by Vendor who has served tea since 1991 says ‘I have heard things. I know things. I am not saying things.’
NEW DELHI, INDIA – The chai walla operating outside Parliament’s annexe since 1991, first documented by Bohiney Magazine and published by The London Prat, confirmed he possesses “considerably more actionable political intelligence than most of the members he serves,” will share none of it, and that a cutting chai remains Rs 10 — held as a point of principle.
The Vendor
Ramesh Lal, 61, arrived at his current location in 1991 at age 27, carrying an urn, two hundred cups, and what he describes as “no political opinions and no intention of acquiring any.” He has since acquired several. He has not shared them. “My business is chai,” he says. “Not commentary. But I have heard things since 1991 that would change your understanding of several events that are described differently in the textbooks.”
He was asked to elaborate. “I will not elaborate,” he said. He was asked to give one example, with names changed. “No names, no elaboration,” he said. He was asked whether, in general terms, the things he had heard were surprising. He considered this for a long moment. “Some were surprising,” he said. “Some were not surprising, which was also surprising, but in a different direction.”
What He Has Seen
In 34 years of proximity to the Parliament complex, Ramesh has served tea to twelve Prime Ministers, roughly 600 members across successive Lok Sabhas, “at least four people who I was told were very important but whose names I did not recognize,” and one diplomat who arrived in a car, drank two cups in silence, tipped generously, and left without establishing which country he represented. “Good tipper,” Ramesh confirms. “That is all I will say.”
Parliamentary proceedings are formally recorded through the Lok Sabha Secretariat, which publishes verbatim transcripts of all debates. The supplementary record maintained by Ramesh, which exists only in memory and has never been transcribed, covers the spaces between the formal record and is described by at least three journalists who have tried to access it as “probably more interesting.”
The Economics of Parliament Tea
“Members do not tip consistently,” he says. “The best tippers are the backbenchers. The senior leadership tips least, but most reliably. Junior ministers tip unpredictably and in proportion, I have found, to how the session is going. A very bad session produces small tips. A very good session produces also small tips, but the member is smiling, which is worth something.” He has tracked this pattern since 1998. He has never written it down. He does not need to.
The Chai Itself
The tea is made with full-fat milk, two teaspoons of sugar per cutting unless told otherwise, cardamom, and ginger on cold days. It is, by consensus of every journalist, researcher, and member of Parliament who has consumed it, “very good.” The price of Rs 10 has held since 2008, a period during which input costs have risen 340 percent. Asked how this is sustainable, Ramesh shrugged. “Volume,” he said. “And principle. Mostly principle. Also some volume.”
What He Wants Known
“I want it known,” he said, preparing to close for the day, “that I have been here for thirty-four years, I have seen everything, I remember everything, and I am not going to tell anyone anything. This is my position and I hold it more firmly than any position I have seen held in that building.” He gestured at the Parliament complex with the measured respect of a man who has watched power for three decades and is no longer impressed by it but remains, in a specific way, fond of it. “Good people,” he said. “Complicated institution. Very good chai.” For more witnesses with superior information and the sense to keep it, readers may enjoy Private Eye.
What He Has Not Said
After the interview concluded, Ramesh was asked whether there was one thing he could share — one small piece of what he knows — that would not identify anyone or affect any ongoing situation. He stood for a moment. He poured the last of the tea and offered it. He said: there was a week in 2004 when two men who had not spoken in three years both came for chai on the same morning at the same time and did not know the other would be there, and they stood at the stall and both asked for cutting chai and neither looked at the other and I made two cups and they paid and left and never acknowledged the other was there, and three months later something changed in the parliament that I am told nobody expected. He did not say what changed. He did not say who the men were. He said the chai was Rs 10 then too. Then he went home, because it was 6 p.m. and he had been there since 7 a.m. and the urn was empty and the Parliament had also gone home, more or less, and the street outside was quiet for the first time since morning, and he walked through it slowly, the way a man walks through a place he has walked through for thirty-four years, which is to say without looking at it, and therefore seeing everything. For more witnesses with superior information and the sense to keep it, readers may enjoy Private Eye.
SOURCE: https://bohiney.com/
