Cultural implications and precedents that developed our tastes
In the wake of the social media storm that caught the unnamed ‘chaiwala’ in its eye, it’s important to reflect on what precisely it is that we find impressive or revolting; and why.
These are not random occurrences. There’s a formula, albeit a complex one, as to what goes ‘viral’ on the Internet and what doesn’t. A successful entrepreneur can hardly flood a market with his product, without some initial research on what kind of demographic it ought to be aimed at, and what kind of things they like. Popularity is hence, to a vast degree, predictable. And the parameters that determine fame and popularity are handpicked by the powerful themselves.
To understand our obsession with the blue-eyed “chaiwala”, it is perhaps useful to consider the history of tea in the subcontinent itself. And the origin of the tea culture in the Indian subcontinent, quite expectedly, may be traced back to the world’s most renowned civilisation of tea-drinkers.
The British empire, by the mid 1700s, had realised the exorbitant costs of its gentry’s addiction to tea. Much of it was imported from China, and although the opium trade helped cover some of the costs, the lifestyles of the Anglo-theophile were becoming increasingly unsustainable.
Eminent British explorers, botanists, and traders were entrusted with the task of helping the empire decrease its dependency on Chinese tea, by cultivating its own. Attempts were made to procure Chinese seeds, which regrettably, did not grow well in the mostly hot and arid climate of India. An indigenous Assamese variety, although considered inferior, served its purpose well; until the Chinese variety too was able to be cultivated in Darjeeling.
Although evidence of the use of tea leaves in India may be found as far back as 750 B.C., its commercial use and did not begin until the Indian markets began flooding with tea around the 1830s.
It may be noted by any casual observer that the general preference for the consumption of tea in Pakistan isn’t quite the same as that of the British. ‘Chai’ in the subcontinent is generally stronger, creamier, sweeter, and often served in handle-less glasses at the tea shops. However, the very culture of tea-drinking in the subcontinent is owed largely to the influence of the British rulers and traders.
Following the mass-production of tea in Assam and Darjeeling, and the clinking of teacups by the British elites in celebration of an end to the Chinese monopoly; the British business sought to expand its market to the very country that helped quench the English people’s legendary thirst for tea. Tea was widely advertised as a healthy beverage with medicinal properties, as well as an enjoyable beverage to be consumed on a regular basis. Free tea samples were widely distributed in major Indian cities. The love for chai wasn’t instantaneous; it was manufactured.
This historical factoid is particularly fascinating in light of the present conception of chai culture as a quintessentially ‘Pakistani’ wonder; as opposed to the growing fondness for coffee among the Pakistani upper-class, which is believed to be inspired by the West. The coffee culture, interestingly, was ignited by the Arab civilisation after it began importing large quantities of coffee beans from Ethiopia. In a larger historical context, the ‘West’ merely caught on to aroma emanating from Arabian coffee houses.
Just as we owe our boundless affection for tea largely to the British empire, our preferences for the ‘chaiwalas’ too have been vastly influenced by our colonial history. It is no wonder that when many of us speak of ‘beauty’, the archetype sashaying elegantly across our minds is a fair-skinned cross between a British and a Persian; both of whom have helped shape our understanding of desirability for the past several hundred years.
For the Pakistani class-conscious gentry, the presence of ‘beauty’ – as conventionally defined – among the downtrodden “servant” class defies sense. It comes as a pleasant surprise that not all those among the labour class bear the ghastly sun-kissed complexion of a tireless worker, who cannot afford ultra-protective sun screen. And it’s even more surprising that the worker bears the unmistakable insignia of the ultimate ruler class; a dazzling sapphire iris as rare to the Pakistani senses as garam masala was to the British before the East India company came to being.
While the “chaiwala” enjoys male privilege, there ought to be some shame felt among the upper class Pakistanis – men or women – feasting upon the socioeconomically underprivileged for their own amusement.
The indigenous look is unsightly, we have learned. And learning to feel dissatisfied with our natural skin tones or our usual eye colours, is a tremendous feat. To favour the melanin-impoverished beings in a climate where the dark pigment is an indispensable barrier against skin damage, evolved through thousands of years of human evolution; this beauty standard must surely require an impressive degree of self-loathing. It’s almost as if the Polish decided that they had way too many fingers, and having two fewer fingers on each hand (like 40% less melanin in the skin), makes far more aesthetic sense.
There’s nothing wrong with having preferences. But maybe it’s worth questioning how we developed these specific tastes in the first place.