The book lay splayed on my bed, its pages being coaxed to flutter under the soft breeze that slipped through the open window. ‘Summer Love’ by Subin Bhattarai had me in its grip- a tale of romance and the bittersweet tang of youth. I was halfway through the 13th chapter, lost in the tragic separation of Saya and Atit – lead characters from Mr. Bhattarai’s novel, when a knock rattled my hostel door. “Tea?” Sandesh’s voice came from behind the door. My hostel mate had a flair for pulling me out of my solitude, and today was no exception.
I sighed, marking my page with a crumpled bookmark that I had purchased at a book fair. The gang was waiting- six of us, a motley crew of dreamers and achievers, huddled at the hostel entrance. There was Rajesh dai – my roommate with mischief in his grin. Chitra dai – another roommate of mine, who often remarked of the world being cynical. Pramod, the quiet one with a laugh that erupted like a dormant volcano. Sachin, perpetually late but forgiven and Sandesh with a deep hoarse voice who brought life to conversations cracking non-veg jokes. Chitra dai liked calling him Arjun Das of hostel- a compliment for having a voice like the South Indian actor. And me - caught between the pages of a book and the majestic pull of their chaos.
We set off for our usual tea spot, a short saunter through the rutted pavements and honking bikes of our college town. The February air was crisp, tinged with the arrival of Spring, though the sun still clung to its winter slant. Our haunt- the nameless shack with heirloom tables and wobbly chairs was swarmed over. It was conquered by a gaggle of strangers, perhaps tea lovers or maybe cigarette lovers – a herculean task to categorize as they had filled the room with a cloud of smoke. Disappointed but undeterred, we marched to Chyaroma, a haven of steaming cups and whispered secrets, nestled just a street away.
Chyaroma smelled of cardamom, ginger and enthralling spices. If my senses helped, the spices were cinnamon, pepper and bay leaf. Its wooden walls displaying murals of superheroes, held the echoes of umpteen conversations. The place buzzed with life- students scribbling notes, couples sharing shy glances, chess lovers shouting checkmate and old men nursing their cups. Sandesh slid to the counter, ordering six cups of tea with the confidence of someone who’d done it a hundred times before. The guy taking the order enquired if it was milk tea or black tea. The regular customers of Chyaroma like me would have hands down avoided the ambiguity ordering six cups of classic- the name for regular flavor milk tea served at the place. The guy picked the order and passed a perfunctory smile to me, perhaps he had recognized me by then.
My gang pivoted in treading over a stone-paved way that affixed the separated two sections of Chyaroma. We found an empty corner, a rare treasure, and occupied it with the territorial glee of conquistadors. The arrival of tea took a while since the chef was preparing a fresh batch of tea to serve us. Rajesh dai, ever restless, tapped his fingers on the table. “UNO?”, he suggested, his eyes scanning for the deck that usually sat among the clutter of Chyaroma’s tables. Unable to find the cards, he stepped straight to the main counter accompanied by Sandesh and probed if there was an extra set of UNO cards. But the cards were gone-vanished, along with the chess sets and Jenga towers, all snatched up by other patrons. The air sagged with our collective groan. Meanwhile, one of the waiters approached our table with a tray on his sky facing palm that meticulously adjusted six cups of tea. The steam kept on curling upward like tiny ghosts from the cups. He tried to be as hospitable as he could be, maybe he was making it up for not being able to provide us with UNO cards.
Lack of conservation area for rare tea plant
Slurping the tea, Rajesh dai declared, “Ludo, then.” A ripple of rebellion followed- Ludo was for four, and we were six. Chitra dai squinted skeptically. “How’s that supposed to work?” he muttered. I grinned, showing Rajesh dai’s iPhone. “Ludo King”, said I, waving the app like a magic wand. “Six players, no problem.” Pramod rolled his eyes and said, “Digital Ludo? That’s sacrilege.” Sandesh, quiet till now, chuckled, “It’s still Ludo, just shinier.” Chitra dai and Sachin hesitated, their reluctance palpable, but the group’s momentum was a tide they couldn’t resist. Democracy triumphed, as it always did with us.
The game began with a flourish of taps and swipes. The screen glittered, a virtual board unfurling before us- red, blue, yellow, green, purple and orange tokens blinking into existence. We dove in, the clatter of dice replaced with the synthetic sound of the app. At first, it was tame- an orderly march of tokens around the grid. Then Pramod landed a six, and the chaos erupted.
“Take that!” he crowed, knocking Sachin’s yellow token back to its square. Chitra dai, methodical as ever, built a blockade, his soft “sorry” drowned by Sandesh’s indignant yelp. Rajesh dai yelled each time he rolled a winning move, while I- half distracted by Summer Love’s lingering echoes- fumbled my strategy. The table shook with our laughter, a symphony of hoots and groans that drew sharp glances from Chyaroma’s other guests.
A group that was already seated when we sat in that corner, time and again took cursory glance at us and made faces whenever we roared at interesting moves in the game. It aroused a bizarre feeling in me since I, too, was part of the activity that had annoyed them. Nevertheless, I couldn’t help except passing an apologetic look.
Time slipped away, as it always did with us. One hour bled into two. “The game won’t end,”cried Chitra dai. “It would take an hour or two more hours to finish and we can’t afford buying more time,” he added. It made sense because students like us are not supposed to waste our precious time and little pocket money doing unproductive acts. Nobody heeded him. I supported his statements, nodding my head.
Our enjoyment had become an albatross around the neck for other patrons out there. A bevy of girls shot us daggered looks, their whispered gossip interrupted by our shrieks. A bespectacled man sitting in the midst of the two sections, craned to find the spot of cacophony, he had unapologetic anger on his face when he did this. But we were oblivious, cocooned in our bubble of glee. The game stretched on, a saga of near-wins and dramatic upsets. Chitra dai surged ahead only to be ambushed by Sachin’s cunning and pure fortune. I clinched a surprised lead, earning a round of mock boos. Pramod’s enjoyment was short-lived. No sooner had his token started marching than it was ambushed by another opponent.
Eventually, after what felt like an eternity compressed into an afternoon, Rajesh dai ambushed Sandesh’s final token which was just one move away from victory. Our yell after this move by Rajesh dai was so loud that it rattled the tables and tea mugs. We collapsed into laughter, exhausted and exhilarated, our voices hoarse from shouting. Nobody but we won- six friends tangled in a moment that defied the monotony of hostel life.
The bevy of girls sarcastically bid us adieu. They sighed in relief. Their remark transiently held us all embarrassed. We marched towards the counter with a slight grin on our faces. Rajesh dai and Sandesh settled the bills, leaving a modest tip for the waiter who’d endured our racket. As we shuffled out of Chyaroma, the sun dipped low, painting the sky in hues of orange. The stroll back was tranquil, our energy drained, but the warmth lingered- not just from the tea, but from something deeper- our friendship.
Back in my room, Summer Love waited, its pages still murmuring of romance and longing. I embraced it again, but my mind drifted to Chyaroma- to the tea, the game, the gang and of course, the sarcastic adieu of the girls. Bhattarai’s words wove love of Atit and Saya from the bustling city of Kathmandu to Norway, but our story was different. Ours was a love of a scrappier kind- born of aromatic tea, a busy table and a digital Ludo that held six when it should have held four. Maybe that’s what youth is, I pondered: an impromptu enactment of plans and pivots, of books abandoned for friends, of rules breached and twisted to fit the crowd.
I hadn’t finished Summer Love that day, nor had I planned to conquer Ludo. But I’d inked something else- a chapter of my own, scribbled in laughter and sealed with tea stains.
