Where are the ice candy men?

This afternoon, at Nandini on J.C. road, after a sumptuous Andhra lunch, I asked the aging waiter what he had on offer for dessert. The balding, portly man sincerely suggested fruit punch. I clicked my tongue in exasperation and ordered ice cream with fruit salad. The waiter's eyebrows shot up north in appreciation. The women-Chitra and Savi-did not have room for a dessert but they looked like they were up for a walk down the nostalgia lane. So I obliged:

Back in 80s, in Chittoor, the horn of the ice candy man sent our adrenaline surging. Clad only in shorts; braving the merciless summer sun and molten tar that burnt your feet; we would run to him. And we would almost cling to the wooden edge of his cart (an igloo box, wooden cased, and it rolled on two scooter tyres). He would then open the cart and slide the lid off for us to see what he had in store. Grape ice (candy with a few grapes thrown in) was a luxury. I would not even dream of Bournvita ice as it was one rupee and I could afford only ten paise. So, I would settle for the basic ice candy. And if the ice candy man was generous enough, I would get a chance to squeeze the horn that sounded like an adolescent elephant's mating call. Now do not ask me how I know what a horny pachyderm sounds like. Poetic license people.

And of course, during my trips to Chennai, a trip to Pondy bazaar was mandatory. I would walk all the way from Eldams road to Pondy bazaar to buy one of those cone ice creams. The ice-cream vending machines were on the pedestrian walk. So, quite a few shoppers would stop and buy the cone ice cream. I would grow restless waiting for my turn. Finally, the ice cream would slip out of captivity into the cone. And I would grab it from the vendor and walk back home. I would eat it slowly, negotiating the ice cream until it sat in the narrow butt of the cone and in one definitive flourish, and I would dunk it in my mouth and crunch it. Heaven! I tell you.

When I got back to Chittoor, I would extol the greatness of the cone ice cream to all the Grape ice and Bournvita ice eating rich boys about how it will take at least 50 years to make it to Chittoor.

Today, I don't hear any ice-candy horns. Not in Bangalore. Not in Chennai. Not in Chittoor. I think the ice-candy man is gone for good; hammered into submission by the big, bad, capitalists.
Now a days, it is the Hot Chocolate Fudge at Corner house. Or, we will just buy the Kwality Walls packs and store it in the icebox. The next time you hear a forlorn, desperate horn through the simmering heat of summer, please step out and buy an ice candy. And hey, don't forget to squeeze that horn for me.

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