conversation at the chaiwaala

“I hear he was sent by the Pakis”

“God, I hope they send people. Get rid of the troops the Hindus are sending.”

Ahmed kept his counsel and listened with growing dread. He maintained a calm composure that belied how he was actually feeling. Inside there was a storm. A thunder that raged wildly, sparked fires. A biblical flood that drowned out all joy. Inside, he was scared.

“No one should send people.” he looked at the owner of that voice with renewed interest. Jamil. “We can fight off whoever comes.”

Ahmed lost interest. They could not. Not really. When two giants fought over a toy, a dwarf could not fight them off. Especially if the toy was the dwarf. He would be torn in half by the time they were down with him. Or they would beat him to a pulp and offer the bloodied remains to each other. No, they could not fend off the warring giants. He only wished neither of them came.

“I hear there have been people in other villages.”

He had heard that too. He had hoped it was untrue. It was probably not. It was probably not. The chai blew warm steam in his face as he lifted the ragged dusty mug to take a sip. The pink liquid swirling around, he took the smallest sip. It warmed his mouth, and served to warm his heart. Made him feel a tiny bit better.

This chaiwaala was at the top of a hill. That was why they preferred it. He looked all around. At the edge of his sight was a huge river, magnificent, sparkling water. All around were hills, in the distance, mountains. Snowcapped. The wind was starting to pick up, and people pulled their jackets in closer to themselves. As if that would help. Ahmed stuck his hands inside his pocket, and made a joke, everyone laughed. Someone coughed. It was sad, they were getting old. Their children seemed to be getting younger, to be coming into their own. And all of them were getting old. His worry was that his son might not be able to see the world, his world for how beautiful it was, before it was taken away from them. And it might be taken away soon. He had had specially installed in his house, cable from foreign news channels, BBC, as one example. When he watched the news from a third party, not from the two that fought to win this parcel of land, then he saw the reality. And that reality was grim. And that reality was bleak. He did not look forward to that kind of future. They paid their respects to the fat, aged chaiwaala. It seemed he was immortal. He had looked mostly the same in their youth. The only difference was his hair had turned white. Everything else was the same. His jolly stomach. His wide smile. His cracked teeth. His wide belly. They began to walk down the hill, and slowly began to part to go towards their homes.