Tea-ho-lism

I should have realized this long back, but I ignored it all the way long.

As I left Dementor behind and ran towards my usual tea fellow, I was feeling a lack of enthusiasm for the day. Dementor later told me, “You are addicted to tea! This is not good. What will happen if you don’t have your morning cup of tea?”

I was cheerful after having my tea, so I gleefully answered, “I can’t work, will just feel sleepy.”

I blindly ignored what came next from Dementor, though this time I didn’t have an earphone to plug in.

But the day I decided to quit my early morning tea, is when I realized that I was a Tea-ho-lic!

I would have had a healthy breakfast, ample water and yet as I started the day’s work, I would feel a certain kind of dullness, some drowsiness. Something constantly told me, ‘I don’t feel fresh!’

Each time I cross the tea shop close to my bus stop, my legs long to turn towards the shop. I know, I can’t dare go in, even with an excuse of reading the newspaper, for the shop owner knows my weakness and would coax me with a cup of tea.

So, I started thinking, when did it really start?

It was probably when I entered the small tea shop outside my college in the interiors of Tamilnadu, that I first got hooked on to tea. It’s more than tea actually. It’s about the owner, his family, the ambience of the shop, and his usual customers that makes my day ‘fresh’!

I remember sitting in the shop of Siddharkovil, a village situated along the highway connecting Nagapattinam. I knew the tea shop owner very well. And so did I know his wife, and their two children; a young girl and an elder son, who was still in college. They had a set of usual customers, which included old men, kicked out by their daughter-in-laws, to old sages who in their search for nirvana, had settled with begging and usual woman folk who at times took a snack break. Every conversation is interesting here, no matter what the topic is about. And moreover, I found a great deal of local information; the weather, local political situation, village gossip, views about the outside world, so on and so forth. I have sat in these shops gulping tea after tea, not for the mere taste of tea, but for my interest in people and their views.

Then, my early mornings used to start with a cup of tea and couple of aged men for company smoking heavy cigars made locally. It gave a nice smoky ambiance to the place, though mostly I choked to its effect. If I were lucky, a group of wedding or ceremony attendees would folk in, and the so far dull conversation about the milk price and the amount spent on rearing a cow, would turn into cheerful gossip about who was getting married to whom, or how the girl looks too aged for the boy!

Life is constantly active in here, though for the outside world it might be rather dull. There is some amount of activeness that comes from the owner’s pet, which I can’t ignore. Some times a cat eerily shadowing the room, and at times giant dogs sleeping under the table, to hen that pecks under your feet, and surely not forgetting the lazy goats! They just make the whole picture complete.

All this matters so much that, when I finally went to one of the tea states of India; Assam, I didn’t quite enjoy the aroma or taste of black tea, which gave an aftermath of stained teeth! And realizing that I can adjust with coffee under circumstances, I don’t understand my addiction. Though given a choice, I would prefer to make my own tea, with the same tea powder and the exact precision of the tea and milk, with a tinge of ginger for flavor.

Looking back on my exercise in learning to make ‘my perfect’ tea, the company I had had while drinking the tea, and the endless conversations with people strange and common, friends and foes; I have come to believe… that tea is just my excuse!

Just another old labourer...

In the early morning mist, he sits on the wobbly looking wooden bench and waits for the owner to open the grocery shop. A look at him would make one imagine his age to be crossing the late 60's. His cheeks were sunken, probably because there were no teeth to support them. Even his eyes looked heavy with a sort of crowded numbness towards the world. 

Each day, as I stood waiting for the school bus, I got a glimpse of his early morning routine. This aged man, I found out, worked as a laborer in a grocery shop that was situated in an almost unknown village called Thenur in Palakkad district. Each morning he would ride his cycle and come to the shop, and would muse to himself during his waiting periods. I have never actually seen him in any sort of conversation with anyone.

As soon as the shop owner opens, this old man, gets ready for the days work, carrying and arranging the vegetables for the customers. It came to my notice almost on the first day that, for his old age he had had a physique that any young man would crave for. With absolutely no fat bodies hanging around his arms or necks, its admirable to observe the shaped muscles that forms his biceps!

This scenario of his everyday trivia is just a prelude to, what I would say my favorite part of his day.

 When he finishes work with the vegetables, he drags a stool and settles himself cross legged on it. With his dhoti pulled over his knees, one can hardly ignore the toned calf muscles. And just out of nowhere, a big male dog appears near him and looks over his face. Probably this dog was in the same place the whole time, but together, the old man and the big male dog come across as rather 'enlightened' companions, who could ignore the world around them in each others company. 
Satisfied with a meager touch of affection, the dog settles himself close to the his legs, giving a deep yawn.  
Life is still, life is slow here, in a village. Probably the old man and the dog never will understand the meaning of the much overrated word, 'busy' and yet life goes on...

The old man pulls out a beedi (local cigar) and lights it up with a matchstick. 
There is a sense of freedom in those pair of aged eyes, that I admire each time I see him smoke. It is the freedom that is not from the smoke that has clouded his head, but rather from the head that irrespective of the clouding smoke, remains free...

For all I know, this could well be my clouded imagination. But I would certainly like to believe in the freedom that a rugged old man enjoys!

Across the Bridges

Supriya told me half gushing with pride, “About 12 cabinet ministers are coming, and the Chief Minister himself will be present to inaugurate!”

And later Ajay asked me, “Ma’am will you be coming for the inaugural function on Saturday?”

So I thought aloud, “What is all the hype about?”

It was in a rather emotional tone that Supriya and the History teacher together told me the story about the now famous, Mayannur Bridge.

It all started during the post independence time, when the people of Palakkad district wanted a link way to the district of Thrissur. These two districts are cut by Bharathapuzha, the river that stretches across the Palakkad district. While it took millions of strikes and hartals to finally establish the foundation of the bridge in 1997, the bridge itself got fully constructed in 2011, and its inauguration was the talk of the town!

“They have erected tents and pandals on the dry river bed!” said Supriya. “There’s going to be a procession and also concerts and dance programs.”

“People just want a reason to celebrate”, I scorned.

“No, it’s much more than that”, started Supriya. “When my father dropped me in the small village of Mayannur to do my graduation in a college at Ottapalam, each day I had to cross the river to go to the other side. The local ferry though helpful and time saving, was no more than an inconvenience as most of the passengers get in and out wet as the umbrellas they were holding. At times when the river bed is almost dry for the boats to ferry around, we had to walk. We had to then walk in places with chest deep water. Can you imagine going to college in wet clothes?”

“The bridge is a big thing madam”, she sighed with hint of joy.

I was engrossed in the imagination of past times and dreamily smiled at her saying, “I would like to go across the bridge once.”

She invited me to her house adding, “Now when people of Mayannur village come to shop at Ottapalam, the shopkeeper tells them that they are related, for now they go across the bridge!”

As the hopes for a quick development hovers around the small town of Mayannur, and the property investor tighten their belts, I wonder…

Is the bridge strong enough to hold on to the future changes?