The brief was to raise the corner chai stall — the tapri where a whole neighbourhood actually gathers each morning — to the dignity of a shrine, with affection and no mockery. So the chai-maker is drawn as a many-armed central figure enthroned behind her counter under an arch, exactly where a goddess sits, except her many hands hold a kettle, a glass, a strainer and a teapot instead of trident and sword, with steam curling up in iron-black. The counter carries rows of small tea-glasses arrayed like the row of lamps in a shrine, and the regulars sit on benches as her devotees, drinking and reading the morning paper. Mata ni Pachedi has always honoured the gathering-places of a community; the tapri is simply this generation's, and the joke is gentle and true. Madder red, iron-black, cream — even the steam stays in the three tones.