Ice candy Man

They were the street smart ones – my cousins. And me – shy and taciturn. Studious, innocent, all of eight. Weekends, when my Ma went grocery shopping in Janata Bazaar in Irwin Road, Mysore, she would leave me at their place. She never bothered to ask how my time with them went, if I was happy being there and neither did I ever tell her that though I was fond of playing with them, they used to bully me now and then, more on it later. 

Ma was always busy but provided us with a good and simple life, doing what she thought was the best for us. No street food. Never. Such was my upbringing or my nature/guna that even when my aunt and uncle took me along for pani puri at a bylane off Irwin Road, I said no, though my mouth was watering! And I was all of eight. Or maybe nine.  

And, every now and then,

“Ma, sugarcane juice please?”

“No, we shall get a jug of water one day, clean the sugarcane-crusher and then use the same jug to get the juice.”

She never said when and I never asked.

Or

“Ma, it’s the ice-candy man, may I buy one?”

“You may buy during besige (summer).”

“Okay”

Life went on. Vacation time. Cousin and I were quietly watching the passers-by from the balcony of their house on Kalamma Temple Street. 

Then came the ice cream man, rapping at his gaadi, calling out his ware loud and clear, “I-i-ce creammaah”

“My Ma said I can buy ice cream when it’s besigey (summer) ,” I told my cousin.

“But it is besigey (summer) already.”

“Is it? Then why did Mummy say that …?”, thought me. But not even a flash of disappointment that probably my mother made a rash promise that she never intended to keep. 

And decades later, I haven’t asked her about it! You see, she has memory issues and wouldn’t remember it …

– Priya Aditya