Oji BOBA Temple

Oji BOBA Temple Boba isn’t just a drink — it’s a bridge. A cup can heal old regrets, welcome new dreams, or share warmth between strangers.

In OjiBoBa, everyone is family once they sip.

EPISODE 9: “The Cup with No Name”A new board stood near Oji’s counter.“Write the name of a teacher you’re grateful for.”...
04/08/2025

EPISODE 9: “The Cup with No Name”

A new board stood near Oji’s counter.

“Write the name of a teacher you’re grateful for.”

By midday, it was full—
Sir Ajay. Mom. Miss Sheila. Didi. Coach Rana.

But one paper cup on the counter had no name.
Just steam rising gently, and a hand-written note:

“To the one who taught with kindness, not chalk.”

Oji placed it near the register every morning.
He never sold it.
Never drank it.

One afternoon, Kini asked,

“Pa, why do you leave that cup every day?”

Oji looked out the window.

“Because not all teachers stand at a blackboard, Kini.
Some… just stand beside you.”

That night, a breeze knocked the cup over.
Oji quietly caught it before it spilled.

Some tributes…
are meant to be kept warm. Not loud.








EPISODE 9: “The Boy Who Paid in Change”He never said much.Shoes slightly torn, a bag too big for his back, and coins tha...
30/07/2025

EPISODE 9: “The Boy Who Paid in Change”

He never said much.
Shoes slightly torn, a bag too big for his back, and coins that jingled louder than his voice.

Every third day, he’d come to the counter, place a few rupees—mostly in 1 and 2—and ask:

“Can I still get the small lemon tea, sir?”

Oji always said yes.

Never asked why.
Never corrected the amount.
Never let the boy feel less.

Today, the boy came early, holding a small handmade pouch.
Inside — perfectly counted coins and a folded note:

“For the teacher board. I want to thank my mom. She’s my teacher too.”

Oji’s eyes softened.
No boba flavor needed today.

He handed the boy a fresh “Bright Mind” cup anyway.

“This one’s from your mom. And from me.”

Sometimes the richest hearts carry the smallest change.






EPISODE 8: “The New Stall on Block C”It happened on a Monday.Oji was slicing mangoes for the afternoon batch when Chichi...
28/07/2025

EPISODE 8: “The New Stall on Block C”

It happened on a Monday.

Oji was slicing mangoes for the afternoon batch when Chichi barked twice — sharp, confused, alert. Not the “squirrel bark.” The something’s different bark.

Across the street, a van rolled in. Flashy stickers. Loud music. Neon signboard:
"Tapiyo Boba: Trendy. Tasty. Turbo-Cool."

They set up in less than an hour.
Five staff, all in matching jumpsuits. Drones taking delivery photos.
Their menu board glowed in LED pink.

By noon, a curious crowd had already formed. Mostly students.

Oji stepped outside, wiping his hands on a towel.

He didn’t say anything. Just watched.
Even waved at one of the young workers.

Some of his regulars still came by — little Amina with her purple bag, and that quiet boy who only drank matcha with no ice. But fewer than usual.

Kini noticed it first.

“Are we…losing customers, Pa?”

Oji smiled. But it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Some hearts wander. That’s okay. They find their way back.”

That night, Oji added extra ginger to the Soul-Soothe special. Just in case someone needed comfort.
He refilled the sticky notes on the “Thank the Teacher” wall.

And when Kini offered to dance to a viral song on their Instagram just to help, he nodded — but gently.

“Let’s not chase. Let’s stay.”

Later, when the shop had closed and Lucky’s photo on the shelf caught the flickering light, Oji whispered to the night air—

“Let them taste the world. We’ll still be here. Brewing hearts.”

—

Mini-Scene End Card:
Chichi growls again. Tapiyo has installed a mascot costume of a giant boba cup doing the worm dance.
Kini rolls her eyes.
Oji, deadpan: “...I don’t think it’s food-safe.”
End.










