Drink the Damn Chai

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I am not the biggest fan of the “loud” ostentatious culture of Punjabis here in Delhi (my family included). We are indeed boisterous (very), flashy (sparkly/blingy) and over the top friendly. But when we offer you that beverage for the 20^th time, we really really want you to drink it. And we mean it.

Punjabi culture is showcased often in Hindi movies, and perhaps that is how the rest of India sees us – tandori chicken eating, whiskey drinking, dancing brutes.

Most of it may be true for many of us, there are exceptions too. For instance, I know many families who prefer seekh kebabs over tandoori chicken.

Anyway, the point is that – we may like our loud Djs in shadis, dancing uncles and our “shoo-shaan”  (shosha) but we mean well. 

I mean most of us** Punjabis were refugees less than 65 years ago. We came here with just the clothes on our backs and if we were lucky, our family members. We build our lives from the camps in refugee settlements. We had to prove ourselves in a new land, a land far away from our home in Multan or DI Khan or Rawalpindi. We had to compete with each other for the packs of “rotis” given to refugees, which were limited in supply. We had to fight to get an allotment of homes in the first refugee colony in Delhi. This made us feisty, no doubt, but it made us adventurous too. It made us strong and resilient.

When we gush over you and ask about your well-being we aren’t being fake. No one asked us these questions when we had nowhere to go. So just tell us that you’re doing ok, and don’t berate us for being loud.

And when we offer that chai to you again and again, take it. We aren’t showing off our tea making abilities. Back in the day, we didn’t have any chai, and maybe we just want you to share our happiness.           

** us/our grandparents/ancestors