Chaiwallah

There he stood in all his glory.  Brylcreem shine glistening streaks mixing with the sweaty stains dripping down his face; rivers down his back meeting the yellow stained banyan.



He chewed pan chomping and biting the sweet acrid taste of betel nut as it slowly worked its narcotic trance.  His chest puffed just a little past his hardened belly “Ai, Laloo, chaiwallah hurry yarh! The trains coming I’m late.”  Laloo stretched his arm, gristly muscles straining upwards shifting the chai cup to cup. Half here, half there the cutting chai routine of the morning.



‘Stupid’ the only word that came to mind in the maddened Bombay morning rush; ‘Stupid, bhenchoot asses, look at me I’m a banker, I’m so bloody important.  The state bank will collapse without me.’ Stupid ass, he whipped his arm across his forehead brylcreem sweat flicking into the chai.  He smiled, “There boss” a little piece of importance, as he handed the cup to the teller.