Stop by any Bombay tapri (chai stand), café, or home, and you will likely find yourself with a gently steaming glass of chai in hand. Just like Bombay itself, chai is characterised by international transactions, a complex past and the ability to unite people of all backgrounds.
Before the invention of chai, Bombayites drank kadha, an ayurvedic remedy for coughs and colds made of boiled water and spices like cardamom, cloves and nutmeg
The Indian Tea Association, consisting of British tea plantation owners, began a campaign to increase consumption of its product among Indians by providing tea. A daily tea break was introduced into the working day, on the grounds that it made for a more productive – that is, more profitable – workforce.
Indian tea-drinkers began adding masala, milk, honey and sugar to their chai, to mask the taste of the bitter tea (and thus continuing their long history of brewing drinks with whole spices). In the 1930s, the Association tried to prevent this as they believed that this meant less tea being used and, therefore, less profit. In this way, adding masala became a form of quiet resistance.
In 1947, as India achieved its independence from British rule, Indian tea was labelled 100% swadeshi, or Indian produced – and became a source of national pride. In the following years, India began nationalising the plantations, and at the same time, the popularity of affordable CTC tea soared. Tea soon became the fuel of the nation.
Today, chai represents many things. A refreshing welcome for guests in our homes. A connection to our identity, for every region and every family has their own recipe. And comfort. Its taste transports us back to picking tea leaves from our grandparents’ gardens, and watching them brew the rich nectar that could mend a grazed knee (and, later, a broken heart) with one sip.
In Bombay, chai is the fuel that keeps the city running. Chai-wallas on crowded streets stir simmering pots of the city’s quintessential ‘cutting chai’ – a half measure that came about thanks to Bombayites’ incessant chai drinking. This special brew is boiled a little longer to make it kadak (strong), then served in glasses half the size of traditional chai, meaning Bombayites can stop for as many as they wish, without sending themselves skywards on a caffeine trip.
And in our own cafés, chai is just as essential. For one thing, it helps keep our kitchens running; our chef-wallas drink Kitchen Chai (very strong, very sweet) by the bucketload. But it is part of who we are and how we wish our guests to feel. A bubbling pot of our House Chai (a blend we perfected over fifteen years ago) is never far from our front door, its spicy scent welcoming clock-watching office workers, sleep-deprived parents and languorous lovebirds. And, once seated, as you cradle your warm glass and chat, or gulp down your milky nectar with the desperation of three hours of sleep, we await our opportunity to replenish your bottomless chai. To make you feel everything chai makes us feel. Rejuvenated and reconnected. Home.
