Oh groan!!! That meant in addition to the customary one hour visa processing and customs clearance wait time, I would have to wait for another two hours to file the report for my lost luggage situation. This was a bad time have checked in my carry on items. Now I don’t even have access to the emergency change of t-shirt and clean pair of underwear and socks. After being in the air for 20 plus hours, a change of these basic clothing items is highly warranted, and can be classified as an act of public service. It was a figurative can of sardines situation at the lost luggage counter, everyone experiencing similar body odor issues that result from excessively long flight durations. This was one time I really wished for more stringent social distancing requirements.
Four hours later I left the Mumbai international airport, and I was spent beyond recognition. It was still dark as I crawled into my airport transfer that was organized to take me home. The city was barely showing signs of waking up, and most dining establishments appeared to still be closed. “What I wouldn’t give for a cup of chai right now”. I said to myself. “There’s always chai guy in Mumbai, Sir”. This was Chandru, the driver of the vehicle. “I know a chaiwalla outside Bhaba Hospital that’s open now." He was going to go there after he dropped me off. “How about we go there first and I’m paying.” I chimed in.
There I was at an unearthly hour on a random sidewalk in Mumbai, enjoying piping hot glass of Mumbai street chai. Right there is an example of the city’s tenuous entrepreneur spirit. On a makeshift counter sat a kerosine powered stove from the previous century, on which the chaiwalla was bringing a large pot of water to a rolling boil to brew his magical potion. All it took was one sip of that steamy decoction for all the unpleasantness of the recent travel ordeal to vanish into darkness. I honestly believe that this is the purpose of the street chai guy. He’s not just selling tea, he makes troubles go away, even if just for a few minutes.
As he grates fresh ginger into his version of a bubbling cauldron, he tells me “I am here every day, from 5:00 am to 9:00 pm. I never take a break, I never take a day off.” That’s what you got to do to survive in the Mumbai street food scene. He holds a prime spot across the street from one of the busiest hospitals in the area, and he holds on to it for dear life. One day away from work could mean this spot belongs to someone else tomorrow. There are no rules in this street food game.
It’s people like him that make up the fabric of Mumbai. Doing whatever it takes to put food on the table and kids through school. He hopes that they will never have to sell chai on the streets for a living, like their uneducated old man. This hustle, this attitude, this relentless undying spirit is what makes Mumbai the city that it is. I am reminded of this every time I visit home. I could not be more proud have been born a Mumbaikar.
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