Page 120 of Okay Boss
This is a disaster.
He added the ginger. Crushed it with the knife, or tried to. The piece shot sideways, nearly flying off the cart before he caught it. Cardamom next. Two pods. He crushed them too hard, turning them to powder.
"Not powder," Raju said patiently. "Crushed."
"Right. Crushed. Not powder."
What's the difference?
The second boil approached. Vikram watched the liquid, waiting for the right moment. Was that it? No, not yet. Now? Maybe...
"Three seconds," Raju reminded.
Vikram pulled the pot from heat, counted internally. One, two, three. Then poured.
The chai that emerged looked wrong. Too pale. The scent was off, ginger overpowering everything else.
He tasted it. Medicinal. Harsh.
Raju dumped it without comment. "Again."
Second attempt. Better. He got the boil timing right, the spice ratio closer. But he pulled it too soon, and the flavor fell flat.
"Your girlfriend," Raju said as Vikram started the third attempt. "What's her name?"
"Divya." The name came easily, naturally.
Raju's hands paused for a fraction of a second. His eyes sharpened, studying Vikram's face with new intensity. Then, carefully neutral, "Divya. College student? Media house?"
Vikram's pulse kicked. "Yes. That's her."
Something shifted in Raju's expression. Recognition, understanding, and beneath it, barely contained shock. His gaze swept over Vikram again, taking in the prosthetics, the disguise, the careful anonymity.
‘He knows,’ Vikram realized. ‘He's figured it out.’
The media coverage of his marriage had been everywhere. Divya's name. Her face. The connection would be obvious to anyone paying attention.
But Raju simply nodded, his exterior calm even as his hands trembled slightly while adjusting the burner. Inside, his mind was clearly racing.
Vikram Khanna. THE Vikram Khanna is standing at my tapri learning to make chai.
"Good girl," Raju said, his voice steady despite the revelation. "Always smiled. Always said thank you." He paused, then added quietly, "I remember her well."
The third attempt proceeded in charged silence. This time Vikram nailed the sequence. Boil. Spices. Second boil. Three seconds. The pour.
He tasted it. Close. Very close.
"The milk," Raju said. "You're adding it too cold. It needs to come to room temperature first."
Fourth attempt. Vikram focused on every detail. The sound of the boil, the precise moment to add ingredients, the three-second steep. This time, the pour produced the right color. The scent was just right.
He handed the cup to Raju.
The vendor sipped. His expression revealed nothing for three long seconds. Then he nodded.
"Good. Your wife is lucky."
Wife. Not girlfriend.
