Kolkata’s identity as the country’s ‘cultural capital’ is fueled largely by the city’s humongous appetite for ‘adda’ and the humble ‘chaa’. Innumerable ‘chaayer dokaan’ (tea stalls) dot the city’s landscape where the Bengali deliberates over everything from rising prices, to the crisis in national politics over ‘chaa’ and ‘biskoot’. Sitting at the helm of these roadside tea shacks, is the ubiquitous ‘Mashi’ who often singlehandedly manages the shop and the customers.
Unfazed by office crowds, pelting rain or even boisterous discussions, the ‘Mashi’ calmly pours out a variety of tea - ‘lebu cha’ (lemon tea),’liquor cha’ (tea liquor), ‘doodh cha’ (tea with milk) all at the same time, into umpteen glasses and ‘bhaars’ (earthen cups). Interacting with some of these legendary ‘Mashis’ gives an insight into their role in defining the ‘adda’ culture of the city.
Anjali Dey is an early bird. Even as the city sleeps, the aroma of freshly brewed tea wafts out from Mashi’s ‘ dekchi’ (saucepan) at four am. Her ‘dokaan’ (stall) is located in one of the older neighbourhoods of south Kolkata, Bhowanipur, has been around for close to 23 years now.
Popular with Kolkata’s yellow taxi drivers and the early morning office goers, ‘Mashi’s loyal customers assert that her USP is : Eto bodo bharer chaa aar kothao pabe na, tao paanch takae. (You will not get such a large earthen cup of tea anywhere else and that too for just five rupees.)
Anjali Dey at her roadside tea stall
Her husband’s untimely death compelled her, she says, to take on the role of bread winner for her large family. The pay from her job as domestic help, proved to be inadequate. However the tea stall she set up soon after, is still going strong. “It brings in close to Rs 12,000 to Rs 13,000 a month,” she says with a contented smile. The popularity of her tea stall ensures that barring the lunch hour, there is no lull in her business. Tea time peaks again in the evening, carrying on till the late hours of the night. All through those long busy hours, Anjali Dey (56) toils alone.
Proud of her role in the social life of the community, she states emphatically, " Aami na aashle, ekhane adda jome na. " (The day when I don’t turn up, there is no ‘adda’ here). Buttressing her claim, a government clerk chips in, " Enar chaa bikhyaat ," (Her tea is famous). A PWD (Public Works Department) employee Sanjeeb Das works at ‘Nabanna’, the State government’s new secretariat across the Hooghly River. What gets him going on that long journey to the secretariat every single day, he confesses, is ‘Mashir chaa’ punctually at 5 am. On his way back from work, it’s again a mandatory stop over at the tea stall for ‘chaa’ with other ‘regulars’. How integral ‘Mashir dokaaner chaa" ( Mashi’s tea shop) is to his daily routine, he tells me, can be gauged from the fact that he doesn’t mind getting off a kilometre ahead of his home bus stop, just to have her tea and then walks home. ‘Out-of-habit’ regulars like him turn up even on Sundays for their fix of ‘bhaarer chaa’, ‘adda’ and to catch up with friends.
A one-person army
A simple tiled roof, propped up with bamboo poles; the tea stall has nothing more than a wooden bench to distinguish it. " Aami ekai aaksho ", (I am a one- person army), chuckles Anjali Dey. From boiling the 30 litres of milk, making gallons of tea all day long, to cleaning and washing up; multi-tasking comes naturally to feisty women like ‘Mashi’.
A gritty woman, she has successfully got her three daughters married. She prefers living alone rather than staying in her son’s house. When asked if it is challenging being a lone woman managing a roadside business, she replies, “Why should I be afraid? This is my ‘para’ (locality),” she says authoritatively. There’s a strong sense of kinship in many of Kolkata’s old neighbourhoods. The " morer mathar chaayer dokaan " (tea stall at the street corner) and drinking tea there attains the sanctity of a daily ritual with the much respected figure of the ‘Mashi’ ensuring that it stays that way.
A few blocks down the road, it is peak hour at Shakuntala Das’ tea stall. Pouring out the evening tea to a crowd of customers, she states with obvious pride, "I got my granddaughter through college." The ‘Mashis’ may not be familiar with the discourse of "women empowerment" but they appear to practice it every single day of their lives. A determined, woman Shakuntala has high aspirations for herself and her family. In another few years, she estimates, she would have saved enough to build a house.
Imperious and generous all at the same time, she chides the ‘helper’ to serve the tea to the right customer, while she herself juggles multiple roles of cook, cashier and supervisor. In some other tea stalls, some of them dish out a "mamlet" (omlet) and "tost" (toast) with equal élan.
Shakuntala Das at her tea shop
Shakuntala values her financial independence. "Now that Ive stepped out, I don’t like sitting at home any longer." She spiritedly talks of the "knack" (habit) of earning her own money. "Karor kaachche aar haath pat te hoye na ," (I don’t need to ask anyone for monetary help), says Shakuntala, her round face breaking into an ample smile.
