glee, glide, no glum

There should be a teashop at every parking lot in town. Not a bistro or café (said with overplayed contempt and head toss), but a chai shop.
Peshal (special) tea, lemon tea, saada tea: Sighs in little plastic cups. You can’t hold it stylishly with an elite pinky stuck up in the air. You can’t caress it with both hands, like you can your daily coffee mug. You can’t place it on a table and sip from like a straw. You can’t pour it down your throat, without touching your lip, like from a steel glass. You have no option here, tea lover. The frail little plastic cup must be held gingerly, with index finger and thumb, shifted from right hand to left with a “tsss!” when the heat singes skin. And oh, how the heart wrenches when a few drops of the cherished wee bit of chai fall on the footpath…
The empty-plot-turned-parking-lot is very convenient for this chai wala. He sits in an old red and blue Taj Mahal counter behind a mossy wall that rises up to his waist. No tea stains on his vest, mind you. Or the pungent smell of old milk. He looks like he just stepped out of a bath all the time.
“Lemon tea, saar,” I tell him, and show a ‘V’ sign with my fingers. He beams at me like I said I loved him (I do, truly) and repeats authoritatively to his assistant who’s well hidden behind the tea flasks: “Yeradu lemon tea, maydimege” (two lemon teas for madam). All I can see is two hands swish-swashing around the flasks, slicing a lemon, and clapping with a finishing flourish.
“Red-ready”, his boss mumbles and beams at me again. By now, I know that I’m not the only recipient of his super beam, as I hear more tea buyers around loftily declare that the chai wala “really likes me”. One college girl even said, “Why is he smiling at me like thaaat, ya? Creepy fellow…” Hand over that tea girl, it ain’t for the pompous.
We take our lemon tea and sip it quietly, holding the little cup in the only way we can/must. A whiff of tingly citrus freshness. I watch the steam waft its way up, warming my nose. Every sip takes its time… stroking awake each taste bud, carelessly, idly.
One little plastic cup of glee. Gingerly fondled two days ago. Lounging in my mind still.