The ‘Republic’ of chaiwalas

The most familiar sight of a city and the place where India comes together, here’s what comprises the true essence of the traditional tea makers who can unite with a brew writes Sharad Dewan

Sharad Dewan

It’s been a cold morning as the city slowly wakes up to another day of work, travel, and adventure. But for Keshav dada, it is already a few hours into his work. A portable tea stall owner, he has picked the street outside the busy metro for today. Whistling a tune in sync with the radio playing in the background, this second-generation tea maker sets about his day’s work — setting the full cream milk to boil
as he arranges the barnis of goodies on display and then gets about making his masala — a kind of family secret that has earned his family a comfortable stay in the City of Joy since they immigrated almost two generations ago. His first set of clients is the familiar daily wage earners who are setting about their next job along with a few cleaners. For Keshav da, as he is fondly called, they are his talk buddies who have ensured brisk business even during trying times.

Making tea for them is extra special as he grinds green cardamom that would go on the top of the tea — “acha lagta hai” (it tastes good). It is the only time that the sexagenarian tea maker would have time to sit and enjoy his own brew at leisure. Soon, it would be peak hours for this second-generation tea maker as people from all walks of life would throng for a cup of chai and some gupshup, or only to read the morning paper that he offers free. But for many like me, a visit to his stall is often about knowing what is happening around the city. And in my years of visiting the tea specialist — he knows everything one needs to know about teas, milk and of course, that prize-winning masala made with fresh herbs — it isn’t just the tea that has fascinated but his knowledge about every other topic that ranges from food to politics, even the new rules. In fact, he is easily the most effective yellow pages for the city dwellers who can help you with everything — from finding the right broker to lawyers, jobs and even matchmaking for those looking. In fact, if you manage to catch him in the off-service hours (which is rare), he doubles up as the much-needed counsellor/guide and even this great storyteller who has seen the city transform — and has been an audience to many historic events.

An equaliser

Thankfully, much of India revolves around people like Keshav da who are found aplenty across its length and breadth, and all playing similar role plays of bringing a city and its many denizens together. And the best part, at the tea stall, which is called tapdi, adda, kona depending on which region in India you are, few things matter other than the tea, the perspective, and this easiness of familiarity that it brings among people. There simply are no differences among the tea drinkers thronging the little stall, which by way of ambience offers friendly chatter, the generous aroma of freshly brewed masala chai weaving and wafting through the air, the occasional call of “chottu saheb ko chai de aa,” and eventually a cup of soul satiating tea that seems to have been made to your preference.

It is perhaps this easy sense of equalisation that chaiwalas can achieve that made them not just successful in finally turning a masala doodh-loving nation into a tea-guzzling country (we have close to 1.1 billion kilos of tea annually), but also a prime vendor for not just commercial brands but media and politicians as well.

After all, it was in the familiar, informal chaiwala stall that the new India continues to gather, freely presenting their opinion. And yet, there were moments in the history of chaiwalas (and tea) that their very existence was vehemently opposed to — not just by the common men and women but the likes of Mahatma Gandhi, who wrote that the tannins in tea are harmful to health much like tobacco, and instead encouraged people to drink haldi wala doodh. This, however, wasn’t the first time that the brew failed to make a dent in the Indian market.

Owe it to the British

Tea, which was in the market since 1881, was associated with the British, who were not only the growers but the main consumers too. The early attempts at popularising tea under Lord Curzon was feeble and half-baked — The Tea Cess Committee levied a heavy tax on the leaf itself turning it into an indulgence for the aristocrat (bhadralok and ‘me-toos’) only. What added salt to injury was even in this case, the tea that was sold to Indians, were ones that didn’t sell in the auction or were considered inferior for consumption. Add to that the English style of drinking tea with a spot of milk wasn’t up to the Indian palate that had their milk fortified with health-boosting masalas. This left a bitter taste that badly affected the second attempt at popularising tea in 1930. The Great Depression had finished the tea market in the West. With surplus tea (good quality incidentally this time), The Tea Cess Committee now christened Indian Tea Market Expansion Board, which became the present Tea Board of India later, finally step up the game by creating a tea stall that would brew (boil) the tea with a hint of milk and offer it for free, and even in a sachet for those who liked to take it home. That, along with the array of advertisements, did little to make tea the wonder brew it is today.

Unlike popular perception that credits the Railways for giving us the addas we are familiar with, I believe that our first tea stalls came in from the time when tea was had black, with masala and a pinch of salt. The laal chaa made with tea dust (CTC had developed by 1930 in Assam) in fact became more popular thanks to the men who eventually concocted a brew that appealed to the spice-friendly Indian palate. In all likelihood, that was the version that first caught the fancy of the people, who found it better than the British version — and most importantly affordable. Did the coming down of laal chaa eventually lay the foundation for our masala chai — and that of the chaiwala adda though a plausible thought is hard to verify as tea drinking and the tea maker’s luck followed the Sensex of India. While industrialisation saw the rise of tea stalls and chaiwalas which would become these places for affordable nourishment and some energising brew thanks to the easy availability of white sugar and biskoot; the further proliferation of chaiwalas and their masala chai had to wait till the 1950s when tea became affordable, and the price per cup fell to a pocket-friendly one rupee. In fact, the benefit of CTC and its better cuppage was felt at the railway stations where tea, especially laal chaa, had reached early and performed well — and eventually became the biggest marketplace for masala chai to gain its audience thanks to some aggressive promotion of tea as a “100% swadeshi” product.

An indulgence

Eventually though the success came from the chaiwalas, at least the first set of indigenous tea makers, who had not just the acumen to create the masala chai by combining our love for milk, masala and familiarity with tea dust thanks to CTC, and the ingenuity to pair it with not just one but a range of edibles that would turn it into an easy indulgence. Incidentally, in doing so, the chaiwalas were mimicking not just the concept of chaa time that was set up by the British, which correlated tea with something to eat along, but the practice at home too. In most Indian homes, till the 1970s, tea, especially the evening brew, was mostly had during occasions or with a snack.

It was that familiarity combined with the affordability, the informal ambience that made conversation easy — and often began with the chaiwalas themselves asking you more — along with the clever infusion of DIY treats (you could have a new biskoot every day of the week) that eventually turned the tea stalls and the tea maker into one of the great equalisers and the symbol of Republic in India. It still does!

(The author is an award-winning innovative celebrity chef.)