'My Papa is the ice-cream seller'

Shams Ur Rehman Alavi

Pooja and Anshu are quite a sort of celebrities in their school. After all, their father is an ice-cream seller. At least, in a government school in a poor neighbourhood, this is something special.

Other kids look at them in awe. They feel that the sibling are lucky as they can have ice-cream whenever they want though it may not be exactly the case. Kaushal Prashad came to City ten years ago and has made a living selling ice-creams six months a year.

He pushes the handcart and first drops the children to the school and then goes ahead. He even picks them back in the afternoon, as the school is not too far. He has a small dwelling of his own now.

In the government school where Pooja studies with her younger sister, kids don't flaunt cell phones or make fun of the kid whose family has a mere Maruti 800.

Here cycles are a luxury. Most come on foot and not everybody has a full uniform. Families don't have enough money to buy separate dresses for everybody. And so Kaushal Prashad's wife got a piece of cloth for the kids' uniform. Her husband also got trousers of the same piece of cloth.

Do you give them ice-cream whenever they ask? They don't ask too many times, he says. 'kabhi kabhi to dena hi padta hai'. Though the youngest kid, a son, who is at home and yet to get admission pesters him more. Kaushal Prashad earns 4,000-Rs 5,000 a month and is quite satisfied with the earning, hopeful that it will pick up in the scorching summer.

Once the season passes, he will go to mandi and sell vegetables. I am not sure what plans he has for his kids' future. He wants them to study. Though his income may not rise as fast, as the fees for educational institutes and competition examination forms is going up, he is not bothered.

He knows that they will make up their mark somewhere. He hasn't done too badly, in fact, better than his brother who went to Mumbai and is hardly able to spend time with his children. And Kaushal Prashad's children are proud of their Pop.

His job brings them joy. Other kids ask them 'tumhare papa ice-cream bechte hain'. And the kids get a feeling that they are lucky. That's childhood innocence. This post is part of the series of stories, 'How the ordinary Indians live.

Read the earlier posts filed under this tag on this blog:

1. The groundnut sellers: Do elections matter to Pandit Ji and Aslam?
2. The candy-seller on cycle: Magic of mithai-wala
3. A samosa-seller's nap under the tree shade
4. Chacha's qeema-stuffed samosas
5. Tea shops in India: Shrinking and Vanishing
6.'Child who sells CHANA Jor Garam

The Child who sells 'Chana Jor Garam'

I have seen Raju, the chana jor garam-seller, a number of times walking long distances to sell this mouth-watering and spicy Indian snack.

It's not easy to carry the weight and walk for kilometres across the City but he does it to help supplement the family income. He buys the packets of chana jor (zor) garam from a whole-seller and then sells them in cones, sprinkling the masala and adding chilli and mashed tomatoes-onions.

Raju doesn't know his age. Says he must be 11 or 12. "If the day's sale is Rs 200 then I save Rs 70. Sometimes the earning is up to Rs 100". On an average he earns between Rs 2,500-Rs 3000 per month.

But the young kid has never stepped into a school. His father is permanently ill and can't go out. His mother works at an 'aata-chakki' and gets around Rs 2,000. Together the mother-son somehow run the household that comprises Raju's younger siblings, who also don't go to school.

In a way, Raju, is lucky. He belongs to a poor family but helps in running the house. He has tremendous self-respect and ekes out his living. He wishes that if he had money, he could get his father treated.

Still, in a country where millions go to sleep with empty-stomach, the boy doesn't sleep hungry and though there are other problems, the mother-son manage to pay the Rs 500 rent for the 'jhuggi'. He can buy small things for himself and his family.

But it's not easy to earn the 'meagre Rs 70' either. Every day is a struggle. The alcoholics take the 'chana jor garam' and don't give money. They take the Rs 10 cone and give him Rs 5. He can't even argue with the bullies who often snatch the 'snack' and refuse to pay, even raising a hand when he pleads.

"Kai log paisa nahi dete", he rues. Though he is sure that when he grows old, nobody will be able to snatch it. On rainy days, he can't sell much and has to save the stock from getting wet. He prefers fares, gatherings and matches where there is a sudden sale.

It may not be legal for a minor, especially under 14, to work. And it's mandatory for a kid to go to school. Whatever, the boy beams with pride when he tells you about how he takes toffees for his younger siblings.

Mature for his age but enterprising, Raju and his family live in glittering urban India where swanky cars and prosperity brought by MNC-BPO-Software firms hides these struggles. His family hasn't a faint idea about any government-run welfare schemes.

His siblings also won't study. "My mother says that it's useless and we don't have money to pay the fees and the cost of uniform and books". Is there any counter argument?

This dreamy-eyed boy wants to earn money for his family and live a decent life. However, the struggles of this boy and those like him, do instill a sense of guilt in our hearts. There are all sorts of injustices but what about this injustice--if someone is born in a poor house, for no fault of his own, it's a near impossible task for him to cross the ever-widening gulf and fight with destiny.

The post is just part of the series on tea vendors, ice-cream sellers, samosa-sellers et al. See some of the earlier posts on how the ordinary Indians, who are a majority in this country, lead their lives and run their households.
1. The groundnut sellers: Do elections matter to Pandit Ji and Aslam?
2. The candy-seller on cycle: Magic of mithai-wala
3. A samosa-seller's nap under the tree shade
4. Chacha's qeema-stuffed samosas
5. Tea shops in India: Shrinking and Vanishing