I had to get out of the airconditioned meeting hall and the high-storey building and try to take a longish walk after the very typical and predictable buffet lunch that had been served. I had been warned about this sort of a lunch at the semi-government semi-corporate meetings that took place anywhere in Delhi. The caterers would serve a total kitsch of Punjabi, South Indian, Chinese and a whole lot of very familiar dishes from various places in India in order to satisfy any and every VVIP that may turn up. The host did not want to be the one to disappoint any of the power centers in the capital and always instructed the caterer to ensure that there were always 2-3 dishes of different types.
I had had to stand around obediently with my seniors as they kept
chatting and eating and my dining plate had to look creative and satisfied and
thus had something of butter naan,
garlic naan, some stuffed kulcha and one half of a rumali roti along with various
vegetables. And, of all the combinations, later had to sit at a dining table as
my boss kept chatting with somebody important, and had to watch the VVIP eat
some so-called cauliflower Manchurian tawa
fry with dal makhni and puris. I was just about ready to throw
up after having had to watch that for twenty minutes.
My opportunity came when my boss whispered with heavy garlic breath
that I was required to go down to the parking area, search for our locally hired
taxi with the rather mysterious driver with the name that I could not remember
and bring back some important papers and files that were sort of necessary for
coming to an agreement of whatever it was that we had come here for, flying out
of Mumbai in the ghostly early hours of the morning.
The lift was right out there, almost like waiting for me, and I was
glad and thankful and thought that the stuffy cabin was more welcome than the
buffet lunch dining hall. I rushed out of the porch and walked out of the
high-storey building and went out in search of the many parking zones around
Connaught Place. This is one of the most intriguing of all puzzles in New
Delhi. You know that your driver entered a particular parking zone and you saw
him park his car, just outside and opposite of Coffee House, and you actually
saw him walk about and wave at you that he was good and comfortable out there,
and you absolutely, very absolutely, know that he will not be at that spot when
you return. I had had a good enough suspicion when he had asked me, in a low
voice, as to how long would be at the meeting and where did we have to go from
here. I had honestly replied that I did not know the answers and he had looked
at me with a conspiratorial smile and nodded, as though I had confided the best
of secrets to him.
Those were the days before cellphones or pagers. There was no way
that we could contact him. I walked all around the coffee house parking zone. I
did remember the vehicle number plate and went up to the parking booth and asked
them if the vehicle had been asked to park in any other zone at Connaught
Place. The parking-tikitwala checked
his register and declared that no such vehicle had ever entered the zone. I argued
that I had seen him actually park the vehicle and get out of the car and walk
about. The tikitwala asked if I had
seen the driver pay for the parking slot and I replied that I had not. There,
he said that means the taxi had left rightaway and gone to park at some other
spot.
What was I to do, I wondered. Should I go back and inform my boss?
That would not do. He would just pick it out on me and blame me if the intended
agreement did not happen. I walked about from the coffee house to Nirulas and
from there to the famous camera house and around to some known names and some
not so known. I looked at some pavement eateries and was upset that I could not
sit there because of all the heavy buffet lunch that I had had. I returned to
the coffee house parking zone and waited about. Should I go within and have a
filter coffee or wait here?
An elderly tea-vendor, carrying a lighted-up stove, a chullah, with a tea kettle on it, in his
right hand, with a thickish sort-of-metal wire looped around his left hand with
multiple dirty looking ceramic cups hanging from it, was walking about. He was
not advertising or shouting out for anyone to get their tea from him. He walked
confidently, sat under the shade of a gulmohar
tree, right outside the coffee house, and made himself comfortable on a packing
case that must have been placed there for this very purpose. It had one of the
most dirty looking cotton pillows on it.
Drivers from many vehicles walked up to him, silent, no chit chat, giving
him five-rupee coins, and he poured the tea in to the ceramic cups and handing
them over. The tea was enjoyed and the cups returned. I looked on curiously,
wondering as to how the vendor was going to wash or clean the cups. I was not
disappointed. He took a cup and tapped on the stainless steel parking barrier
that went about the tree guards. A youngish man came out from a nearby shop
with a bucket of water and placed it alongside and the tea vendor dunked all
the cups and took them out and hanged them once again on the metal wire that
was looped on his left hand. There. That was it. The cups were ready.
It was very tempting. That whiff of the tea was overpowering and
welcome. I had to have a cup. What was it about the cleanliness and all that, I
thought. So be it. I handed over a five rupee coin and got back a cup of tea in
return. It was absolutely the most perfectest cup of tea that I had ever had, I
decided. It washed away all that heaviness of the buffet lunch and the all of
New Delhi and Connaught Place seemed to be all ok now and there was nothing
wrong about anything. I stretched out the tea cup for a refill and entered
heaven all over, once again. Perfect. Best.
Just as I drank the second cup, I noticed that our mysterious taxi
driver was standing alongside me, and also enjoying a cup of tea. He seemed to
be standing about as though he had never ever gone away. I looked around, and
the taxi was right out there, at the very spot that I had seen him park at in
the morning. I asked him if he had gone somewhere and he replied that he had
gone to the outer lanes, the ones behind the well-known gurdwara and had taken
a nap and had had his lunch and a second nap and he knew that this was the
correct time when the tea-vendor would come to the spot outside the coffee
house. So, he had returned. That was it. Nothing complicated about having gone
away or any presumption that we could have returned early or that we may need
our stuff from the taxi and all that.
No comments:
Post a Comment