EPISODE 7: “The Bell Rings Twice”He didn’t come to drink boba.He came to ring the bell.Every afternoon, just before clos...
27/07/2025

EPISODE 7: “The Bell Rings Twice”

He didn’t come to drink boba.
He came to ring the bell.

Every afternoon, just before closing, the boy would appear.
Quiet. Uniform still neat.
He’d walk up to the little string bell beside the counter and give it two gentle taps.

Ding… ding.

Then he’d leave.

Kini asked Oji, “Does he work somewhere? Or is it a game?”

Oji, polishing his cups, said nothing at first.
Then quietly replied,

“Some sounds tell the heart it’s okay to go home.”

Later that week, the boy finally stayed.
Accepted a free sample — Bright Mind with extra basil seeds.

He smiled. “My dad used to ring the school bell. I just… miss the sound.”

Oji refilled the cup.

“Then this bell will ring until you're ready to stop missing.”

Now, the bell rings every day.
Once for his father.
Once for himself.


EPISODE 6: The Boy Who Sold PencilsHe came by just as Oji was finishing his second pot of tea that morning.Skin tanned d...
26/07/2025

EPISODE 6: The Boy Who Sold Pencils

He came by just as Oji was finishing his second pot of tea that morning.
Skin tanned deeper than his age should allow, dusty sandals, and a plastic box full of neatly sharpened pencils.

“Buy one, sir?”
The voice wasn’t desperate. Just steady. Practiced. Tired.

Oji didn’t buy a pencil. He offered boba.
The boy hesitated. “I don’t have money.”
Oji tapped the lid of a plastic cup, smiling.
“Then pay with a story.”

The boy looked confused. Then, carefully, he sat at the corner table—the one near the chalkboard wall. He held the cup like something too clean for his hands.

Slowly, in small pieces between sips, his story came out.
His father had left before he could remember his face. His mother cleaned houses. He studied in the morning, worked in the evening.

“I don’t want to be a burden,” he said.
Oji just nodded.

Then he took out a thick red marker and scribbled something on the chalkboard:
“Even pencils write sharp stories. Keep writing yours.”
He handed it to the boy. “Next time, draw your dreams. I’ll keep it up there.”

The boy left without finishing the drink—but he left smiling. A pencil tucked behind his ear. Hope quietly tucked in his chest.

Kini peeked from the kitchen, watching silently.
Oji whispered, as if talking to no one,
“Sometimes, it’s not the tea or the sugar. It’s what they carry when they leave.”









When life was easy, and WWF ruled the screen—Hulk Hogan made us believe. Those were the days. RIP, legend.
26/07/2025

When life was easy, and WWF ruled the screen—Hulk Hogan made us believe. Those were the days. RIP, legend.

No more tours. No more pain. Just peace. Ozzy's final encore was love. We hear you, legend. Rest in power.
26/07/2025

No more tours. No more pain. Just peace. Ozzy's final encore was love. We hear you, legend. Rest in power.

EPISODE 5: “The Man Who Never Sits”He came before the shutters opened.Every morning.No drink. No words. Just a steady pr...
24/07/2025

EPISODE 5: “The Man Who Never Sits”

He came before the shutters opened.

Every morning.

No drink. No words. Just a steady presence — half in the shadows, half in the rising steam of the first boba boil. Some thought he worked there. Some thought he was lost. But Oji knew. Some people aren’t customers. They’re the cement between bricks.

His back always slightly bent, shirt loose, slippers scraped down from years of walking too far with too little. But those hands — they lifted crates like they were memories. Sugar. Tapioca. Even that rusty old stove once, when Oji’s knee gave out.

He never asked for tea. Never sat. Just helped, nodded, and disappeared.

Sometimes he swept the leaves near the road. Sometimes he straightened the chalkboard menu. One festival morning, when the cart’s wheel broke, he fixed it with a stone and a shoelace. Didn’t say a thing.

