best vibes — one who is wearing a smile and keeps a clean chai stall. In Benares, at Raju chai stand, under a tree on the orange and white steps of Assi Ghat, I watched a young chai wallah as he made his first pot of chai of the day. I was surprised to see several people waiting on the steps for their morning chai when there were several other chai wallahs in view already serving. I sat down to wait with them. After brewing his chai, the young man strained the boiled pot into a stainless steel teakettle. He then closed his eyes and appeared to make a silent invocation as he poured a small offering of chai next to the orange cooking burner flame. (In India, fire is revered as the ancient Vedic God, Agni, and it is auspicious to first offer the fruits of your labor to the Divine.)  He then poured the first chai into a clay cup and handed it to me. I felt honored. Even though I prefer a little ginger and cardamom in my chai, instead of the Nescafe instant coffee he sprinkled on top, he became my new favorite chai wallah.

With the success of the movie Slumdog Millionaire, we have received many visitors to our what is a chai wallah? post, from those unfamiliar with the term.  To clarify the term chai wallah as it is used in the movie, and to offer a poignant example of this site’s intent, we thought it appropriate to offer an addendum to this post.  So, after reading this, please check out what is a slumdog chai wallah?

My dear friend and teacher Hamid lovingly served me my first cup of masala chai 17 years ago. It was a moment I will never forget…sitting on the floor of his Chicago flat, the elevating aroma of incense mixed with spices, classical Indian rhythms vibrating through my being. Hamid emerged from the kitchen with two steaming cups of his spicy chai. I remember that first sip. It was the most delicious taste that had ever passed over my tongue. I sat spellbound in a chai-induced state of bliss as the chai coursed through my body. It warmed me all the way up to my soul.

I would go over to Hamid’s for tabla instruction, but before the lesson began, we would sit with our chai and embark on conversations led by our mutual love for the Divine. We would discuss spiritual practice and Hamid would illuminate the teachings of saints like Sri Ramakrishna and Bawa Muhaiyaddeen.  Hamid became a guiding light to my inner path. I learned by his living example the way of compassionate activity and the unity of all sacred traditions. Finishing the last sip of chai, the lesson was over and my drums would still be sitting in their bag. It soon became clear that tablas were not my forte and perhaps our meetings held another purpose.

When I finally asked him for his chai recipe he replied, “I’ll have to show you.” Along with the other spices he crushed up in his mortar and pestle, he would add enough peppercorns, black, white and red, to make it a fiery brew. After boiling it twice, he poured the chai back and forth between two pots to let it breath in the air element. Sometimes he would garnish it with a few strands of saffron. To me, the taste of saffron became synonymous with the heavenly taste of chai.  Still today, i use saffron as my special ingredient that rounds off the bitter taste of tea with a flowery high-note.

Hamid’s chai remains in my memory as the finest. He always made it with goat’s milk and maple syrup. When I started making my own chai, I didn’t know there was any other way. Now on those rare occasions when I drink goat milk chai, it reminds me of Hamid.

Hamid was my chai guru. He taught me not only how to make chai, but also his “secret.” He told me that chai should be prepared with prayer or mantra or loving intentions. This was the most important ingredient. It imbued the chai with a blessing that would pass onto whoever drank it. Since then, I have been preparing homemade chai almost daily. It is my ritual and my offering.

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.

Walking in the sweltering mid-morning sun on our way to the SitaRam temple, we were lured into a chai stand by a pair of smiling brown eyes beaming out from under a simple tarp-covered stall. As we sat down on the low bench, Jai Ram, the chai wallah, attempted to touch our feet, a gesture of profound reverence usually reserved for holy swamis or Bramins, members of the highest social caste. Considering ourselves casteless and on equal footing, we quickly slid our feet out of the way. Once again we were humbled by the custom of treating the guest as God.

Jai Ram is a vendor of chai, pan, cigarettes, Parle G’s and miscellaneous snacks. Just as we ordered our chais, the dudh wallah (milkman) pulled up on his bicycle, weighted down with metal canisters, to deliver the day’s fresh milk. As seems common in Chitrakoot, Jai Ram makes his chai with adrak (ginger), peeling it first, then smashing it with a weight on his wooden platform held up by bricks. Ginger acts as a diaphoretic, meaning it can make you sweat, which has the effect of cooling down the body. After the ginger simmered in with the milk, water, tea and sugar, he smashed up two green cardamom pods and added them to the mixture.

As the chai bubbled, he gazed intently into the pot, as though empowering it with a prayer. He gave his whole self to preparing our chai, every movement deliberate and graceful. Each hand gesture was like a secret chai wallah mudra. As we watched him slowly pour the milk or twirl the pot or spoon in the sugar, it was as if we sat before a temple priest making offerings to God.

In proper tea fashion not typical of chai stalls, Jai Ram strained our chai into a metal teapot, and then poured it into our glasses atop a decorative serving platter. As he served us, he bowed his head and again tried to touch our feet. Again we pulled our feet back and bowed.

We sipped our chai slowly to enjoy Jai Ram’s company and take respite from the heat. Our conversation was sparse, after only a few weeks of Hindi lessons, but so much was said in the silence. It was quite a tasty cup of masala chai. It reminded me of home. Jenny gave one of the Ganesh cards she painted to Jai Ram as a gift. He smiled, held it to his head and placed it on his altar next to images of Sita, Ram and Hanuman.

Click on image above to view text larger, or read below…

Chai means “tea” throughout most of India. In West Bengal it is called cha, in Nepal – chyaa. The Hindi word chai, derived from the Mandarin Chinese word cha, refers to the black, green, oolong or other types of tea, all made through different processing methods from the same Camellia sinensis plant. Next to water, chai, or tea, is the world’s most consumed beverage.

In the West, “chai” refers to what in India is called masala chai. Masala means spice mixture. Masala chai is black tea brewed with spices like ginger and cardamom along with water, milk and sugar. In Nepal and India, chai is made in fresh batches and drank in almost every home. Each family has their own traditional way of making it. On every street there are open-air chai stalls where Chai wallahs, or chai vendors, serve chai in small glasses or clay cups. It is a part of daily life – morning chai, afternoon chai and chai any time with friends or visitors. Most any gathering or transaction involves sitting down and sharing a small cup of chai. It is the commodity of friendship.