We. Must. Have. Chai.

I have many posts simmering in the back pot of my mind, but this is one that must be written.

 It's time to talk food--Indian food, that is.
There is nothing that tells more about a society than its food and the way its people relate to it.

In Bangalore, the standard greeting from early morning to mid-afternoon is, "Have you had your breakfast?"--not, "How are you today?"  When I first encountered this, I thought everyone had a more than healthy concern for the state of my stomach and thought it so kind that they would want to know.  "What if I hadn't had any breakfast?" I wondered.  "Would they try to feed me?" I found that on this surmise I would be entirely right.

In India, it's a "Food 'a Love" thing, as Emerill says.  Good food=I love you.  If there is a visit, there is food; not just a snack, but a full sambar (meat) meal with biriyani (rice with meat and/or veggies and plenty of fire) with at least some type of curry and at least one type of flatbread (naan, roti, apam, idli, or others).  There's usually even some funky but surprisingly good dessert like vermicelli noodles with sweetened curd and raisins--(looks disgusting, tastes great.)

I found that I couldn't go anywhere without encountering food.  I happened to see my neighbor from her balcony.  She called me up and proceeded to feed me a whole meal while the family sat around watching me since they'd already eaten.  Awkward, but one gets used to these expressions of love.

Food permeates every aspect of life.  I went on a road trip with some of my church friends to do some hiking in Nandi Hills, just an hour out of Bangalore.  While waiting for the group to assemble at a friend's house, her mother fed me chai and the most amazing pistachio baklava I've ever had.  When my friend entered the door, he shared a chunk of his chocolate bar with all of us.  Finally, we were on our way, me on the back of my friend's motorbike, which broke down a block past the house.  After flinging his hands to the heavens and exclaiming, "Whooyy, Gohdd?" he found a repair shop down the road to do a quick cut-and-splice on his wiring.
  Meanwhile, as a precaution, we went to pick up another vehicle in case his motorcycle was really dead.  I hopped a ride with one of the cars.  Another friend inside offered me--I kid you not--steamed broccoli.  She had cooked it 'cause she didn't want it to go bad.  Then she remembered that steamed broccoli smells like farts and wisely left it in the container.  After picking up the extra car, we got a call from my guy friend that his motorcycle had roared back to life at the shop.  We met up with him and then sat with the carpool by the side of the road while someone returned the extra car.  Two guys whipped out these awesome crispy snacks that resembled fried pork lard laden with fire.  Another one broke out some great potato chips, also covered in spice heat.  Our friend returned and, moved by compassion for our wait, broke out an entire tub of corn-on-the-cob!  I had to laugh.  This progressive dinner, starting backwards with dessert first, was so absurd!  
Finally back on the road, we aimed to meet up with a couple further down the road who'd been waiting for us on their motorbikes for an hour-and-a-half, at least.  When me and my friend on the motorbike reached them in the lead, the husband, an Indian national back from England who'd married an English lass, exclaimed, "We've ben' waitin' for two hours and me' bum's sore!  We must have chai!"  So, motorbikes first, we veered off the highway to a dubious roadside chai shack to the chagrin of those caravaning behind us who were sick of being on the road at this point.  All assembled, we toasted each other in the moonlight with  espresso shot-sized glasses of hot chai and took an awesome group pic under the blare of the neon sign.  The Indian/English bloke gave me an after-dinner apertif known as a "breath-freshener."  It's a combination of eucalyptus bits, mint, and sugar-coated anise seeds.  His wife said it tasted like soap.  I quite agreed.  I smelled mountainy-fresh. 
Three hours late to our one-hour destination, we joined up with our other friends already at the lodge at Nandi Hills' base.  Exhausted, but blissfully loopy, we all stumbled into the main hall where the matriarch had prepared all of us--a full sambar dinner at 9:30 pm! 

 Along with all the food, my aforementioned chai stop is a completely natural occurrence in Indian society.  My school provides everyone a tea break at 10:15 a.m. every day.  Indian chai (tea) is made quite differently than the dunk-and-brew variety.  They mix half milk, half water with loose tea leaves and boil vigorously for three minutes.  After straining the tea leaves, they mix raw sugar in with the brew for pure deliciousness.  Chai is usually served in metal shot glasses with a wide metal lip which, I think, adds to the flavor.  It's the juxtaposition of hardware and sweetness that highlights how good the chai is.  Mind you, lukewarm milky chai is disgusting.  It must be served piping hot whilst you gingerly grasp the cup by the metal lip, the only non-scalding part of the vessel.  Danger is as enervating as caffeine.
The first chai I had was at my neighbor's downstairs flat.  At her insistence, though she didn't even have furniture yet, she made me the most amazing glass of masala chai for our visit.  Masala chai combines ginger, cardamom, and something else that's complete magic.  I was drinking comfort and joy.  
The last chai I recall having before I left was actually at the bank.  I'd gotten there right before opening to do my monthly wire transfer when they let me in ten minutes early while they prepped and set up.  All major businesses have housekeepers who also function as chai wallahs, our version of baristas.  While the bankers did their thing, a small young man darted about handing out steaming chai in the most delicate English china glasses on a little tray.  Busy texting, I was surprised when he bent over me and offered me the last glass.  Pinky up, I waited as the English and Indians do--drinking chai. 
Funny how, in our American time-driven society, we forget these simple niceties of food and tea.  True, I often get steamed over how slow Indian society functions, but at least I know I can have my wait and eat it too.  May I always be so lucky.