cutting chai and other constants

Suresh bhaiya sets up his cart at 7:45am exactly, at the corner where the service lane meets the main road outside our office building. By 8:30 he has served maybe thirty people. By 9 he knows everyone's order. I don't know when I became a person whose chai order is known. It happened gradually, the way most things that matter happen. He adds less sugar to mine now without being asked. I noticed this maybe three months ago. Either I mentioned it once and he remembered, or he extrapolated from something — the way I make a face if it's too sweet, maybe. Either way. There's a particular thing about having your order known by someone who owes you nothing. It's not the same as a friend knowing, which carries history and obligation and love. It's lighter. An act of pure attention. I've been thinking about this because my office is shifting buildings next month. The new office is in Okhla, which is far enough that I'll take the metro and pack my own breakfast and Suresh bhaiya will pour less sugar into someone else's cup by October and I'll be starting from scratch somewhere. I told him last week. He said, "Shift ho rahi hai? Acha." Not sad, not congratulatory. Just noting the fact of it. I appreciated that. Occasions don't always need to be made of them.