Spicing up winter with tea treats on the street

Unlike my wife, who belongs to the hills, I am not particularly fond of winter. The laze, chill and over-clad demeanour give me an abnormal feel. It reminds me of our troops from South who are not used to frigid conditions. Mind you, extreme temperatures to the level of an unbearable minus 50 degrees Celsius, depending on the frontier they are deployed at, don’t deter these bravehearts when they are on duty in the service of the nation.

My tank driver, Sowar Krishnaiah, otherwise a handsome fellow would turn into a hosiery mannequin during winter. A multi-layered thick jacket, fully stretched monkey cap and woolly gloves, concealing chapped cheeks and hands and a perpetual clatter of his shining white teeth would announce his presence. Once when Krishnaiah was preparing to go on leave my wife asked him, “Aap jab chutti jaate hain to bahut samaan ghar le jaate hain, wapis aate hue aap ki biwi aap ko kya deti hai (When you go home, you take a lot of luggage. What does your wife send back with you)?” He said shyly, “Madam, agar sardi ke mausam mein duty par wapis aana ho to hamaari family hamein Coimbatore ki khaas cold cream deti hai (In case I’m returning during winter, my wife gives me the special cold cream from Coimbatore)!”

Most of our war exercises were planned in winter. The sub-zero temperature in the desert used to freeze us inside the 40-tonne cast iron tank, turning it at least 3 degrees colder than outside. It was the hope of a warm sun making an appearance during the day that kept us going. More than this was the appearance of a turbaned and bearded villager from a nearby dhani (scattered hutment in the desert) carrying a neatly wrapped baajre ki roti with red chilli pickle and hot tea made of camel milk.

Lately, my only reason to look forward to winter was an end to the sticky monsoon. Thoughthechipof theoldblock in our golf four ball came out with this smart one: “The more you sweat in the sultry months, the less chill you experience in winter.” He thereby suggested an unabated seven-day-a week golfing. Fearing a blind adherence to the wisecrack, my wife gave an ultimatum, “It is him or me?” The outcome was obvious, my wife and I continue staying together with no change in the number of days I am permitted to play in a week, never mind the season.

The other foggy morning, I went to the registering and licensing authority (RLA) office for a high security number plate for my aging car. As I parked it in the makeshift parking lot, I sensed a whiff of ginger and cardamom. The tea kiosk owner at the corner was busy, surrounded by customers rubbing hands to stay warm. I tried to ignore the sight but in vain. As I stood sipping the steaming tea in the trademark miniature glass, the task at hand shifted to the background. During the days that followed, I discovered that amazing kiosks were all over parking lots, commercial areas, office complexes… one better than the other.

Cutting down on my tea consumption at home, I now find excuses to head out of the house for a tea treat worth a princely Rs 7. Most of them have indeed evolved with the cashless drive, giving their customers e-wallet options. Back home, my wife and daughter-in-law are in a dilemma, “Has he kicked the minor vice or is our skill to brew good tea rusted?”

On my part, for a change, my winter is spiced up.

BACK HOME, MY WIFE AND DAUGHTER-IN-LAW ARE IN A DILEMMA, “HAS HE KICKED THE MINOR VICE OR IS OUR SKILL TO BREW GOOD TEA RUSTED?”