A Cup of Tea on Puri Beach

Sakhigopal is historically famous and religiously important, but a small semi- urban place. There were a few offices when I was there Sub Treasury Officer during 1992 to 1996. I did not have much work after first week of the month, after pensioners were paid and pay bills were passed. During the rest of the month I had on an average hardly thirty minutes’ work in a day. I spent the time reading daily newspapers, magazines and books. Sometimes I would start a book of two hundred to three hundred pages in the morning and finished reading before I went to bed in the night.

Somehow or other, I learnt to pass the working days, but Sundays and holidays were problem for me. I ate good hearty meals and slept. I added fat. One day in 1993 I found I weighed eighty two kilos. (Now after nearly twenty years I weigh seventy eight.) To pass time and avoid boredom, on holidays, mostly after lunch I went either to Bhubaneswar or to Puri. I participated in the old bus stand’s writers’ Khatti. (That Khatti still continues, some old participants continue to attend, many new members have joined.) The day I went to Puri, I would get down at the bus stand, walk to the sea beach, wander on the beach aimlessly and come back by the evening bus. Sometimes Prafulla Mohanty or Anup Dwivedi or both joined me. Prafull was then on study leave, doing his research for his Ph.D. Anup was an officer of State Bank India, Sakhigopal. He had rented a house in Puri, was staying with his family and daily commuting to his Branch. But most of the times I was alone strolling on the beach till evening.

One day while rambling on the beach we went up to Pentkata. Pentakat is a fisherman’s village, a large cluster of huts on the beach. Prafulla was with me. We found two foreign ladies sitting on sand and enjoying the soft afternoon sun, cool sea breeze and watching Pentakata urchins playing on the sand. One lady came to us and asked pointing to a couple fisherwomen doing some chores near their huts at a distance, “Do you speak English? Can you interpret them for us?”

We readily agreed. They were from Sweden.

The ladies queried the women on matters like how they felt like living on huts at the sea, how much they earned a day, whether they feared when their husbands went into the sea on the boat for fishing, what they wanted to see their children to be in future…. A few more women and children gathered. They asked questions to the children and the other women. They also took photographs and they paid ten rupees to each of the children present there. We worked as interpreters for both the ladies and the women and children.

They spent almost two hours with the fisherwomen and children of Pentkata. After they finished their interview, one of the two ladies, who I came to learn taught anthropology in a college, asked me, “How much would you take?”
“What for?” I asked
“You have worked as interpreter and spent almost two hours with us …” She replied.
“We don’t want; we have enjoyed your company. Thanks.” I said.
She looked surprised, and proposed, “If you don’t mind, have dinner with us. We are staying in a nearby hotel.” She could not relish that we should go unpaid for the time we had spent interpreting for them.
We were walking back towards Puri hotel. Last bus to Sakhigopal was at 8 PM. It was 5.30. I said, “No, thanks. I have to catch the bus to go to my place of work where I also reside.”
Then the lady said, “Let’s have tea. Actually we have enjoyed your company as well as your talk. We can spend some time more before you leave for your place of work.”
We could not decline. We saw a tea vendor walking and selling tea in the beach. Prafulla called him. The vendor served us tea. When asked the price, he said, “Forty rupees.”
“What?” Prafulla exclaimed. Then he turned to Odia and with typical Puri style of speaking and accent charged him for the exorbitant price of the tea.
The vendor, aged about twenty, smiled and said in Odia, “Sir, the cost of tea is rupees two for an Odia, rupees five for a Bengli or non Odias and rupees ten for white skinned foreigners. I could not conceive you two could be Odias. I thought you might be from South India accompanying the white skinned ladies.”

He mistook us, often it happens with me, because of my dark skin, and our speaking in English with the ladies.
“Is there any difference in quality?” I asked.
“No, the quality remains the same.”

“Take eight.” Prafulla commanded. But the vendor entreated, “Please, make it to twenty.”

The Swedish ladies could not understand what we were discussing. She asked,“What happened? How much I have to pay?”
“Twenty.” The vendor now said.
The lady could not believe how the price was reduced to half so suddenly and asked again, “How much?”
“Twenty.” Prafulla pitied the vendor.

The ladies looked Prafulla with admiring eyes and paid the vendor.
The vendor left the place with a look full of gratitude for Prafulla.
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