Elixir of Life, heavenly brew – bina chini

Nancy Metashvili

The humble quotidian cup of ‘chai’ is one of my favourite things about India. I quickly became addicted 50 years ago, and though I’ve long since given up having sugar in it, it remains a daily pleasure. For sure I am not alone in this, as millions of souls all over the sub-continent must feel the same, judging by the sheer numbers of tea stalls to be found in the nooks and crannies of small, poor neighbourhoods, posher places in richer districts, and under many a Banyan tree in small villages everywhere.

But I have noticed one thing about all tea stalls in McLeodganj, and that is that the well-heeled tourists flocking to town do not seem to be patronising them. It’s mostly the locals, and I feel this is a shame because 

n the tea is better

n it is cheaper

n your fellow sippers are more likely to be friendly than in the big hotels where these folks stay.

But it is a mixed blessing for me, as I can enjoy my ‘chai’ in a cosy laid-back fashion.

Depending on where I am, there are options galore.

My #1 favourite currently is Sandeep’s place on Temple Rd. He’s been there for eight years, and makes fabulous ‘paranthas’ as well as the necessary drinks. He knows without asking not to add sugar for me. His humble place is also excellent for sitting and people watching. There is almost always a stream of traffic, like lemmings, heading downhill, a lively scene well worth a leisurely gander. And when torrents of rain come lashing down, he is fine with letting us sit and wait it out.

Up at the other end of the town, above the bus station, is a row of ‘dhabas’. Old Mr Mappi is a splendid fellow, been there for 20 years. His tea stand is snuggled halfway into a rock ledge and has a big tree root in the centre. He is a kindly and dignified old gent, and he knows by now – ‘bina chini’!

Further along, Indra from Nanital has a stand nestled into the earthen bank along the road. She’s been there 20 years also, and her view down over the valley is spectacular. You sit on a tiny bench, admiring the magnificent trees, with a stream of fresh water trickling musically down beside you.

Up at Dharamkot, there is the long-established Himalaya Tea Stall. This place gets horrendously busy on weekends, often with city boys and girls planning a hike to Triund. The other day I enjoyed the sight of a group of pastel coloured raincoat-wearing lads setting out for a hike in the rain. They looked like a rainbow of jelly babies.

But my fondest memory of any tea stall is of one which is no longer there.

Two years ago I made a little jaunt to Chamba, just to get away and to see a new place.

Still recovering from the terrors of the bus ride (sheer mountain drop-offs and dodgy roads make me nervous) and pushing through thronging holiday crowds to get to a guesthouse, I heard a voice calling to me, “Hello! Hello! You remember me?”

Since this is a common line with touts who are trying to inveigle customers into their shops, I ignored it.

The voice continued.

“I had a tea stand by the Dalai Lama’s driveway, in McLeodganj. You take your tea without sugar!”

I whipped around and instantly recognised Pawan, who indeed was a dear young man who had been the best chai-wallah in all my days in McLeodganj. We had such a happy reunion, and he reminded me that he had told me he was from Chamba.

So far from home, and to see a friendly face and be remembered, heavenly.

There is so much more to a low-key rickety tea stand than just the beverage. When it’s right, it’s simply the best.

(Nancy Metashvili, from Alaska, is a globe-trotter, writer, musician and poet)