Odd to say, but my favourite part about India was the Chaiwallas. My ears would perk up immediately when I'd hear their weary call, somewhere off in the distance. Chai... Chai... Chai... Chai...Chai... A man carrying a shiny, chandelier-like thermos would magically appear. Whether it be on a local bus, in a traffic circle, on a train carriage, or in a street market, there he was, the Chaiwalla. Like a miner carrying his coal lantern while navigating this dirty insanity they call India. Chai... Chai... Chai... Chai...Chai... His mono-tone pleas are somewhat satirical as he winds his way through a packed & sweaty crowd with the constitution of a condemned man. Chai... Chai... Chai... Chai...Chai... I never had to flag him down, he'd just know by my glance that I was a potential customer. Once the
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