Ice cream cycle carts sprout around the corners every summer, there’s one right outside my block. But before these bright and shiny red branded ones entrenched themselves as part of the summer landscape, there was the kulfiwala.
He peddled his wares that perched on top of his head, in woven baskets covered with a wet, red cloth. His call was distinct, kulfiye… and the children tumbled out to buy ice cold pleasures. He used to have kulfis which stayed in aluminium moulds and they were opened in front of you. He would then deflty insert a stick right in the middle of the frozen deliciousness and hand it over with a smile. I guess you really have to enjoy what you do to smile like that. Crinkly eyes that laugh and light up a sun weathered face.
He would rest his basket on the ground and take his time to unpack his stock for the day. He remained as cool as his kulfis even as kids swarmed around him, hankering for a stick. Sometimes they were short on change and friends would chip in and at other times, the kulfiwala would say, “koi baat nahi, kal de do”. He always wore a white kurta and dhoti which was not quite white but dusty yellow from all the walking he did everyday.
These frozen joys were also available in round slabs which were laid out on leaves and cut into bite sized cubes. They came in many flavours like pista, kesar, strawberry but the top seller was always malai kulfi. Rich, creamy malai kulfi that transformed from a hard block to melting sweetness that had you helpless.
Saree in the picture is a malai kulfi, soft pleasures in the exact colours and served on a border of leaf. Perfect for gulmohur days that rained stories of lives lived.
86/2019
