Indian opposition leader Narendra Modi had a brief stint as a chai wallah at his father’s tea stall before becoming Chief Minister of Gujarat.

In October, the BJP began a campaign in which chai wallahs branded their businesses as NaMo Tea Stalls, distributing promotional materials and money for chai wallahs to improve their stalls in exchange for their public endorsement. (Modi is often referred to as NaMo, the Hindi abbreviation for his name.) After an errant comment by Mani Shankar Aiyar, a prominent politician from the ruling Congress party, that Modi would be welcome to serve him chai but could never become prime minister, the BJP has brewed up a new storm of chai-related campaigning.

Members of the crowd at the first Chai Pe Charcha with NaMo in Ahmedabad, Gujarat on Feb. 12, 2014.

Yesterday marked the launch of Chai Pe Charcha, a series of events in which Modi will visit chai stands and answer questions from audiences gathered at tea stalls around the country via webcast. It seems to be a wise campaign tactic. Chai Pe Charcha, which means “discussion over tea” in Hindi, not only allows Modi to remind voters of his humble roots as a chai wallah; it enables him to connect with voters in a place where politics is most often discussed – the tea stall. Indeed, many say the communist movements of Kerala and West Bengal began in tea shops, and when Indian political commentators want to gauge public opinion, they are more likely to head to a local chai stand than consult poll figures. Tea stalls are particularly important in Gujarat, a “dry state” since its inception in 1960 in honor of its native son Mahatma Gandhi. With no bars to go to, most Ahmedabadis head to tea stalls to socialize until the wee hours of the morning – or until cops shut down the party – over cups of milky chai, cigarettes and Gujarati snacks like gathiya, deep fried strips of spiced gram flour dough served with zesty chili-mint chutney and tangy raw papaya slaw.

Gathiya, a typical deep-fried Gujarati snack, served with chilis, mint chutney and raw papaya slaw.

In a city with hundreds of iconic kitlis – literally ‘kettle’ in Gujarati, as tea shops are known here – local BJP workers were spoilt for choice of where to launch the Chai Pe Charcha. They chose one of our favorites, Iscon Ganthiya on S.G. Highway, which we had visited the night before to meet its owner, Mandeep Patel. Mandeep, 28, arrived in Ahmedabad seven years ago from Upleta, a small town about 320 km southwest of here, with ambition, work ethic and not much else. He had worked as a farmer for five years after completing 10^th grade and heard there was money to be made in Gujarat’s largest city, which has seen significant economic development in the past decade. He taught himself to make gathiya and set up a roadside stand in Ahmedabad’s upscale Satellite area; after a year he began serving chai as well. “In the beginning I had to struggle,” Mandeep said as customers swirled about his store on Tuesday around midnight. “For two years, it was just me and a cart. It was hard in the rain and in the winter. But slowly my name got out. I went from one customer to ten customers, then ten to twenty, then twenty to 100. I earned enough to be stable, and then saved enough to rent this space,” he said, pointing to the large storefront, which has three main preparation stations – gathiya, chai and maskabun, fluffy buns slathered with creamy butter and other toppings from chili-garlic chutney and peanuts to Nutella and cheese.

Iscon Ganthiya is a popular kitli, or tea stall, in Ahmedabad, Gujarat, where locals gather all hours of the night.

It was in front of the chai station that Modi sat for three hours yesterday answering questions as citizens tuned in from reportedly 1,000 tea stalls across 300 cities. He kicked off the event by recalling his brief stint as a chai wallah. “I learned a lot when I was selling tea. I got an opportunity to interact with a lot of people. I used to listen to the people while they were discussing issues. It was a special experience,” Modi said, taking a sip of Iscon Ganthiya’s trademark rich cardamom chai. “In our country, a tea stall serves as a means of livelihood for the poorest of the poor. In a way, a tea stall serves as a footpath Parliament. While sipping a cup of tea, we always discuss a variety of issues, whether they are local, regional, national or international.”

Narendra Modi discussed a range of policy issues with citizens gathered at tea stalls across India during the first Chai Pe Charcha on Feb. 12, 2014.

Over the course of the discussion, Modi touched on topics from recovering “black money” deposited by Indians in foreign bank accounts to combating terrorism to improving transportation infrastructure. But Mandeep seemed too starstruck – or perhaps exhausted from being ordered by the BJP advance team – to have noticed the finer policy points of Modi’s speech. “Ek dum fine,” Mandeep responded when we asked him his thoughts on the event. Completely fine.

Iscon Ganthiya owner Mandeep Patel presented Narendra Modi with a garland of flowers in addition to cups of tea at the Chai Pe Charcha in Ahmedabad, Gujarat on Feb. 12, 2014.

