A pouwa from north India
The location of our ancestral home in south Kolkata was always easy to describe — within sight of this well-known hospital, opposite the gurudwara, next to which is the great tea shop. At the mention of the last, faces would light up, for who did not know Balwant Singh’s dhaba?
You could have the tea in many portions, but the biggest and the grandest was the pouwa, a very large kulharor bhar, which was supposed to contain, in a throwback to the past, a quarter seer (before the litre and kilogramme came) of the brew. It was made not in water but the richest, creamiest milk — with, of course, a dollop of sugar.
The tea belonged to the north Indian plains, where the need to fight the tough winter cold had turned it into an energy drink, winter’s equivalent of summer’s lassi. It travelled to Kolkata with migrant sardars who, as phlegmatic as they were trustworthy, drove taxis and made Bhowanipur their special home. We basked in the reflected glory of the sardars and their tea. When a visiting relative would be surprised at one of my elder cousins returning home late after her post-college tutorials, my mother would reassure: we are totally safe; there are so many sardars around.
Today, a somewhat sad gentrification has taken place. It has become trendy to imbibe the earthy, robust north Indian tea during the course of the evening, particularly after dinner. So a neighbourhood that was utterly peaceful and would go to sleep around 10 now starts to wake up at that hour — and activity peaks at around midnight. Then there are more cars than the street corner can hold, and young people with more money than is good for them, engaging in conversation too loud for householders trying to go to sleep.
Meanwhile, another change took place. Somewhere down the line, I discovered during one of my infrequent trips from Delhi with the family, a new kid has, quite literally, arrived on the block — Sharma’s shop, bang opposite the other side of the gurudwara at the intersection. Over time its tea has come to pose a challenge to the legendary brew of Balwant’s. Sharma’s tea is as rich, and it even has a special add-on. You can ask for a dash of kesar (saffron), which takes a brew fit for kings to an even higher level — fit for the gods.
The not-so-fun part of the whole development is the way inflation and gentrification have taken their toll on the pockets of tea addicts. Balwant’s pouwa now costs, unbelievably, Rs 40, which has to be consumed standing on the pavement after much chasing of the harassed tea boys who have more customers than they can attend to. And Sharma’s signature kesar pouwa? — Rs 22 for a smaller pouwa.
Those who want to do the done thing go for Balwant’s pouwa. The connoisseur goes for Sharma’s brew, which has to be sipped standing on dirtier pavements. If the latter’s management wants to reap volume with premium pricing, it will soon realise that you have to create a proper ambience. The pavement before Balwant’s has been done up, I found this time, in granite; there are numerous smart plastic bins for the throwaways, and a grizzly old fellow with a broom keeps sweeping the pavement without a break.
In these winter months when I have lived out of our apartment in east Kolkata, after early morning walks around the Dhakuria lakes I was on the lookout for a tea shop that could at least come near to Balwant’s and Sharma’s in quality. And I finally located an aspirant: on Lansdowne Road, very near to the crossing with Lake Road. Let me assure you, it makes no mean pouwa.
But, as is natural for a newer aspirant, its brew is more modestly priced. Late last year it was going for a truly humble Rs 10, but a couple of weeks ago the head guy told me – with diffidence – that prices had gone up and the tag was now Rs 15. Still lower than what the blue-blooded of Bhowanipur charge — but for how long?
That is not all. Kolkata will continue to surprise with choice and variety. Should you want a smaller sip that is as good if not richer (god knows what the buffalos who deliver the milk are fed on), you can go to the improbably named Tasty Corner (it is as authentic a desi mithai shop as any) near South Point school. It serves a far smaller portion than a pouwa, but in a distinctive miniature terracotta lota. It is priced the same as Sharma’s, Rs 10 for half the portion.
As Holi approaches and the weather turns, I will go back to relying only on the Darjeeling brewed lightly at home, but there are still a couple of weeks more of the pouwa left to be celebrated.