My traumatic transformation into a Lassi (butter milk) hydration unit

So, once I tagged along with a buddy to his sister’s place in this super rural village. Lovely folks, honestly—total heart-eyes. My buddy’s brother-in-law? Instant BFF. We vibe)

We arrive at the house … “Lassi lao!”
We chill for a bit… Lassi lao!”
Evening rolls in. My new friend goes, “Yo, let’s hit up the dera (aka Cow Central).”
We get to the dera… “Lassi lao!”
We wander around, side-eyeing cows and buffaloes like city tourists. Sit back down… “Lassi lao!”
Dinner time? “Lassi lao!”
Morning alarm: sunrise.
Breakfast spread: butter, desi ghee (clarified butter) — fried parathas, eggs, village chicken — the whole “we’ll clog your arteries” buffet.
Finish eating … “Lassi lao!”

Me, finally snapping: “BRUH. TURN OFF THE LASSI TAP. I BEG YOU.”
“Fine. Chai lao!” I bark.

Brother-in-law, grinning: “Shah Ji, why you mad, bro? Lassi lao’s our Shah ji ritual!” (Shah ji = imaginary VIP? Idk. Village things.)

Friend suddenly remembers I’m a city slicker. Whispers to his sister: “Y’all got… tea leaves?”
Sister, deadpan: “We don’t ‘do’ tea leaves here. It’s never on the ration list.”

They somehow scrape up tea leaves. I sip the chai… and immediately slam the cup down:
“LASSI LAO!”

The breakfast table ERUPTS. Everyone’s howling, chanting: “Lassi lao, oye! Lassi lao!”