Why did Modi choose Iscon Ganthiya as the first stop on his Chai Pe Charcha tour? “It must be destiny,” Mandeep said. Another observer suggested it was likely due to the tea stall’s location across the road from the posh Karnavati Club, of which Modi’s longtime friend Girish Dani is secretary. We prefer to think it was because of the chai. Indeed, Modi did compliment Mandeep on the tea. “Modi Ji drank three glasses of chai and said it was very good. Now everyone in Ahmedabad will know about our chai.” This could help with Mandeep’s expansion plans. He recently opened a second branch in Vastrapur and hopes to have 10 to 12 stores in the next three years. Iscon Ganthiya’s success has enabled Mandeep to hire nine employees from his village, paying each a monthly salary of 10,000-15,000 rupees (about $165-$250). One of those employees is Rajesh Giri Meghnathi, the chai wallah who made the tea served to Modi. “I feel very proud,” Rajesh said, parading a huge smile and asking friends to take his photograph. “This is a happy day.” “The happiest in your life?” we asked. “Probably until my marriage.”

Rajesh Giri Meghnathi, the chai wallah who made the tea served to Modi, was in the background (left) for the Chai Pe Charcha, while Modi and the chai were in the foreground.

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I was a heavy coffee drinker during the four years I spent in the United States completing my undergraduate studies. My tryst with tea began only upon moving back to Delhi after I graduated. At first it was the elaichi-flavoured Tetley tea bags, which were quick and easy to make at home. Soon my mornings felt incomplete without a steaming hot cup of the strong beige liquid.

I am accustomed to drinking my chai without sugar – the same way I would drink coffee – how else do you enjoy the real flavour? But unsweetened chai is a bit of an anomaly in India. The first time I asked for chai without sugar at the tea-stall outside my office in Delhi, the chai wallah responded, “pheekee chai?” which literally translates to “bland tea?” – and thus I was outcast as a pheekee chai drinker, but a chai drinker nonetheless!

Saanya (right) and her friend Deepa enjoying chai in Amritsar.

 

Chai breaks are an infamous part of the work culture I was exposed to in Delhi. A simple test I devised to determine whether you’re a chai glutton is when your chai wallah starts to give you store credit – because he knows that you will be back the next day, if not within the next few hours! Needless to say, I pass this test. On seeing me walk down, the shopkeeper would yell out to the chai wallah “ek pheekee chai!”  (“one bland tea!”)

To understand just how important chai is to the work culture I was part of, I turn to my favourite joke about the Brazilian bureaucracy:

Two lions escape from a zoo and take different paths; one goes to a wooded park and is apprehended as a soon as he gets hungry and eats a passerby. The second remains at large for months. Finally captured, he returns to the zoo sleek and fat. His companion inquires with great interest, “where did you find such a great hiding place?” “In one of the ministries” is the successful escapee’s answer. “Every three days I ate a bureaucrat and not one noticed.” “So how did you get caught?” “I ate the man who served coffee for the morning break,” comes the sad reply.

This example is apt for India, if you replace coffee with chai. I worked with a Member of Parliament in Delhi for a year, during the course of which I met several bureaucrats and government officials. Every meeting began with the customary offering of chai. We slowly sipped on the sweet milky goodness, while exchanging pleasantries. Chai is the desi way of ‘breaking the ice’ when you meet someone for the first time. You easily avoid the awkward silence by staring down into the swirling beige liquid, alternating between small sips and occasional glances at the person across from you. Soon I mastered the art of drinking chai in official settings.

I also learnt early on to never say ‘no’ when offered chai in such official settings. My first such disastrous mistake resulted in standoffish behaviour from the staff of the official that I was to meet. The next time I visited, I made sure to accept the chai offer, and sure enough, I was chided for having previously refused! Luckily for me, social norm dictates that one chai acceptance neutralises a previous chai refusal. After many chai acceptances, I am now on good terms with the staff at that office.

Chai has also been an integral part of my travels across India – if you are wary of drinking non-bottled water from obscure looking roadside stalls, opt for the chai. I am convinced that the over boiling of the liquid kills any infection or bacteria. This justifies the copious cups of chai I have consumed while waiting at stations, bus stops, and pretty much at any roadside. From Punjab, Rajasthan, Himachal Pradesh, Gujarat, Uttar Pradesh and Jammu, the chai culture prevails in most of the northern lands I ventured to. Waiting for the parade to begin at the Wagah Border in Amritsar, sitting across the Hameersar Lake in Bhuj with Gujarati folk music in the background, being woken up at an unearthly hour on a bus journey somewhere between Manali and Jammu, there are several memories that involve a cup of chai. Clearly, there is something indescribable about the goodness of garma-garam chai.