A portly woman, with a big vermillion ‘bindi’ on her forehead; her ‘chaayer dokaan’ was a self-initiative to achieve financial independence. Incidentally, there is healthy competition and mutual respect between the two women entrepreneurs. Shakuntala even refers to the older Anjali Dey as ‘Boudi.” (respected sister)
With none of her children completing basic schooling, she decided to take her granddaughter under her wing. " Naatni aamar kaachche maanush holo ". (I singlehandedly brought up my granddaughter.) Piyali Nayak, her granddaughter, graduated with Commerce from Ashutosh College, one of the leading colleges in Kolkata. " Eta aamar kritito ," (This achievement is solely to my credit) asserts Shakuntala. "She was working with Tata Docomo," says the beaming grandmother. Still smiling she adds, "Piyali brings along her friends and office employees to have tea at my shop". With Ashutosh College practically in the vicinity, Piyali’s classmatess would often drop in for tea. That her granddaughter is equally proud of her and her ‘chaayer dokaan’, is significant to Shakuntala.
Hardworking women
The ‘Mashis’ are hardworking women. Shakuntala needs to attend to all the household chores apart from manning the shop. All this however does not deter her. Instead she quips, "If I keep on working, my body will stay fit!"
A stone’s throw from the congested Rashbehari crossing in south Kolkata, the Mudiali locality is a far less noisy zone. Sitting perched on a simple thermocol ice box with her jet black hair, oiled and hanging loose; Jhunubala Ghosh is an unassuming figure. She owns not just a tea stall, but a ‘paan -bidi’ stall as well. A legendary figure in the locality, Jhunubala Ghosh more popularly known as Mashi, is famous for being the owner of several taxis all bought with her earnings from, believe it or not, selling tea.
Looking at the bent elderly frame, going about her chores on that roadside pavement without a trace of arrogance; the respect that ‘Mashi’ has earned from the local community seems understandable. The ‘OC’ (Officer in Charge) of the local Tollygunje police station, addresses her as ‘Mashi’, so does the local bank manager.
Jhunubala Ghosh owns several taxis apart from her 2 stalls
‘Mashi’ and her ‘chaayer dokaan’ have been around longer than most locals in the area. While she cannot recall her age, her earliest memories are of delivering tea with her two children in tow, from stall to stall to the hawkers at the local ‘haat’ (weekly market). Gradually, she says, she collected enough money to set up a tea stall. She remembers how the late Prime Minister Indira Gandhi was a towering leader at that time. "I set up shop; one year after that the Metro Rail started plying," recalls Mashi. The Kolkata Metro, also the country’s first metro rail, was flagged off way back in 1984.
It’s not been an easy ascent; encountering and tackling obstacles along the way single- handedly. Three years ago, for instance, the Municipal Corporation in one of its encroachment-free drives, with its ‘holla gaadi’ (dismantling vehicle) towed away her cigarette stall. Resilient as she is, she bounced back albeit with a smaller stall.
Respected and adored by the local community especially the younger lot, she chides them for being impatient. Seated on her stool all day long, she manages the two stalls, the taxis and the house she has purchased in Rajarhat, seamlessly without being hassled. ‘Mashi’ hires out her taxis to the drivers who congregate at her tea shop; she trusts them implicitly. Hers is a straight- forward business ethic, which could put many a seasoned businessman to shame.
Her philosophy, "Thokale ki hobe, aamar kopal niye jabe keu? Jaar kopal shei nebe ." (Even if someone was to cheat me, can anybody predetermine my fate? What is destined to happen, will happen.)
With her ardent ‘fans’ - the youngsters - good humoredly declaring that she be inducted into the Guinness book of records for her exemplary achievements, she admonishes them, "O ra shob pagol aachche". (They are all crazy!) The elderly ‘Mashi’ shares an easy camaraderie with the old white mustachioed hair dresser and the barber, her two long time neighbours. Admonishing the barber for joining in with the younger crowd and teasing her, she calls out to him, "Ei beral, ghor ei dike." (Hey, big Cat, turn around, turn around I say!)
Recalling the days, when the yellow and black Ambassador taxis were ubiquitous on city roads with the majority of drivers being the ‘Sardarji’ (Sikhs) from Punjab, she remembers, "They went back in droves during the ’84 riots that took place after Indira Gandhi’s assassination."
Despite the advanced years, ‘Mashi’ does not believe in taking a break or a holiday. "I like sitting here," she explains. "Ten years from now too, you will find me sitting right here." When asked if she has any plans of retiring, she laughs back shaking her head, "I don’t retire."
Resilient and proud, the ‘chaayer Mashis’ on Kolkata’s streets are in many ways an extension of the city themselves. Unafraid and strong, these women and their tea stalls have borne and survived the onslaught of the tea shops and glitzy cafes. Their enduring appeal is guaranteed by the heady brew of tea, politics and adda that they continue to serve.
