In the ceaseless metronome of life, stopping is the ultimate sin. And like any rhythm, it is cyclic. Get up, do your stuff, sleep. The stuff may be different for everyone, but the pleasure of variety ends there. You can't marvel at a schedule once you've seen it from a bird's eye view for what it is; a schedule.
Like a drummer is noticed only when he misses a beat, it is these moments which acknowledge the clockwork nature of life. But like a heart skipping a beat, you appreciate the fleeting nature of beauty through these moments. And finally, as the drummer gracefully dives into a new beat, these moments refresh you and you face the cyclic mundanity of routine with a new verve.
A 9-to-5 job is a perfect example of such inane structure, and mine is no exception. The moment I rest my backside on the soft yet constraining cushions of my chair, my eyes wander towards the clock, waiting for it to say half past noon.
Jeevdaani is a quaint little joint, tucked away in the bosoms of Bavdhan. It's not a place you would talk about at parties. But when something is a stones throw from your office, it is discovered, tested, and if it fits, inculcated. Prima facie, Jeevdaani doesn't have much to offer in terms of aesthetics, but an unqualified charm that is entirely its own.
As Satish holds up his hand in acknowledgement to our request for Jeevdaani's most 'takatak chai', we indulge in good old office banter. Here, even the crispest of shirts find wrinkles comfortable and the tightest of ties become loose. The backs aching after hours of maintaining the politically correct work position find respite in the creaking plastic chairs strewn on Jeevdaani's porch.
As the lunch boxes pop open, and the clatter of plates heralds the arrival of food even before the aroma, a plethora of topics are explored within that half-hour of paradise. The pungent plague of a baleful boss or the suffocation of a looming deadline pale into insignificance over each other's lunches.
As Bhima expertly balances more cups of tea on a saucer than it was originally meant for, the connoisseur's eyes light up and a wide smile glows on our faces as we reach forward, sparing him the trouble of actually placing them in front of us.
"Bhima sheth! Takatak zalay chaha!"
The tea fueled whoop carries over the regular hustle-bustle of Jeevdaani's patrons and despite having heard the phrase more times than they've cared to count, Bhima and Satish smile broadly as we bask in the golden glory of Jeevdaani's best.
The old steel vessel has served countless customers, and we are just one of that number, yet we feel special every time we have a cup. The slightly cracked chinaware into which it is poured is a sign that you have ordered the full one, as compared to the translucent cones of cutting chai. It is a symbol of honor that we show our respect to by actually holding on to the little handle, however precarious it may seem.
The first sip of that beautiful beverage after a hearty lunch and heartier laughter, makes the next half of the day seem bearable. The slightly sweet, yet staunchly traditional taste echoes with the ambiance of the environment and the souls of those who make it. The rims slowly turn golden as we enjoy every last drop of it, preparing ourselves for pending work and assignments, with a peace and serenity that only a cup of her finest can provide.
She really lives up to her name as a life-giver, Jeevdaani.
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