Counting the change in my wallet before boarding a train last week, I lamented to my friend, “I have only 20 Rupees. Just one cup of chai for each of us!” to which she responds, “I have 20 Rupees as well. Two cups each, we’re covered.” After all, what better sustenance for an eighteen-hour train journey.

 

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Barjinder “Bonnie” Mann campaigns at a Jat Sikh village in Karnal District, Haryana

The Bible mentions breaking bread with others as the ultimate culinary conveyance of fellowship. In India, it’s taking tea. Nowhere is this more evident than on the campaign trail where a quick cup with voters can make or break an election.

We tagged along with Barjinder “Bonnie” Mann, a candidate for Haryana state legislature, as he visited villages in Karnal district, about 100 miles north and a world away from the hustle and bustle of Delhi.

Politics are in Bonnie’s blood. They have been since his great-uncle represented Karnal in the pre-partition Punjab Assembly in the 1920s. Bonnie’s father, Tajender, known fondly as Teji, sat in the Haryana state assembly for decades before passing away this summer. Posters with his face proclaiming “Teji Mann amar rahe! (Teji Mann lives forever!)” are never far away. Bonnie’s brother is running to replace Teji in the rural constituency adjacent to the one where Bonnie is campaigning.

“My father was so beloved by these people, we really have no choice but to run,” Bonnie explained. “We can’t just walk away from them.” Their cousin Sumita Singh represents Karnal town, so the brothers’ election would make a Mann family trifecta.

The seat Bonnie is running for has been reserved for members of scheduled castes but that reservation is expiring, opening the way for another Mann to take a seat in the Haryana Vidhan Sabha. The previous representative was removed from office for taking money in exchange for government jobs and abetting the suicide of a local village head. Needless to say, most voters are not lamenting a changing of the guard.

Zach meets the president, sarpanch, of Hathlana village, Karnal District

We walked from house to house in the village of Hathlana, about an hour outside Karnal town, the streets dotted with buffalo dung and the air rich with the smell of it. Many visits began with the serving of tea. But cold soda was an even more common offering. Was it due to the heat? Could it be the local buffaloes weren’t producing enough milk? Or had fizzy Coca-Cola overtaken humble chai as the preferred drink in rural Haryana?

If so, we cannot understand why. Village chai is delicious. At one campaign stop, we were led away by the household women to see how chai is made when there is no Starbucks nearby. Gyano Devi, dressed in a bright purple sari, squeezed milk from a buffalo behind her house. Preparing a fire of dried dung and sticks, she heated the milk and sprinkled in some tulsi leaves freshly picked from her garden, as well as black tea and sugar. What resulted was a rich elixir providing a perfect moment of relaxation before we rejoined Bonnie on the campaign trail.

“In India, caste is everything,” Bonnie explained to us. Nowhere is this truer than the realm of politics. Hathlana is a Ror village. Mann is a Jat. He would have to bring out some profound rhetoric to convince locals to cross caste lines and cast their vote for him.

“If America can elect a black man from Africa, and even two American states can elect Indian chief ministers [governors] – Nikki Haley and Bobby Jindal – then surely you can vote for the most honest man.”

One villager was moved. “Teji Mann!” He shouted. “Amar rahe!” The crowd shouted in response.

But these stump speeches were surprisingly rare. More often the visits were filled with small talk, and hosts insisting members of Bonnie’s entourage take another sweet. Sometimes, in fact there was no talking at all, just Bonnie and the village elders sipping chai or Limca or whatever has been proffered.

“You see, he doesn’t have to say anything,” a travel companion says about Bonnie. “It is the simple act of showing up and drinking tea. Seven groups called us for tea in this one village. We knew we didn’t go to drink tea. But tea is the important formality. It’s the way you announce to the village that we are with you. It says we are a gang and we are together and we will look after each other. You can be with me and I will look after you. Or you can go with somebody else. It’s all very tribal.”

So the lesson to villagers during election season is keep milking those buffaloes and brewing gaon ki chai. And to candidates: Drink up.

Gyano Devi’s Gaon ki Tulsi Chai (Village Tea with Holy Basil)

Makes 4 cups.

Ingredients:

1 cup buffalo milk

1 cup water

2 teaspoons CTC black tea

8 fresh tulsi leaves

4 heaping teaspoons sugar

Instructions:

1. Milk your favorite water buffalo.

2. Gather dried buffalo dung and kindling sticks. Build a fire.

3. Put milk and water in a pot over the fire.

4. Add tea and tulsi leaves. Cover.

5. Bring mixture to boil until it nearly bubbles over. Stir.

6. Add sugar. Repeat Step 5 twice. Serve.

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