Chai Time…Again?: Big Business, Day 1

So its Friday. Woke up at 9 am since my whacked out internal clock felt like it was the right thing to do at the time (keeping in mind that we checked into the hotel at 3am). Today is the day we make our rounds to the usual buyers and collectors that Aaron has built up relationships with over the last 9 years of doing business in India.

Tired, but excited to get going and see how its done on the India side, I clamber into the backseat of a beaten but nicely decorated AutoRickshaw and take notice of the interior absently as Aaron gives the driver instructions in Hindi. I notice that, similar the the taxi cab, that every available surface of this vehicle was also adorned with shrines and placards to this particular drivers favorite deity.

The wonderful thing about Hindus is that they have a very “pick your poison” approach to religion. I mean, there are over 300 million gods to protect and watch over almost every aspect of life (from birth to bowel movements….seriously) of the sub-continent’s 1.2 billon inhabitants.

So the it begins with another white-knuckled ride through the back streets of the Pahar Ganj district (where we will call home) over to another district to meet two brothers whose family have been into collection and restoration of cars and bikes for over 50 years.

What I didn’t know but found out along the way was that despite the fact that the two parts of the the family owned property which backed up to each other, they did not speak to one another because of a “disagreement” that the one brother had with his other brother some time back.

So we go to meet with one brother we call “T.S.”. T.S. has been on the vintage scene in Delhi for most of his life and is well known and respected. He is a nice man of the Brahmin caste (whole caste things is still confusing) but, unlike many Brahmins, enjoys his share of whiskey. But not today. Today is business and business means Chai.

Chai in India is not the same as you get in the states and your average chai stand is far from the sterile environment of your average western coffee house. A chai stand in India is usually nothing more that a haphazard shelter that may or may not have a plank or two resting on some bricks for customers to sit on while the Chai-Wallah (Wallah mostly means “guy” or “person”) hunches over a single burner on the ground and makes your chai and serves it up in a class that, if you are lucky, has only been used once or twice since it was last cleaned. And yet, if you can escape the imagery of all the lips and hands and what not that are now entering your body after steeping in a hot milky beverage, chai is pretty durn good…in reasonable quantities.

But in doing business, the chai is brought to you, usually by some skinny little kid whose pants almost cover his entire torso. At T.S.’s, chai was brought to us after a simple guttural utterance and one of his apprentices went scampering down the street to retrieve the nectar which fuels the economy of India.

Over the course of Aaron and T.S. catching up and gossiping (hey! Men do it too!) and talking bikes and orders, chai was ordered about three or four times and each time, I accepted because I didn’t want to insult anyone.

Next, we move on to J.R.’s place. J.R. is the nephew of T.S. and they do not speak but, as mentioned previously, their properties back up to each other. Upon arriving at J.R.’s and his father Janu’s shop, lo and behold, it’s chai time again! Another guttural utterance and an apprentice goes scampering down the street. More business is discussed and we managed to escape there with only two more chai episodes.

Belly roiling at all the sugary and milky substance sloshing about like an angry northern sea, we head to Karol Bagh district which is where the main motorcycle market is in Delhi. The motorcycle market is block after block of old motorcycles (mostly Enfields but some other British make) and new models which are mostly Bajaj or Hero Honda (The Indian subsidiary of Honda) small cc’d engines with silly model names like “Passion” or “Avenger” or “Karizma” or, my personal favorite “Hunk.”

Within the motorcycle market, we have several stops to make all of which involve a chai. At this point, it becomes a comical endurance test to push the limits of how much I can take. Round after round after round comes and I feel like I am going to explode.

Finally, last stop of the night is at a man we call Jassie, a large and eccentric sheikh fellow who is rather wealthy and likes to make show of it in funny ways (his specialty gold painted scooter with gold vinyl seats comes to mind). On the way Aaron tells me that he likes going to Jassie’s place because he serves the best lemon tea around.

Grateful for the chance to put something in my belly other than chai, we arrive at his shop and meet the big man himself. He is a portly man with dark skin that contrasts his white beard. He is a shrewd business man that some would even call a rascal but, when you meet him, you can’t help but like him because something he does always makes you laugh. Like when he calls me “Bruce” because he can’t pronounce Brooke.

We talk for a while and he asks me about myself and how I like India so far. As he asks his questions, my mouth starts to water for something to take the milky pasty taste of a weeks worth of chai out of my mouth. He makes the same guttural noise and his worker jumps up knowing just what it means. “Finally” I think to myself, as a tray of steaming tea cups are brought in the room. “MMM” Aaron announces in after a loud sip of his tea, “Best lemon tea around!”

“NOT FOR YOU, BRUCE!” He shouts. He pauses for a moment and I slowly look down… “First day in India, you have CHAI!” He chuckles and slaps me on the shoulder and I watch as a small splash of creamy brown liquid splashes onto my leg