Even though it is raining and there are hardly any customers you have to keep the chai stall open for one or two more hours until you can close up. There is an awkward silence in the stall that hasn't been there since Chiku came to you and constantly filled your life with frantic chatter. The uncertainty and turmoil emanating from him is so thick that you could probably scoop it up and put it into one of your chais.
You glance at the time, then groan. It has only been 10 minutes since you read the letter.
At some point the rain stops. A thin layer of sweat starts clinging to your face, caused by the murky humidity that arrives when the cool of the showers disappears. Your thoughts turn to the letter lying in the corner. Like the last recipe, this one too contains elements that can hardly be considered ingredients.
7 seconds of held breath? Is the CO2 gathered from your lungs supposed to add flavor to the tea when you breathe on it?
A promise you never kept? Are you supposed to entertain the milk with your embarrassment?
You conclude that the only thing you will be adding to the chai with these ingredients is the element of unhygiene and your spittle (maybe you ought to brush your teeth before brewing it). In the past this would have been just more evidence that your Nani was crazy. But, after what happened last time, you hesitate a bit to ridicule the recipe. Maybe, the genes you inherited from her are making you go crazy. Or maybe, just maybe, your Nani was a genius.
You decide that you have waited long enough. You quickly pack up the stall and get to work. You gather the ingredients, boil the tea, and sip. Your eyes flutter shut—and suddenly, you're not in Mumbai anymore. The city's skyline flickers, replaced by one where trams never vanished, and Bollywood's biggest star is still a shy teen rehearsing on Marine Drive.
There, you find a young man painting memories onto walls—literally. His brush dips into puddles of people's forgotten moments. You don't know how you know that they are memories. It's just that there are emotions wafting from these puddles of tea leaf mixtures, emotions that people have already experienced.
"You're not supposed to be here," the young man says, but then his eyes meet yours, and something flickers behind them.
Chiku lands dramatically on a lamppost. "That's portal number two. Five more teas to go, heroine."