Bitter, sweet, and ginger-cardamom-kissed: Cutting chai, the brew that fuels Mumbai

I was introduced to cutting chai when I moved to then-Bombay for college. Sophia College, perched between Warden Road and Breach Candy, was a walk halfway up the lane connecting the two main streets. But if you walked down towards Warden Road, you’d find a tiny tea stall—a favourite haunt for students. It was the only food shop in the lane, and given our tight budgets, it became a natural gathering spot. That little stall offered a smattering of uniquely ‘Mumbaiya’ snacks—bun maska, keema pao (on a good day), and most importantly, cutting chai.

Served in a small glass, cutting chai is essentially a half-cup of strong milk tea—almost kadak chai as we call it — flavoured with ginger and elaichi (cardamom). You usually get two to three large gulps per serving, which, when you think about it, is just enough to get you going for the day. In a city where everything moves fast and everyone is on the run—especially those commuting over two hours each way to work—cutting chai makes perfect sense. Of course, most of us never stop at just one cup; multiple rounds are the norm.

I remember trudging down to that stall, sometimes with our journalism professors — the legendary P Sainath and Jerry Pinto. Most of us were from outside Bombay, and we would sit outside the little shop, under a tree, sipping strong tea while waxing eloquent about the ills of commercial Hindi cinema and the decline of true journalism.

Served in a small glass, cutting chai is essentially a half-cup of strong milk tea. (Photo: Canva)

Cutting chai is never served in porcelain cups or kulhads. It always comes in small glasses, common to tea stalls. These glasses are often scratched and cloudy from years of use, but a glass it must be. This is not a refined, delicately brewed tea. Made with powdered black tea, equal parts tea liquor and milk, and boiled long enough to extract the flavours of ginger and cardamom, it’s quite literally a sip of heaven. Or three.

Other cities and states have their own versions of cutting chai. In Bengal, you get “Lebu Cha“—a strongly brewed tea liquor with a squeeze of lime, served without milk, commonly found in dhabas and college canteens. Then there’s Irani Chai, found in Mumbai’s Irani cafes, often flavoured with khoya or even milk powder instead of regular milk. The common denominator in all these chais? Strength. These teas aren’t about the delicate nuances of tea leaves; they’re about providing warmth, comfort, and a moment of indulgence—whether quick or leisurely.

Sure, you can buy cutting chai for Rs 150 on a food delivery app or at a chic restaurant. But I would always recommend stopping by an Irani café or any roadside chai stall when you’re in Bombay. Take five minutes, sit down, and relish a glass of “cutting”. It’s strong, sometimes a little bitter, slightly sweet, with sudden bursts of cardamom, served in a less-than-pristine glass that might be half-full or half-empty—depending on your perspective. It’s a true taste of Bombay.

Next week, I’ll be writing about some unique biryanis. Stay tuned.