the mysterious taxi driver, the coffee house at Connaught Place and the chaiwallah

 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.

I asked him if he had paid for the parking slot in the morning and he smiled, that wonderful New Delhi smile, that suggested that there are some questions that you do not ask if you do not want to know the answers to. Perfect. 

From "the very short short stories on first edit" 

(c) Bharat Bhushan

17 February 2022 

Connaught Chaiwalla

The place, Connaught Place, New Delhi.

The place is famous for its coffee clubs and tea houses. Most political and corporate strategies used to be discussed and finalised at these coffee clubs and tea houses at one time. But the best tea to be had at Connaught Place is from the 'kettlewala' who goes around the parking lot. Always smiling, and always present. In the heat of the Capital's summer, or in the biting cold in the winter... He is always around.

He knows all the vehicles and all the drivers. Most drivers call him by his first name, while he also waves in recognition to some drivers. Caught up with modern times, he now serves tea in a plastic cup and has gone along with inflation and his cup now costs five rupees. I remember having tea from his brethren at Connaught Place in 1987 for one rupee and was served in a clay pot that could be smashed near the dustbin.



The Connaught Chaiwalla - actually thats a good term... I coined it just now - is a good example of marketing at its best. He exhibits -
(1) Enterprise
(2) Innovation
(3) Location
(4) Customer Access
(5) Quality

Enterprise - He beats all the coffee clubs and tea houses hands down. He is able to move all over Connaught Place. He gives a free cup of tea to those who would prevent him from conducting his business. A free cup of tea is also provided to the custodians of the parking lots on occasion, though not as a rule. He walks about in small circles, waiting to exhaust his refill of tea and then walks back to his filling up joint... like a fuel pump...

Innovation - He does not need a ferry-cart or a hawking stand. The heating unit is below the Tea Kettle, and comprises blown out charcoal that keeps it warm. He carrys wax paper strips to get the charcoal burning again. The paper strips are actually agarbatti sticks, wrapped in paper and then coated in candle wax. He inserts the ignited strip inside the stove and waits for the flames to get stronger before he blows them out. The plastic glasses for tea are carried in an outer pocket on his pant. This is actually a worrisome aspect.

Location - Location, Location LOCATION!!! The cornerstone of any successful business. What can be better for selling chai than all over Connaught Place? Any person wandering in and out of Connaught Place or trapped in the myriad parking areas needs Chai, period. And these wonderful souls are not in search of the "Tea House" tea, usually, the 'dip dip wali' chai. What is needed is a small cuppa of good honest extra sugar extra milk thick strong chai... what would actually pass of as a 'daaba wali' chai. And, our Connaught Chaiwalla provides this service. On Location, available, every time you look around.
Customer Access - That he is, - accessible... totally. You can chat with him all that you want. He answered all my pesky queries with patience and a smile. And yet, when I proudly told him that I wanted to put him on the internet, he seemed to know all about it. He said that at least one foreign tourist talks to him in detail every week, and each one promises that he would figure on the internet. Sometime, somewhere, somehow, I predict that he would use GPS and Blackberry and get his email chai orders and also through SMS. He will locate the vehicles with GPS and may also start his own franchise service. I hope he does not do so. Today, he is definitely accessible, face to face, talkative, smiling and a provider of a good honest cup of hot tea.
Quality - He has an answer to every cynical question that you may put to him about the quality of his Chai, the tea-cups and his kettle. Actually he has you at a disadvantage - for you do not know the quality of the tea-making location, the milk storage containers, the sugar storage bins and the clean up place for his kettle. What you see is what you get. Because you do not see where it came from in the first place. Some of his answers include - (a) you should see the other tea stalls in the area, (b) hot boiled water does not contain any live germs, (c) plastic cups are cleaner than the best cup in the best Tea House. About himself, he says - (a) I do not touch the Tea or milk with my own hands, (b) How do you know that you are cleaner than me?


