Trrrnggg Trrrnggg !
From the sudden silence there emerged a sound as if the slumbering sea had just woken up to play with the shore. Children oozed out of the classrooms dragging their school bags, water bottles and what nots! Mostly there were sounds of laughter and gay abandon, one more day closer to the vacations.
The teachers too seemed to be in the same boat. Wind up and be homeward bound. Smiles and laughter punctuated the sea of shouts, banter, and few complaints. We lingered on a while to chat with our friends, as we wheeled out our cycles. You could see groups of students departing towards their school buses and others sailing on their cycles.
The rising summer heat was scorching, but for the leafy canopy of the huge old Neem trees extending their arms to protect the little ones from the wrath of the summer sun. The breeze too was checked, allowed to blow in school only after removing a degree or two. Some kids lingered on playing some games, dragging their feet, not willing to leave their fun and friends behind. We jumped on to our bikes, the few of us who lived in the same neighbourhood. Exchanging all the mischief and naughtiness that had happened in our classes that day, as we were from various grades. Monitoring the traffic and keeping an eye on the carts, lariwalas and pedestrians.
We squealed as we pedalled down the slopes of the underbridge, so that we could pedal up the slope a little easier on the other side. Though we would not ever admit it, but it was a kind of a race. Seeking the shade of the huge Neem trees lining the road, my friend would regale us with his jokes, of which I remember nothing, but what I do remember is all of us cracking up over it.
Just where the road turned was the gola wala. Very strategically placed! There was probably a school there too, and a big old temple. Our first halt! First a squabble about who would treat everyone, then collecting the coins from all. After the money was counted, we would ask for our golas. Our Math teacher would definitely be proud of us. The crushed ice would be flavoured with the syrup of our choice…. Kalakhatta, orange, lemon, strawberry…. and many more, all tantalizingly arranged around the cart.
Standing under the shade of a tamarind tree, (they never butchered and murdered trees those days) waiting for our golas was an exercise in developing patience. The sheer anticipation of the ice cold liquid satiating the parched mouth and then slowly trickling down the throat, teasing the taste buds with the sharp, sweet, and tangy bursts of joy was the appetizer. Followed by, the ice cold gola itself, held firmly in hand. The vapours wafting from the glass did not just tease the tongue but sent cold whiffs onto the warm faces, cooling them too! The hands would happily accept turning cold, after the warmth of the cycle handles, under a blazing sun in the summer afternoon. Such silence, punctuated by slurping and cold sighs. The happy lot would then cycle away with the remnants of their ice lollies dripping down their chins and shirts, while their tongues and faces were stained with the bright colour easily spreading from the ice.
Off we went to our homes where we would first receive an ice-cold drink, before a warm lunch!
As I reflect, I realize those crushed ice lollies went a long way in building up our camaraderie and warmed our hearts which no frostiness of adulthood can ever break. I know that whenever I reach out to these buddies, I will get a warm welcome rather than an icy stare!
