Tea, Biscuits & Company

Laxman Sharma never made it to the top three while at his school due to lack of intellect, nor did he find himself in a college because of lack of funds. However when on the train to Kolkata from Arwal, he would never believe if someone ever told him that he would end up on 12, Upper Crest Street as a popular tea-shack stall owner, blending tea leaves into milk all day through and serving them to anyone who would care (with or without sugar) in paper or clay cups or tea glass. He would also add ginger during the rains. 

The newspaper he had in his shack for packing biscuits often gave him company on extreme sunny lonely afternoons. He could not read it fluently but bought them daily without fail. The city taught him certain unspoken traits to be with. Even as the price of potatoes were sky high, and that of onions were exploding, he would manage to pay for the Dainik Jagaran. Just going through the black and white images as he made the dawn batch of tea gave him a satisfaction of having done the immense.

His clientele included the students of the college at the end of the lane, the suburbian hardworkers at the city's sales offices, drivers discussing their car owners and hardly the cars, students who spoke in a language he did not understand, middle aged men who complained about their wives and teachers who complained about their lives.

Once he got engaged a little too much in the story of two teachers. One of them came by at a certain time right after lunch to eye another officer from the building who would smoke a cigarette and listen to his colleague but eye back the teacher. He saw many a fling develop over two rupees worth of steam. But this one was special. For the last two weeks all he overheard was how the teacher was facing a bad time at her home dealing with her in-laws and not having a husband who supported her, took to a friend and met him after college. Biscuits would be entertained over how the previous day's rendezvous went. And even as she discussed this, she would be smiling ever so slightly at the uniformed officer. "Sharma ji, another biscuit", and flash went the smile.

He would be too engrossed in catering to customized orders to retain the lives of others, but she was a teacher and that made it so gross, and so exciting at the same time. Even as he stood a testimony to distorted truths he realized the characters never looked back at their creators. For what were the chances that one day he would stand beside her and have a cup of tea and she would recognize the difference in taste, or him? 

He always wanted to write a story and have his name on Dainik Jagaran someday. In his mind he had decided that if such a day were to come, he would serve free tea the whole day through. But it didn't. Some days later he went back home and told his son that the teacher and the officer came to tea together. Of course they had not.