Which tea do you prefer? The 'dip dip wali' or the 'daaba wala'?
This is THE question of the emergence of the 21st Century and the Software Parks and Corporate India. Here you are, earning a five-figure salary, ensconsced in an air-conditioned office room or in a swanky conference hall, and you need a strong cup of tea to get your grey cells going. And what do you get? Some of the most frail looking cutlery, Tea Cups with bone handles, and hot water, milk powder (or milk if you are not lucky), and tea bags. I cannot figure it out. You need tea, and you are an Indian, then you need the best tea that you can get - in thick milk, with lots of sugar and strong tea leaves that you can spot at the bottom of your cup.
So, what would you prefer? The Tea Bags? Its usually now termed as the 'dip dip wali' chai. The tragic aspect of this development of the 21st Century is that even the chaiwallahs in long-distance trains and railway platform canteens are now turning to the 'dip dip wali' chai. I hope that this virus does not spread to the innumerable dirty-in-their-own-unique-way daabas that are all over the country of ours. The sight of that daaba chai maker, in his own significant manner of allowing months of grime to rest on his body, swing off the cup of tea is enough to make anyone feel that he is going to get a good cup of tea.
The amazing aspect of Connaught Place is that you get Chai of all chorts... - The mendicant Connaught Chaiwalla, the Tea House bone china tea-bag 'dip dip wali' tea, the udipi hotel tea at Hotal Saravana Bhavan and other similar ones, the tea from the very terrible tea machines (I hate them for destroying the diversity of India), and the hidden side-lane daaba imports in the middle lanes of Connaught. There are daaba imports from Punjab-Haryana imitations who vend makki-ki-roti and sarson-ka-saag, and will sell you a grimy glass of 'daaba wala' chai. These places are usually apna-sort of rajma rice joints that sell enormously during lunch time. Imagine the global warming rise locally inside airconditioned office rooms after ten colleagues wander back after gorging on dal fry and rajma rice. You would need a special type of air freshener after their united contribution to inner-room localised climate change.
The noble chaiwalla from Pathanamthitta - located at Connaught Place
Anyways, I remember a tea-stall outside the Air India building. In those years, ie 1986-1990, prior to the Internet... and later, maybe upto 1997, there would be long queues at the Air India building to purchase tickets on Air India and Indian Airlines. Friends from the US, two professors and their spouses, had purchased the 8-day travel as much as you want tickets from Indian Airlines using dollar payments. They wanted to finalise their ticketing routes. And the ticketing clerk at the window had given them a token that said 238 or something like that, which meant simply that they were No. 238 in the queue. And I was stuck... and needed tea, and so I wandered off to the chaiwalla on a small wooden platform outside the Air India building.
Those were the pre-terrorism scare days, and there were telewaalas and hawkers around every sensitive building. This chaiwalla had two absolutely dirty benches next to his wooden stall. I spread a copy of the Hindustan Times and sat there for about 4 hours or more, having nearly 6 creamy sugary scones and about 7 cups of tea and chatting with the great soul on everything from Ronald Reagan to Perestroika to the topic of those times... Globalisation. This noble soul was from Kerala, looked like a Haryanvi, dressed like a Pathan and talked like a Delhi Transport Bus Conducter. You can imagine the national appeal oozing out of him.
He felt that Ronald Reagan should go ahead with Star Wars, and that would give an excuse to Gorbachev to avoid Perestroika. At that time, I had not known that this noble person was from Kerala. Upon enquiry, he told me that he was from Patthanamthitta, in the manner in which only certain Keralites from Patthanamthitta can swirl the word around. Not all Keralites can say so. I loved him for his phonetic expertise, for he soon went into a Jhajjhar accent from Haryana in explaining why a tourist-taxi driver from Chandigarh should eat at an Udupi South Indian restaurant. According to my friend, all Haryanvis should eat Idlis and get to move up in life. And drink up on his tea, of course.
My man from Patthanamthitta had an interesting theory about globalisation. He said that Shri Narasimha Raoji, the Prime Minister of India, was quite lost about globalisation. He should have made a special Ministry for globalisation and the Minister should be located in Dubai. He felt that the Government of India should have at least 4 ministerial offices in Dubai, Singapore, Chicago and London. He said that Indians are already global and they have lots of money and they would have a lot of contacts. If we open offices and single-windows in Delhi and wait for investments and want the heavy business kings to negotiate with our babudom... my man from Patthanamthitta felt that was like boiling the same pan of tea again and again... and hoping that it would become falooda... Actually he said - "aap chaipatheli ko baar baar ubalenge tho falooda tho nahin na aayega..."


The best tea that you can drink where Janpath meets Connaught Place.