Cutting Chai?

It was a sweaty June afternoon in Jaipur, I was cooking chapatis and hating it as much as any other woman would - given the heat coupled with the fumes from the kitchen. The mobile rang and I could not resist taking a look at the number. It was my friend from Mumbai and I suddenly felt guilty about not meeting her before returning from my two-week trip to the city.


'Emm... it was the hectic training schedule. I told you, didn't I? Ah... you would know how offices are, and how maddening is working for a small-city person in such a big, bad city like Mumbai.'


I had nearly thought out my lines by the time I answered. But she wasn't really into it.


'Do you know what cutting chai means?'


'Yes, why!' (Cutting chai from Mumbai to Jaipur, why on earth?)


'Does your mom know?'


'I don't know...' (It was like people asking you, does your mom know you drink?)


'How many people in Jaipur would know?'


'I am sure, quite a few.' (And i felt like I was going live on Dus ka Dum... Kitne pratishat bharatiya cutting chai ka matlab jaante hai?)


And then she explained. It was for an ad campaign she was doing.


Oh well.


I had not really given it a thought before that sweaty and, by now, burnt-chapati afternoon. The reason could be growing up on thadi chai with my journalist friends just when I was starting out. The initial attempts at being part of the gang eventually grew onto me, and I became one of those who enjoy a cuppa tea more than an ice on a summery day. After every outdoor trip in the heat and dust of Jaipur, it would be a chai for me, while my non-journo friends had shakes and smoothies. And at any given day, a 15-minute break from office for that half cuppa tea was such a breather. Cutting chai helped (& helps) us survive.


So I had assumed that the typically Mumbaiya expression had travelled to Gen-X, or even Gen-Y, since it was so happening to hang out and have half a glass (yes it is a glass, can't be a cup) of tea at a roadside stall in 'our' days. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe people now like to flaunt that it's the cappuccinos and vodkas that they can tell apart.


My friend asked me to check with my HR manager, my boss, my friends... just about anyone. And I ventured out on a survey the same day. The first person to pop an IM would get the question, 'Kya aap cutting chai ka matlab jaante hain?'


Nearly 80 percent thought they knew. 10 percent did. The rest actually did not know, nor claimed to do so. My youngest of friends - students of management/fashion design - fell in the last category. Each one responded with an 'eh?'


My mom does not know either.


My graphic designer friend at work does.


My boss does not.


Another friend claimed knowing it. But her description confused me and made me look up the actual meaning.


The survey made me look at the larger picture. I am in love with chai. Why, at work, my chai-loving colleague and I have even coined an expression for the craving: chayas. Jaise paani ki pyaas vaise chai ki chayas... the thirst for chai. And no ordinary chai would do. The office boys must hate us by now, but we give the coffee-machine a thumbs down and send them downstairs to get our daily dose of thadi chai. Why, we do need that sugary milky concoction to kickstart our day at 5 pm!


That's cutting chai for you.


By the time I finished my survey and responded, my copywriter friend had already begun work. She had concluded that enough number of people know about cutting chai, so she could go ahead with the concept.


My vote is anytime with her!



PS: A Gulzar-gone-wrong version of cutting chai definition from a friend goes like this;
Jab ek gilaas se doosrey gilaas me chai daalo
toh jo dhaar girti ho
usko kainchi se kaat do!

(poetry courtesy- Dinkar, chayas coinage courtesy - Shefali)