The Tea Boy

The Tea Boy

It was yet another day in the life of Hari, the tea boy. He was stirring the concoction of tea that was brewing in the pan. Soon, he would transfer it to the little kettle that he had with him and carry it to serve the various artists working in different studios. Hari was addressed as Hari baiya (brother), Hari uncle, or simply as Hari. He always reached early in the morning to the "artists’ village" where he had a tea stall in the tiny room adjacent to the historical arched door, which was near the entrance. He cleaned and washed the table and the area where he would be standing and making tea the whole day.

He was only 12–13 years old when he joined the artists’ village and set up his stall in the tiny room near the historical door at the entrance. This artists’ village was set up in the early 1970’s in Delhi, where artists could rent studios and work in the midst of fellow artists in a serene atmosphere. They could share the facilities of printmaking presses, kilns, and other equipment that was not possible to buy and keep at home. Above all, here, artists could be free and follow their creative pursuits without outside disturbances and just be themselves. Of course, as it happens within creative communities, there was jealousy, competitiveness, and sometimes enmity among them. Hari was sort of a unifying factor whose services everyone needed and shared.

He served mainly tea to the artists working in different studios like sculpture, painting, ceramics, and graphics. There was no mobile phone with anyone when he began his business decades ago. Normally, when an artist entered the village, they would order a cup of tea for themselves as they proceeded to their respective studios. This hot cup of tea would refresh them after they had meandered their way through the busy streets of Delhi in a bus, an auto, or their own car, which a few lucky ones possessed, before sitting down to begin their creative work. He would carry the tea in his small kettle, balancing the glasses precariously in his other hand, and reach the different studios spread around the park in the center. As he served tea to some, others would spot him and order tea for themselves and also for their friends. This went on throughout the day, till evening, as artists sat gulping several cups of tea while they worked on their zinc plates, on canvas or carved their sculptures. It was a privilege, thought many, to be served tea right next to the table where they were working, which was unimaginable in their homes! Artists also gathered outside in the open park under the trees to sit and chat and share artsy news while Hari served tea to everyone. Of course, as the evening progressed, the tea would have lost its fresh flavour as he reheated the same tea leaves. This was common among all tea vendors.

Some wanted a strong cup, while some wanted it light and some without sugar. Hari obliged everyone, but sometimes picked up a fight depending upon his mood. Some artists felt sorry for him as he was quite young to be working. Even in outside tea stalls and roadside restaurants, they have seen small boys of 8–10 years old working. Child labour is prevalent in India. Almost all offices depended on these boys for their cups of tea. These little boys were referred to as "chottu", meaning little or small. Most of them had run away from home. In this big city, they lost their identity and became just "chottu." They worked long hours in the tiny shop assisting the master and were frequently abused by him. This job gave them food, a little money, and a place to sleep at night. Otherwise, they might have to beg or indulge in criminal activities.

So, Hari’s life revolved around the artists’ community. He understood if an artist felt tired and needed something more than a cup of tea, and he would spruce up a bread omelet, which was quite tasty. He was quite good at making those. He also assisted some artists, particularly sculptors, with their work or assisted in transporting paintings to and from the gallery in a timely manner. Some artists also gave him the job of serving refreshments on the opening day of their exhibitions in the gallery, which he did meticulously. He earned some extra money during these events. As the years passed, he became part and parcel of the artists’ lives. Even in the event of the death of an artist from the village, he would take the trouble of informing the friends, reaching the cremation grounds, helping and doing his bit for the last rites. Soon after, he'd be back in his stall, brewing tea again, because people needed tea to forget their sorrows!

He made his children attend the local college of art as that is what he knew and he knew the artists’ community would support him in his children’s career. Whether the children took up the opportunity and progressed in the artist's field or not is another story. He had done his duty as a father. Although no longer a young boy, he still carried the kettle, balancing the glasses in the other hand, taking fast strides to reach the different studios. Even the number of studios has increased, and people now even have mobile phones to place orders! The nature of the artists’ community had also changed. While earlier, artists were devoted to their profession and gave importance to awards and honours, today's artists thought first of selling their works. It didn’t matter to him. If an artist had more money, it would be all the better for him.

In between, there had been some bad years when other vendors were also given space in the village to make and serve food. However, they lacked the same sense of comradery with the artists' community, who didn’t have much money at any given point of time and would partake of food on loans. This could not be understood or appreciated by the other vendors, and slowly they left the place. But Hari stayed on. Now his wife and children were also helping him.

Then, out of the blue, came the pandemic, and the artists’ studios, like other places, shut down. Hari didn’t know what to do. This is what he had done all his life. Perhaps he can sell tea to passersby.

Even passersby didn’t have enough money to afford a cup of tea outside. Migrant labourers who worked in the nearby export garment factories have returned to their villages. Even those who had stayed back were afraid of eating or drinking outside for fear of catching the virus. Hari didn’t know what to do. He had a family to feed and look after. Some of the artists volunteered to help him. They were also facing the effects of the pandemic. Many had lost their school jobs or were forced to work for half their salary.

Hari still came to his tea stall and prepared tea, if not for the artists, but for the security guards on duty who were left guarding the empty studios and the finished and semi-finished art works left behind. Will his life return to normal? No one knew the answer.

As it happened, the studios did reopen. After a few months, life started limping back to normal. Many artists voluntarily offered him financial assistance, owing to the goodwill earned over decades of service to the artists. Artists returned to their studios picking up their threads. Hari too felt happy. He walked briskly to different artists’ studios, serving them his special tea. Can the artists forget his contribution in their lives?

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Hemavathy Guha

email: hema.guha585@gmail.com