Getting fresh milk from a local baya in the early morning was the very first duty of a day when I was in India during winter. The land was extremely dried without any abundant water, trees, or fertile soil, frozen land was worse with dusty dried cold air. For everybody there and for Indians' life, milk is very important source since they drink traditional chai tea all the time, 2 rupees of a tiny cup of chai tea warms them up to start new day as breakfast. I vividly remember I woke up with the lingering sound of shouts "chai garam! garam chai!! - warm chai tea!" on train crossing.
The milk producer and deliverer,
he usually took his little daughter with him walking miles way to the school and office where I and my coworkers stayed even getting through heavy dawn fog over the village. Both were mostly quite and polite as they didn't talk much besides "namaste, chesehe, tikhe,.." the basic hello-bye-conversation. The little girl in a knitted wool hat, her red eyes having a severe infection were caught my attention. Probably the extreme poverty forces them leave the painful situation as it was. A cow clearly indicated way better social status within the community, however, he still struggled under poverty. This pure, unprocessed, real milk meant everything; health, chai, wealth, culture, life, while I took milk for granted. Huge piles of milks with different flavours and package containers and attractive design got my eyes blind and my mind deaf in my normal world.