CHAI IN KERALA.

“Mister, mister!” a little boy calls out, running alongside the bus as it pulls away. The man leans out of the window, afraid the bus is going to run over the child’s feet. He was going to buy a piece of the jackfruit off the boy. The driver, in a hurry all of a sudden, decided to set off. It didn’t matter that the passengers had been waiting almost an hour.
“What is a timetable, eh?” the driver had snorted, rolling his head on a fat, rubbery neck. “Bus must be full.”

He could still smell the jackfruit even as they turned off the dirt road and left the village behind. This sweet, pungent smell that penetrates your very being. He thought of the sticky sap around the firm yellow flesh of the fruit. It was the essence of the tropics. Jackfruit. Even the name begged questioning.

An hour later, they found themselves stuck in the middle of a street march. Opposing sides were shouting their slogans, waving posters and trying to outdo each other.
“Local elections, you know,” the man in front of him explained.
A young woman got on but would not sit down. The only seat available was the one next to him and it was considered bad taste for a woman to sit next to an unknown man. A foreigner at that! He observed her. A bindi graced her beautiful, oval face. Her hair was under a veil, the same colour as her turquoise sari. A nose ring and bracelet, both of them gold, were the only ornaments she was wearing.

He felt chivalrous and got up and hanged onto to a rail so she would sit. Something he regretted a few miles down when they hit a bumpy patch with endless potholes. As he swayed and bumped into the seats, sweat running down his back, he muttered under his breath.

At midday, they stopped to eat. Round plates of Thali, with several compartments holding rice, lentils, vegetables and chili. All around them the valley was green and lush. They were in the heart of Ayurveda country. The air was laced with the myriad of spices grown in the area.
When they set off again, he was able to sit down as some of the passengers had left. The bus climbed the steep mountain pass to their destination. He was praying and trying not to look down the side, for it was a sharp drop.

When they finally arrived, it was with a sigh of relief that he shuffled, joints aching, to the small lodge where he would stay for a few days.
“Chai, mister?” the owner asked.
“Chai. Yes please.”