The smell of wet earth from the cooler, matka kulfi wala pedaling his cycle down the street. Kids running from their houses, one head barely visible out of the balcony yells out to him. Before he could stop, many steps rush towards him with 2 rupee coins. Coins wet of perspiration, notes crumpled in fists. A wet tongue tastes the saltiness and then hits the creamy sweetness. Sitting under the cool Gulmohur shade, beads of sweat on the upper lip, relishing slowly as to finish it last. Hiding against the rough, red bricks, fingers trace the cemented creeks. Seeking under the dusty coves under the staircase, someone shouts. Soon sky is orange.
After the sunset, the dusty net doors sighs a springy squeak. Bang! Doors opening and closing. Sweat soaked clothes, sweaty bodies rushing to the fridge. Steel jug with water vapours on the surface. Fingers doodling on the surface of the jug while mum pours out the thick yellow mango shake. The old regulator is pushed hard to 4. Blades making a glide, as if one tries to catch the other. Wet heads, tired legs, open the shiny knob. Silver water gushing out, washing away the day. All is forgotten in the white tube light. Tomorrow is another day.
