Snax???

This four letter word would pop up at the bottom right corner of my monitor at around 5pm each evening without fail- multied to my gang of four at my B-School.. Followed by a “chalu” or “c you down” reply all.. Its promptness assured because of the fact that heavy lessons in the morning followed by an equally imposing lunch ensured a nap from 3-5 thus creating a substantial appetite which called for immediate attention!

Having been a coffee fanatic all my life, tea has been an anathema to me; my jaw would drop down each time I met yet another classmate who hadn’t tasted filter coffee and swore by tea.. Tea was an angrezi drink whereas coffee was incredibly smooth, subtle and one hundred percent desi; tea couldn’t cure headaches nor keep you awake at night while with coffee you were guaranteed dregs of happiness at the bottom of the cup.. Being thrust with this mentality amongst a throng of people and canteen officials who didn’t recognize coffee as a beverage but stuck to chai and milk- my two years in Mumbai were rather tough on my caffeine addicted soul..

5:30 was the official snack time at Nitie- snack was the general term that described greasy bread pakodas or syrupy, to-die-for dahi papdi chaat or juicy kachoraes or plain dosas and their tomato-based cousins, all in addition to good day biscuits or bourbon variety along with a glass of tea or milk.. I fought my battle with tea successfully for half of the first year; until my taste buds started rioting at the very smell of milk (elaichi flavored).. Sweetened milk after my regular quota of biscuits really didn’t gel well.. And hence to preserve some semblance of balance I switched to tea- it was, how may I put it, different.. Tea had a strong flavor (not as strong as coffee though), hinted with elaichi and less sweet than plain milk it augured well with the snacks..

Tea was served in the mess (a long hall filled with aging plastic furniture and four servers who were forever on their toes trying to manage the 400 students who needed their snacks n tea..) but for those who tired of the daily tea, a defunct Nescafe dabba was present near the mess for plastic cups of a tasteless liquid they called coffee, watery tea, crappy badam milk or peppery tomato soup with half packets of maggi noodles served piping hot on a very thin paper plate and plastic forks that were liable to melt in the heat.. irrespective of the quality, people still flocked to the dabba when the mess was too full..

As the tenet states : food tastes as well as the oddness of the place where it is had.. well outside the mess are were a flight of disused stairs leading to an open terrace- frequented by a mongrel white dog amongst others.. Dubbed ataria by the denizens of Nitie, it was to this sanctum that we’d all retire to, despite the fact that it was open to all elements, no fan or light, no chair but only hard tiles to rest on- this unfortunate place caught our fancy… in the dimmed lights of the facing hostels we’d discuss every topic under the sun, all discussions were notaried by the mongrel dog who’d appear out of no where, climb the steps and seat himself at the base of the next flight and cock his ears at our conversations- he was as much a relic there as was the mess contractor who’d yell at us to not take cutlery and glasses to the terrace.. we’d lean back against the ½ foot railing and deliberate on the future course of our un-sated and whetted appetites i.e. where do we go for the next meal… J

This spot was the melting point for all batches of students- both junior and senior and no matter how crowded it got, there was always room for more.. new entrants were requested to get refills of tea; cloudy skies, cool breezes and piping hot tea helped loosen tongues as well as fierce debates.. Topics ranged from which professor was likely to dump the next assignment to the latest movie on campus.. food traveled across plates, palms and fingers to eager lips and many a glass was left behind by forgetful students at the termination of their discussions much to the agitation of the caretaker to whose poor lot it fell to remove them… In the mess people used to sit with their sect of friends who’d ensure a place for them.. but here in the ataria- there was no such luxury- you sat on whatever nook or corner there was, next to whoever it was and ate whatever was there.. we braved the same elements, were exposed to the same mosquitoes, suffered the same lack of light and tripped over the same cracks in the paving- bonded this way we found our utopia’s at the top of the mess.. No topic was too mundane nor any problem insignificant enough to escape our grandiose discussions.. whilst there we were in a world of our own- even if we had nothing to discuss, we would still sit there and enjoy the solitude. Nothing less than nightfall or the closing of the mess for dinner would induce us to climb down from our cherished perch, aglow with the companionship, hot tea and healthy conversation…

Back into a desolate world with furniture, groupisms and our dinners…