This is more of real life, no story. I will, however, try to make it interesting in a very uninterested way. We were in our last year of engineering, and as is expected out of people who are in their last year of engineering, we used to spend most of our time learning about life than in the college, which is of course, a very polite way of saying we were outstanding students. The 'we' here is a select few elements who were handpicked by each other for their varying degrees of hallucinating capabilities and/or complete disassociation from any kind of reality whatsoever.
Anyone who has stayed in a hostel will agree with me when I say hostels in general make you admire the finer things in life. Like food, for example. You never will understand hostel food and even the world's greatest chef cannot replicate the taste even remotely. Of course, legend has it that one particular chef from Japan, afraid of harakiri, came to our hostel to eat the food, but after one bite, decided that harakiri was a safer option. Under these circs., a search for alternate means was inevitable and our quest led us to the subject of this story. The Sardarji.
The sardarji was a man of frugality. He lived in the same place where he made Aloo Parathas, and made Aloo Parathas in the same place where he made masala chai, and served masala chai in the same place where he lived. His life was full circle. His tea (masala chai) was and is one of the best that I've ever tasted, and he even let us in on the secret. Being hard rock fans those days, we remembered the secret recipe as LEDS - short for Led Zeppelin, but actually was Lavang (Clove), Elaichi (Cardamom) Dalchini (Cinnamon) and Saunf (Fennel seeds). The man was demure and very friendly. Order an Aloo Paratha and he would know you were going for the tea next, so he would start off making the tea while discussing life. I often used to wonder what this man had done to bring him so far away from his region. Was he a convict who couldn't find his place in this bullish world? What about his family? He never left his shack during night or day, and he dint even have friends. What can a man do, to bring him to this stage of life? The reason I still remember this man and find him so intriguing is the fact that one afternoon, when we guys just finished some exam and wanted to have tea, the Sardarji had gone. Lock, stock and Aloo Parathas. No one knew where he had gone. He just packed his stuff and left. I remember I was staring at his shack for a long time thinking a lot of things, but I never saw the man again. I hope he is well wherever he is and if he has Internet access and is on Facebook, I hope I learn about his life someday, while drinking his Masala Chai.
