The ice-cream man who served up scoops of magic

Gauri Parasher Joshi

He brought with him summer’s delight. As the rainbow hues of spring began to fade and wither beneath the scorching sun, he carried with him orange sunrise and pink sunset. Unforgettable in their own way, these possessions were much sought after. They spelt hope for those that carried heavy bags back from school, itching to lighten the load on their shoulders and jump out of constricting uniforms, and to the still younger ones that were just beginning to understand the unbreakable bond that tied nerves and taste-buds to summer temperatures. It was not as if his ethereal wares did not touch the grown-ups. This was a craving very few wanted to give up unless years or girth demanded it.

So everyone who could shell out even a few rupees looked for the ice-cream man. Pedaling his bicycle cart around his beat was no easy work. It took energy to push the pedal. And then, he had to keep a look-out for signs of members from his primary constituency peeking from doors, fidgeting in corners, rushing on to the road to hail him. So, he would pedal a little lazily around those homes atop which, for him, fluttered a pennant declaring that here lived an ice-cream lover. On the main roads of the city, advertisements shrieked about how compelling a particular ice-cream from a particular brand was.

Had the fancy ice-creams affected his sales? In the span of the past 15 odd years, it had looked as if the ice-cream man was not needed in the evenings that every workday wrapped itself up into. It had certainly seemed to the ice-cream man as if the fluttering flags had decided to fly at low mast even on Sundays when the children appeared to pack themselves into hordes or into their parents cars and head to inviting ice-cream parlours, These havens of the parched and hungry had come a long way too. The glass window that showcased tubs of rainbow-coloured ice-creams with names that sent the taste-buds into a tizzy remained the same. The few seats continued as well. But these parlours were smaller and folks didn’t really come especially to sit and enjoy an ice-cream, they used to in the old days. Young parents with their toddlers holding balloons and asking for every pre-21st century-baby’s favourite strawberry ice-cream – that used to happen a lot. Then that privilege went to the cafes.

Strange how over time things change in unfathomable ways and because they do, a relic from the past regains its position, albeit in an entirely changed scenario. As far as the very important matter of ice-creams in our city was concerned, things had come full circle. The parlours declined, cafes sprung up and the ice-cream man was the happy, familiar sight again.

Not much had changed, and yet the cart looked better built and brighter. And the ice-creams were the tastier. Well, the fancy advertising that added chocolate, fruit and cream in plenty to the manufacturing process certainly helped. The packaging did matter. But at the end of the day, ice-cream was ice-cream – that dollop of ethereal concoction that infected one’s vision with an unmistakable rose tint, whatever the flavor of the day may have been otherwise. So hurray for the dispenser of violet twilights and green seas, of muddy hills and lemon suns that all children of the city love to swarm to! And may the magic of the ice-cream man continue to swoosh through our city’s streets forever.

(The writer is an IAS officer)