A Cup of Tea

Abhay’s fingers moved frantically over the phone, spilling some tea over his trousers. He softly cursed the tea, the odd-even rule, Uber, why the date of his meeting with a crucial client had to coincide with the first day of the odd even rule and if it had to why did he have to own an even number car!  

He picked his blazer and breezed out.

“Could you book the cab?” Meenal’s voice was muffled by the bang of the door.

She began cleaning the table. The cup still had some tea left in it and sides of the bread were lying scattered in the plate. She hated it, Abhay knew that she hated it but he just couldn’t develop a taste to munch on the hard ends.

Abhay glanced at the watch at least thrice before he reached the metro station. His mouth fell open as he saw the door of the coach open. People were standing like...he couldn’t put words to describe the exact feeling. Yes! Like a jar full of dates, all sticking to each other. Oh how he detested the taste dates and even more the idea of getting glued to others like one. The metro left without him. The next one was even worse. He glanced at his watch. Breathing deeply, as if preparing himself for a combat, he squeezed among the passengers. His sweaty palm held the rod while his coat dangled precariously on his other arm. His eyes scanned the faces around. Some already looked tired, as if the day was about to end and not begin. Two women boarded from the next stop and two men very willingly got up to vacate the corner seats for them. Aha! The perks of being a woman, Abhay thought with envy. Had I been a woman, I could have driven my even number car as well. And if I didn’t have the car, I would have been served with a seat like a queen!

Just when he thought piercing through the crowd at Rajiv Chowk would be his last ordeal, he encountered a huge crowd gathered outside gate number 5. Abhay was tempted to find out who had banged into whom, but he didn’t have the luxury to waste any more time. He decided to walk and take the shorter route through Janpath. The market that would be bustling with customers and loud invitation calls from shopkeepers in another two hours was absolutely quiet. Abhay loved the silence and having the whole path to himself. He zig zagged through the lanes, his destination now barely five minutes away. At the corner he noticed steam escaping from the kettle. It wasn’t as cold as it should be on a January morning but his hands irked to hold the hot cup of tea. An old man sitting nearby took a sip from his cup and went back to the chair he was weaving out of cane. Abhay eyes browsed through the stuff he had displayed on a small piece of cloth. A basket, a stool, and a set of miniature chair and table.

Abhay took brisk steps towards his cabin. Another five minutes before he needed to walk into the conference room to impress that client. Not bad, Abhay patted himself when he had finished speaking and sat down on his chair. His eyes fell on the cup of tea that had been served during the presentation and had now turned cold. Abhay’s shoulders drooped a little.

As he was about to book his cab, something in Abhay stopped him. Without thinking he decided to walk towards the metro, taking the newly discovered shorter route. He was surprised that some people were still sleeping on the pavement of Hanuman Mandir, wrapped in their blankets. The silver rings around the painted toes of a woman were peeping from under the blanket. He overheard some little boys planning how to get their kite up in the air while three young men giggled as they played dodge ball. As he turned around the corner, he noticed the old man still working on the same chair.

“One tea!” Abhay sat down on the elevated brick pavement, close enough to the old man.

“How long does it take to weave a chair?” Abhay asked.

“Depends. How many hours you work and how you work. A chair of this size can take two days. A smaller one can be finished even in a day,” the man answered without looking up.

His tea was served. That was quick, Abhay thought.

“Where are you from?”

“Guwahati!”

“Since how many years are you in Delhi?”

“It has been more than fifteen years now.”

“Where is your family?”

“My wife and daughters are in Guwahati and my son works in a factory here. His factory is far. We see each other once in few months. He doesn’t get a day off, you see.”

“How much do you get for a chair?”

“For this chair the shopkeeper pays me two hundred rupees,” the old man chatted without ever looking up.

Only two hundred rupees! For so many hours of hard work, Abhay sat there thinking and looking at his old hands move elegantly around the cane. It reminded him of a very familiar scene. His mother sitting on the sofa next to the window, bright sun rays falling on her while her hands deftly knitted sweater for her first grandchild. He walked back feeling strange. As if he had just travelled through another world, a world he knew existed somewhere yet never existed for him. 

That evening, Janpath was youthful like any other day. A young man with a square basket full of glittery ear rings was busy convincing the two young girls that the quality and price of his stuff was the best. He imagined how many times during the day, one day after another this man must be repeating the same thing.

He slumped on the couch, not moving for a long time.

“Why are you so quiet?” Meenal asked on the dinner table.

“Papa doesn’t talk much anyway!” said Kashish.

“I know that but he looks a little odd today,” remarked Meenal.

“Because it is an odd day!” Kashish giggled.

Abhay smiled sheepishly at her. Meenal laughed. Even without understanding the joke, Akshat joined in giggling away so much so that he had to put hand on his mouth to stop the food from coming out.

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Abhay liked the way his car this morning cruised on the roads. This odd-even thing seems to be working. As soon as he switched on the FM radio, he realized he had made a mistake. I should download my kind of songs on the mobile. I can then listen to them even in the metro, Abhay thought. He was surprised that he kind of missed his trip of yesterday. Today it would be the same run-home to office and then back home. The same old story.

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“How come Abhay Singhal is not in a rush this morning?” Meenal smiled as she served the parantha.

“Yah, it is surprising for me as well. I guess I want to enjoy my tea,” Abhay was gazing at the magnets on the fridge the kids had collected from various trips.

“You know, I realize it is not that bad to commute by metro. It is very crowded and that nearly kills me but it is...it is kind of different.”

It was not usual for her husband to be so calm and talk like that. Meenal sat down next to him. Abhay looked at her, as if acknowledging her presence.

“Meenal, since when did you move to this crap?” he pointed to her glass cup of green tea.

“First this is not crap and helps in detoxification. Second, it has been months but you never noticed!”

Abhay smiled at her.

“Have you booked your cab?”

“No, I think I will take the metro,” Abhay stood up.

Abhay noticed the chair was complete and the old man had moved on to a stool. He thought of greeting him but his old eyes were fixed on the stool. While returning from office, Abhay realized how he looked forward to meet the old man and sip tea in the open. He curiously listened to the old man’s experiences in Delhi, how he learnt the art of weaving from his family, his poor yet happy life in the small village. Abhay wasn’t sure that it was the hot tea that simmered through his veins or the old man’s stories that were warming him up. All he knew was he enjoyed this lazy moment, with no agenda and no plan. Sitting there under the sun was like watching life pass by, and he had not done that for years.

Akshat tore open the newspaper hurriedly, while Kashish kept saying to him to slow down, without really slowing down herself!

“What’s this?” Kashish looked a little disappointed while Akshat sat dumbfounded.

“Didn’t you like it?” asked Abhay.

“It is nice. But what will we do with a tiny chair and table made of cane?”

“You can create your own living room with it.”

Akshat’s bulb had lighted up! He rushed to get a Barbie doll and a model of Nobita. He placed them on the chair. Soon Kashish got her tea set and put the cups on the cane table.

“Can I join in too?” Abhay bent forward.

“No! This is our living room,” Akshat stood up with arms akimbo.

Abhay sat back on the couch, watching his children enjoy their make believe world.

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“So congratulations! You are finally free from today. No odd-even rule to bind you!” Meenal poured tea into the cup.

Abhay’s fingers rotated around the cup.

“What are you thinking?”

“Nothing,” he looked up, “I think I will take the Metro.”

Meenal looked at him surprised. She kept sitting on the table, still staring at the shut door. Her eyes drifted to the table. There were no sides, only some bread crumbs lying scattered on his plate.