“Oh, that law. We’ll just have to agree to disagree, I’m afraid. Remember, adis-agreement is just another formofagreement.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Exactly! You disagree, and I agree with you on that. Therefore, we agree to disagree.” Through the window, she spotted another vehicle pulling in. “Oh look! Tanvir and Harpreet are here. Do you think she brought jalebi? I hope she brought jalebi.”
“Miranda, you do realize I am an officer of the law, and operating a motorized vehicle without a license is a flagrant—”
“Let’s put a pin in that for now, shall we? Harpreet!”
Miranda’s friend came in carrying a Tupperware container filled with her famously sticky sweets.
Harpreet Singh, proprietor and tireless promotor of Singh’s Things, Happy Rock’s finest fabric store, was renowned for her fashion sense, and she did not disappoint. Clad in deep-orange hues, layered in stylish sophistication, she wore a headscarf, artfully draped, and a flowing tunic. Ornate, but never ostentatious. Accompanying Harpreet was her husband, Tanvir, his beard streaked with gray and head adorned in a rich bluedastar—as the turbans were properly known—with a matching necktie and breast-pocket handkerchief. Harpreet had clearly chosen Tanvir’s outfit for tonight.
“Left to his own devices, who knows what he would wear!” Harpreet had once confided.
Tanvir Singh owned the town’s hardware and bait store, and he was attending the reception in an official capacity as head of the local Chamber of Commerce. He too had a large Tupperware container, filled with various packets and what looked like a small chemistry set.
“I’m going to make chai,” Harpreet said. “Where is Bea? She asked me to show her the next time I prepared it.”
“Bea’s not coming.”
Harpreet instantly understood. “The new bed-and-breakfast? I saw they were providing both the lodgingandcuisine for the writers. Poor Bea.”
Miranda nodded and, as though conjured forth, Gerry arrived in shining tracksuit and matching fanny pack, beaming at Tanvir.
“Mr. Singh!”
“Please. Just Tanvir.”
“Thank you again for the welcome baskets you sent from the Chamber of Commerce when we first opened our doors. The cheese cubes were nice. Rubbery, but nice.”
Tanvir brushed this aside with the largess befitting his station. “Welcome to Happy Rock. We were just pleased someone fixed up the old Hiram Henry House. It stood vacant for far too long.”
They returned to the kitchen, where Tanvir began to unpack Harpreet’s ingredients and copper pan onto the crowded counter.
“Hiya!” said Geri.
Miranda, proud of her friend, said, “Harpreet is going to prepare chai!”
Geri’s smile faltered. “But we already have a selection of Lipton teas on offer.”
“That?” said Harpreet, with a gentle bobble of her head. “That is not tea.”
Miranda explained, “Harpreet makes the best chai.”
Only modesty prevented Harpreet from acknowledging this self-evident truth. “Oh, it’s nothing. Truly, it is a very simple recipe,” she said, as she arranged the items. “Just some fennel, ajwain, jaggery sugar for desired sweetness, crushed cardamom, a star anise, also crushed, and a clove—notcrushed.” This last item was a bone ofcontention in the Singh household. “Our daughter, Karendeep, who is studying medicine in Portland—”
“Medicines,” Tanvir said, using the plural. “She’s in pharmacy.”
Harpreet gave Tanvir a disapproving look. “Medicines, medicine, it’s the same. Karendeep agrees that the clove should not be crushed, but she doescrackit, which is wrong. Likewise, she will sometimes swap molasses for the jaggery.” The way Harpreet said this, it was clearly a venial, if not mortal, sin. “She also uses coffee cream, not milk, which makes the chai too heavy or, in Tanvir’s words, ‘delicious,’ to drink.”
Working like a magician, Harpreet boiled the milk and spices, added a tea bag—hey, presto!—then boiled it up again, removed the head, and brought it back to a boil. In Harpreet’s words, “It should be as red as a rambutan, but not as dark as an eggplant.” She moved through the steps so quickly Miranda had trouble keeping up. The foam-up-and-cool-down process alone was repeated three more times. “Like I said, it’s very simple.”
The final drink was heavenly.
“This is so good!” said Miranda. “Maybe we can swap. You can teach me how to make chai, and I’ll teach you how to make my famous lemonade, a secret recipe, mainly intuitive.”
“An excellent suggestion!” said Harpreet. “How lovely!”
