"CHAI, CHai, Chai, chai...CHAI, CHai, Chai, chai...CHAI, CHai, Chai, chai" wails the Chai-Whallah, as he walks up and down the train between stops. It's so hot. Why oh why did I choose to venture to India in June? Water, that's what I would like. You can keep your hot chai. His chant lingers, dancing in and out of my thoughts.
Hour fifteen. The train ride has lost its charm. I can't image how I'm going to get through the last five hours. Then, just as if he knew my torment, the Chai-Whallah sings: "CHAI, CHai, Chai, chai".
I surrender to the heat, pay my five rupees, receive my little paper cup of liquid gold and embrace the taste of India.