The Kulfi Seller

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 THE KULFI SELLER

I am a kulfi seller. I make these kulfis at my home. My wife helps me in the process. Some full fat milk and some wheat flour cooked for about an hour over the oven and the milk gets dense and thick and creamy. Then frozen in cylindrical moulds overnight. To get a cool and sweet milk dessert, the Indian version of ice cream. Then on a van I place my mud pot, cover it with a red cloth that I will keep soaking wet throughout the day. It keeps my kulfi moulds cool and frozen. And with many leaf bowls and small wooden spoons I move around the city. The sun goes up and it is hot and I am all sweaty. I ring my bell and push my van and move through the roads daily of a harsh and busy city.

Children wait for my sound to ring and they come running through the balconies and doors, with pocket money coins shimmering in their hands ready to buy them kulfis. I bring smiles on their faces and homes and make their summer vacation happy. And no matter which locality I pass, I will find grand parents ready to buy kids my kulfis. Many varieties I do sell, but mainly sells kesar kulfi. 

After roaming through streets and locality do I go the busy traffic, some shopkeeper will stop me, some peddler will too and want a bite of cold and sweet kulfi. In the traffic somebody on a bike, somebody in a car, somebody out of windows of buses and trucks and somebody on foot all become my customers, I cater to them all by unmoulding  a kulfi, cutting its pieces and serving it on a leaf bowl with a small wooden spoon. I like their satisfaction when they enjoy a thing that I worked hard to make toiling in front of a burning oven. But it is summer and I am sweaty and the heat has made my shirt so wet.

I pass a lane where there are five schools in a row and sit and wait for their dismissal. My fellows sell ice cream, bhel puri and cotton candy but the kids know me and I sell kulfi. They will crowd after a busy and boring day at with lessons. Some come with friends to party at my stall and some come solo with a rare pocket money. I go there everyday for I know they will buy and fifty pieces are sold there always. Then I go home to refill my pot and back I go through the by lanes and traffic and eat my lunch and barely rest when I must go near the college where friends and lovers will treat each other and my evening is spent in the market. I see many people and lights and shops, a kurti sells in sale for rupees two hundred but my kulfi only rupees twenty and I know you all will buy. After having a busy day. 

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