Summer holidays were extremely special for me (just like for everyone else!) They usually meant eating like a glutton, feasting on succulent mangoes, afternoon siestas under the groaning fan and uninterrupted TV sessions. However there is one memory that is extra special for me and still brings a smile on my lips whenever I think of it. It is that of the gola chuski man.
Every afternoon I would wait for his arrival. My mind would be completely preoccupied, my ears alert to any alien sound from outside and my lips quivering in anticipation. And then just like in a dream, he would appear from nowhere playing the cheesiest of Bollywood songs. The loud blaring of the speakers was the cue for the scores of kids in the locality to make dash for his cart.
And what a cart it was! Green in color lined with bottles of colored syrup and “Bombay Chuski” written in a bold, black font. As the impatient kids would holler their specifications, the man would smile at each one and start grating that block of ice (I can still hear the ice go “khach khach” against that wooden slab.)The grated ice would be stuffed into a steel tumbler, shaken twice (a little jiggle and then another one) and then stabbed in the heart with a stick.
With the flourish of a magician he would pull the crushed ice out and lo behold it would have turned into a solid gola! The kids would again start listing out their choice of syrup. However, the man; the fair and patient being that he was, would serve his nagging customers using the FIFO algorithm. Pouring those myriad syrups lovingly, sprinkling some salt and adding a dash of lemon, he would fulfill the whimsical demands of all the kids. The man satiated our colorful desires with élan.
Yours truly would also be one among the many participants in the race (though I’ve not run much in my life otherwise). Armed with a tiny tumbler of my own in which to keep my gola, I would sprint every afternoon with two rupees held tightly in my fist. Waiting patiently against the cart for my turn, I would return home to relish the delectable taste of the amazing gola. The sometimes sweet, sometimes tangy taste of the syrup in the mouth and then the crunchiness of ice which would be fast turning into water; my taste buds can never forget that in a lifetime! Ah! I’m salivating even as I write this.
Like all the wonderful things that my childhood had to offer, with age even my gola fetish faded into oblivion. Thankfully, I have preserved the memories from the onslaught of time.
Write an article with your response here