Delhi is so motherly. For those who have their pockets full ,they have the utmost luxuries of life and for those who have it half it gives you the homely restaurants for hoi polloi and then at last there lies a place where every Indian labour would have spent half of his life: The Tea Stall.
Day after when my exams were finished i went out with with my pocket money to promenade Gurgao to buy something for my sister's birthday who was just nine and a half and had demanded me of a Zara outfit. I had no idea what it could cost me so i took my debit also with me.
Entered the mall did some shopping and gave a feast to myself for such glorious performance in the exam and it just hurt me five thousand nine hundred and ninety nine only. It is so daring of them to add the 'only' at the end. This 'only' irks me every time i visit any mall.
Till the time i had finished shopping, the hungry villies of my stomach started it again, the gud gud of the stomach. I somehow pulled myself out of the place. After crossing few yards i saw a chai stall built over a wooden stand and the stove covered with an iron sheet cut out of a tin can which reminded me of the containers in which Dadi had desi ghee stored. I asked myself should i go there and try it ? what would people around me say?? and unraveling myself from the social causes i just went there took a cup and sipped the taste of the everyday labour's life. I saw a man sitting in a very funny way with one of his leg twisted about his hip and the other swinging along the bench. I tried to copy him but the flesh of my class obstructed me...
