This kettle is older than most of the regulars who drink from it. Dented, re-soldered twice, and blackened from thousands of hours over an open flame, it sits at the centre of a tea stall that has quietly become the unofficial meeting point for a whole stretch of the neighbourhood — students between lectures, auto drivers on a break, retirees who show up at the same time every morning whether anyone else is there or not.
Pune’s tea stall culture leans conversational in a way that’s slightly different from other cities — arguments about cricket, local politics and film all happen here, loudly, and are usually forgotten by the next round. The stall owner has, by his own count, refilled this kettle more times than he can estimate, and has long since stopped trying.
What drew the camera in wasn’t the tea. It was the steam catching the morning light exactly the way it does every single day, whether or not anyone stops to notice.
