• BSP

Over A Hot Cup of Chai



“I am going to murder you.”

“Hey, hey! Easy, girl, easy,” Rohan laughs, trying to calm his best friend down,

who’s on the other side of the line. “I told you, I want to live to tell my future

kids about how I survived the ‘Rona times!”

“And you need to take care of your health to see those years, you dolt!” Rohan

pulls the phone away from his ear at her high-pitched voice, making a face.

Putting the call on speaker, he plops himself on the couch. The sudden

movement is not kind on his headache, and he barely manages to suppress a

groan.

“You know,” Rohan says in a teasing voice. “I love that suggestion where you

plan to murder me, then resurrect me back only to murder me again.”

“Dude, don’t change the topic.”

“Jiv, don’t be such a mood kil-ACHOO!"

Damn.

“See! This is why I tell you to take care of your health!” Jivika chides him

again, and he winces. The room is swimming, his head is pounding, and his

nose is too blocked to allow him to focus on what she is saying.

He sneezes again. There is, thankfully, some respite.

“You took medicated steam?” Jivika asks, her voice laced with concern. Rohit

nearly nods in reply before realizing he is over a voice call.

“Yes mom,” he chokes out, hating the scratchiness of his throat.

“Saltwater gargles?”

“Done. No help there, too.”

There is an affirmative hum from her side, followed by the click of a tongue.

“Bet you haven’t tried the special masala chai I always made for our group,

whenever we went camping.”

Truth be told, he hasn’t. He decides to remain silent.

“Your silence speaks your answer for you, Mr. Arora. I knew it!” Jivika

proclaims in a winning tone laced with accusation. “I was right about you not

trying the only thing that can protect you from this pandemic.”


“It is not the only thing,” he fights back weakly, despite knowing she is not

going to buy that argument.

“But it is certainly one of the best, right?”

He doesn’t answer. He is sick of being treated like a big baby, and he tells her

that.

“Not taking care of yourself is acting like a big baby, dude. Wait a moment...”

Rohan holds the phone by his ear, waiting. He hears the shuffling sounds and

the muffled curses muttered over the line, and despite the pain in his head, a

smile makes its way onto his lips.

Ever since the world went into lockdown, life has been nothing but boring.

There is only so much he can do sitting at home. He has binged Netflix, has

brewed Dalgona coffee over ten times and has revived all his past hobbies

(every single one of them). Mom and dad, siblings and cousins, the mausiji

from Allahabad, the fufaji who's stuck in London amidst the pandemic; Rohan

has talked to them all. He has participated in online Antaksharis, has played

Call of Duty with random people, and even has had fun Karaoke nights with

friends.

And yet he feels empty inside. As if something is amiss.

He knows it is actual human interaction he craves, and it is the one thing he

cannot get. Just like how snow can wish for summer, but never actually

witness it (Lockdown bored him enough to binge Disney movies, too.)

“Found it!” Jivika’s voice breaks Rohan through his trance, causing him to jerk

back to the real world. “Found the recipe to cure your cold. You’ll be fit in no

time!”

He doesn’t know what he has done to deserve a caring friend like her.

“Okay, so!” He can half imagine Jivika pushing her spectacles up her nose as

she flips through something, a book perhaps. “This is the recipe for my special

masala chai. All you need to do is to get some mil--”

Rohan tunes her out, already having read and listened to the recipe hundreds

of times. Keeping the phone by his ear, he moves to the window that looks out

to the world. The streets are deathly quiet — not even a stray dog barks.

Deafening silence looms everywhere. There is hardly any interaction among

people; they all sit locked away in gilded cages they call homes (some people

don’t even have homes, to begin with). And yet... the cases of the virus rise

exponentially every 24 hours.


In all honesty, it is maddening.

“And you’re not listening. Great.”

“I’m sorry,” Rohan apologizes. “I didn’t mean to. I’m just...not in the mood, Jiv.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I’m just tired of... you know, this Corona and this entire

talking over the phone thing. I need my normal life back,” Rohan admits. No

matter how much he hates Corona, the small virus has taught him the true

meaning of life. It has taught him not to take relationships for granted. It has

made him realize the actual value of human connections.

Technology can only reduce the gaps between people; physical interaction, no

matter how less, is needed to plug those gaps.

There is a sudden sound of the call getting disconnected. Taken aback,

Rohan looks at his phone. He stares awkwardly at the blinking 01:30:29

before reality catches up to him.

Jivika just cut the call on his face. That is something she would never do...

unless she’s mad.

Rohan lets out a curse as he runs his hand through his hair. He was just

pissed off; he hadn’t wanted to make her mad. Facepalming at his idiocy, he

quickly pulls up Jivika’s Whatsapp thread to send her an apology. But before

his fingers can type anything, there is a notification of an incoming video call.

From Jivika.

He hits the “Accept” button. It takes a few seconds to connect before Jivika is

on the screen. She’s standing in her kitchen, the phone propped up against

some support. Her hair is pulled up in a messy bun, her spectacles resting on


her face like they always do. She’s wearing her favorite Imagine Dragons t-

shirt, and grinning at him widely.


At least she is not mad (or maybe she planned to murder him, but that’s

another deal).

“Rohan!” She speaks in a bright voice that manages to bring a smile to his

face. “What are you doing sitting on the couch? Get to the kitchen, let’s make

masala chai together!”

“To-together? Right now?”

“Yes!”


He is stupefied for a moment, but her excitement is infectious. Soon, Rohan

finds himself in the kitchen, Jivika’s chatter echoing in his ears. He crushes

the ginger as she does the same, all the while throwing instructions (and

sometimes, cloves) at him. The water is boiling with cloves and tulsi, and the

rich aroma has already chased half of his sickness away. Jivika’s bubbliness

has vaporized the other half.

Fifteen minutes later, Rohan is back on the couch, a steaming cup of masala

chai held carefully in his hands. Across from him, behind the screen, sits

Jivika, her cup of chai in her hand. They both inhale the aroma and then take

a sip together. The hot liquid seeps down his parched throat, the instant relief

causing him to sigh in delight.

“So?” Jivika asks teasingly, and Rohan looks up at her from the rim of his cup.

“The masala chai chased your cold away. Was I right or was I right?”

“I will pretend I didn’t hear you.”

“Whatever sails your boat, man,” she giggles, and he cannot help but smile.

They share a peaceful silence, basking in each other’s company. It is not

exactly like the past times, but it the closest thing to the normalcy Rohan

desires. And he... likes it.

“Hey, Jiv?” He whispers, afraid to break the moment. She looks up at him.

“Thanks for your company, your chai, and basically... everything.”

“You didn’t have to say it, yaar.”

He smiles, she smiles back. And just like that, their friendship rekindles over a

hot chuski of masala chai.



 

Written by: Unnati Goyal

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