That evening, Oji made something new — strong black tea, bits of roasted sesame, and ginger shards steeped like an old wound. He poured it in a simple cup and left it on the side table.

The man picked it up, sipped once, paused.

Then, with a faint grin: “Strong.”

And walked away.

Kini later asked, “Who is he?”

Oji said softly, “He’s someone who never asked… but always gave.”

Some customers come for a drink.
Some souls come to hold the temple up — quietly, firmly, like the first light of dawn.

—

EPISODE 4: “The Quiet Girl with the Loud Bag”Oji noticed her from the corner of his eye. A small figure, always arriving...
23/07/2025

EPISODE 4: “The Quiet Girl with the Loud Bag”

Oji noticed her from the corner of his eye. A small figure, always arriving just before sunset, with a bag so colorful and oversized it looked like it belonged in a children’s cartoon. She never ordered out loud. Just stood in line, waited her turn, and pointed at the same flavor every day—Mango Milk Oolong, less sweet, no toppings. Paid in exact change. No smile, no words.

She sat alone on the shop's outer bench, sipped slowly, stared into the sky. No phone. No earbuds. Just silence.

Other customers came and went, filling the shop with stories, laughter, little chaos. But she remained still—like a note between verses. Even Teddy, Oji’s old dog who usually kept to himself, once paused at her feet and rested his head there. She didn't move, but her eyes softened.

Days passed. She kept coming.

One evening, Oji quietly walked over. Not with questions, not with noise. Just a cup of the same tea—but this time, he’d added a small handwritten note on the sleeve:

"Some hearts speak best when the world goes quiet. Glad you sit with us."
—Oji

She didn’t say a word. Just looked at the cup, then at him. And for the first time, she smiled.

That day, the shop felt warmer. Not louder. Just warmer.

🍑
🧋
💬

Beat this Summer Heat with our Watermelon Mojito Just @ Rs 40 (takeaway)
23/07/2025

Beat this Summer Heat with our Watermelon Mojito
Just @ Rs 40 (takeaway)

📘 EPISODE 3: “Lychee Memories”The sky had that soft gray color, just before rain.Inside the shop, Kini was organizing th...
22/07/2025

📘 EPISODE 3: “Lychee Memories”
The sky had that soft gray color, just before rain.

Inside the shop, Kini was organizing the shelf of storybooks near the kids’ corner. A group of neighborhood children giggled on the floor nearby, coloring on paper mats with stubby crayons.

Oji was quietly cutting up lychee on the back counter. His movements were calm, like he was remembering something as he worked.

The door opened with a slow creak.

An old woman stepped in — small, wrapped in a faded shawl even though it wasn’t cold. Her eyes scanned the shop like she was searching for something from a long time ago.

She walked straight to the counter.

Oji looked up and gave her a respectful nod. “First time here?”

The woman smiled. “Not really. I think I came here before... when this place was still a street stall.”

Oji paused. A memory flickered.

A rainy day. A blue umbrella. A young mother with a crying child. A free cup of warm tea.

He nodded slowly. “I think I remember.”

The woman laughed softly. “You gave me a drink back then. I never forgot. It was sweet… like something from childhood.”

Oji turned and reached for the top shelf. A small container — dusted with age — labeled Lychee Memories.

He prepared the drink with quiet care.

Soft fruit blended with a hint of pandan and gentle jasmine. Ice swirling like wind catching old photographs.

He handed it to her in a simple clear cup.

She took a sip… closed her eyes.

“I haven’t tasted this in 20 years,” she whispered.

Oji just smiled.

The woman stayed for a while, watching the children laugh, the steam rise, the colors blend. Before leaving, she placed a small paper note on the counter.

“I used to think nothing lasted. But I’m glad your kindness did.”

🌧️

Sometimes, a flavor is more than taste.
It’s memory. It’s a bridge.
It’s someone remembering you…
even when you forgot yourself.

🧋✨




Address

Sayang Road Konthoujam Leikai
Imphal
795001

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