Summer days bring to my lethargic mind,
My childhood days — one-of-a-kind.
Carefree days, filled with frolic and fun,
Till the moon pleaded to the sun for her turn.
Mixed-gender cricket was played before the two meals of the day,
Unheeding of the indiscriminate suntan to the bodily clay.
Despite losing sight of the flying shuttlecock with the approaching night,
Badminton was still played under the supervision of a dim street light.
While the school gave us lessons only in verbal communication,
The game of cards innocently taught us the art of non-verbal manipulation.
Boys played carrom in pursuit of the only ‘queen’,
Girls unabashedly took turns to pocket the ‘carrom men’, meandering in between.
The Bird’s Eye Spies turned into desi Dabba, I Spy (Dabba, Ice-pice?),
When the ‘seeker’ identified the players by the beast in their cry.
Life skills were learned while playing sakli,
Chasing and tagging players, holding each other’s hands firmly.
Pockets sagged, and the tin cans reverberated with the sound of marbles,
Which were triumphantly knocked out of the established circles.
Seven Stones was played only occasionally,
Because failing to dodge the red rubber ball would hurt severely.
Stereotypes made hopscotch quite unpopular among boys,
Just as they refrained from playing pretend play with miniature kitchen toys.
Of course, summer vacations were all about plenty of games,
But this narrative will be incomplete if I leave out three significant names —
Collegian, Chapta Chana, and Pankh.
Relishing these delicacies felt like euphoria,
And that too, just at the cost of 25 paisa!
Spending a rupee or two was considered lavish,
‘Sharing is caring’, in that moment, sounded gibberish.
Jane kaha gaye woh din…
Jane kaha gaye woh kith and kin…
*****
Collegian is what we know as Collegian Bhel today. But back then, unlike today, it was just a mixture of blanched peanuts, spicy chutney, and drops of lemon juice.
A man with a thin moustache, curly hair, and a white-toothed grin — Mangabhai — was our collegian guy.
Pankh is what everybody knows as baraf gola. I don’t know why we called it so, because neither was shaved ice moulded in the form of a pankh nor any pankhs were attached to the stick of the gola.
Mohammadbhai — our pankh guy — would announce his arrival with the sound of a bell hanging under his cart. Kala khatta was the preferred flavour for most of us.
Chapta Chana, famously called Chana Chor Garam, with green chutney, garam masala and drops of lemon juice.
Our Chapta Chanawala kaka (sadly, we never cared to ask his name) was more than six feet tall, with a shaven head and choti tied in a knot. A wooden peti (box), fastened with a sturdy black leather belt, hung around his strong neck. I don’t remember the exact words of his loud calls in our mohalla, but his voice still echoes in my ears.
*****
Note: The title is inspired by a song from the Hindi movie ‘Mera Naam Joker’.
Source of the image: https://shorturl.at/YZJgX
