Dark eyes lifted, assessing Vikram with decades of experience reading people.
"Learn what?"
"How to make your chai. The exact method." Vikram kept his voice steady, accent deliberately flattened. "My girlfriend is obsessed with it. Says it's the best in Mumbai. I want to surprise her."
Raju's expression didn't change. "I don't teach."
"I'll pay." Vikram pulled out a fold of cash, generous without being insulting.
The vendor's eyes dropped to the money, then back to Vikram's face. A long pause followed, as though Raju was weighing something deeper than currency.
"Fine," he said finally, pocketing the cash. "Watch close. I only do this once."
The lesson began.
"Two teaspoons loose tea. Not the dust they sell in packets, proper leaves." Raju measured with his fingers, the motion so automatic it seemed like instinct rather than measurement. "Water boils first. Full rolling boil, not just hot."
Vikram watched, committing every detail to memory.
"Ginger. Fresh. This much." A thumb-sized piece, crushed with the flat of a knife. The scent hit immediately. Sharp, clean. "Cardamom. Two pods. Crushed but not powdered."
The vendor's hands moved with practiced efficiency. Milk next. Sugar measured by eye. The liquid came to a second boil, frothing at the edges.
"Now the important part." Raju's voice dropped. "Three seconds. You steep for three seconds once it boils the second time. Not two. Not four. Three."
He demonstrated, pulling the pot from heat and holding it. One, two, three. Then pouring through a strainer.
"Too short, the flavor doesn't develop. Too long, it turns bitter." He handed the cup to Vikram. "Taste."
Vikram took a sip. The chai hit his tongue with layered complexity. Ginger's heat, cardamom's aromatic sweetness, tea's robust foundation. Beautifully balanced.
This was what Divya had walked fifteen minutes for.
"Your turn," Raju said, gesturing to the cart.
Vikram stared at the equipment.
I've never even held a pan.
He reached for the pot. His fingers fumbled with the handle. The weight distribution felt wrong, heavier at the bottom, awkward to maneuver. He added water, overfilled it, had to pour some out. Turned on the burner and nearly singed his knuckles adjusting the flame.
How do people do this every day?
A customer approached. "Bhaiya, teen chai dena."
Vikram looked up, panicked. The man was staring at him expectantly, thirty rupees already extended.
Raju waved the customer off. "Closed for ten minutes. Come back."
"But the cart is right here,"
"Closed." Raju's tone left no room for argument.
The customer grumbled but left. Vikram exhaled.
"Focus," Raju said. "Water's boiling."
Right. Water. Vikram grabbed the tea leaves, tried to measure with his fingers the way Raju had. Too much. He dumped some back, scattering leaves across the cart surface.