Ice-Cream Bucket

9.15 p.m. ,  Malad link road, where the suburban  life has reached a crescendo of  frenzied activity – A thick flux of People, cars pretending that they are patient, young couples oblivious to the chaos, older men shaking their heads and wondering, ”when did this happen?” , dogs adamantly lying exactly where the cars will pass, working moms mentally switching gears to another role balancing vegetables, laptop and life in general, kids playing, and noveaux cyclists most without helmets (so what if it’s hot?) ..enjoying the city , of course not to miss the  willful walkers who are more avoiding walking over or into something than actually moving ahead.

I, well it’s a non working day for me; I was walking back after finishing about half dozen chores.

Intent on getting back home ..dying for a shower.. mentally already feeling dizzy with the heat and the general cacophony..gosh..I need some peace ..Also knowing that is going to be another 4 hours away....

On my way I cross gokul ice cream..and stop.. my son loves Ice cream. So I decide to pick some..My rational mind is screaming for me to just get home..and not do any more detours… But guess the heart is louder..so I buy…Four in the carry pack, after a bit of an argument, which really was my misdirected annoyance.

I leave the shop..with bags(plural, there were 3 in one hand) ..and the ice cream bucket in another, I walk with a determined stride. A few steps and some acceleration later..I almost bump (actually I bumped) into a lady possibly from Bihar ..judging from her well-fed frame ..the saree and the orange sindoor..

From one of the slums surrounding this area, I presume..I am too stunned to react.. but clearly not too stunned to have missed the details....But I am so tired that I don’t even judge. I just wait to move on… (it was really just a few seconds..but when you are waiting to get home..each second is like  a minute..)..But our Bihari lady is not really ready to move on..or move.

She just looks at me and the ice-cream bucket (it’s important that I use this description) and then looks at her bucket, which of course I notice for the first time..No points for guessing where she is headed with the small bucket..My peripheral vision now assisted by my olfactory senses.. and I realize ‘exactly’ where I am..In front  of the common toilet for the slum dwellers..

Our Bihari lady looks at me again …and with free hand on my shoulder in a warm friendly gesture, like we have always gone to the loo together..she starts laughing…a loud ..belly shaking laughter,oblivious to everything and everyone around..My stunned mind.. now alert ..gets her joke..she , had also for a split second ..possibly in her rush to get ‘there’ and back to her brood of 5-6 children..some I may have passed on the street playing .. and connected my Bucket  (ice cream ) to , yes , the loo… Like me , she too then took in the details..and then the humour of it all must have hit her ..and just link that without too much inhibition..she started laughing…

I started laughing with her as well…Then we looked at each other…she hugged me..and we went our ways…

As I was walking towards my building..I was still reeling with what had happened..a complete stranger..no words ..a  deep laugher..a fleeting moment of equality and connectedness …a warm embrace and life went on…

How little it  takes to be present to these moments of magic… to be present to people.. and little “humor moments of life”… how laughter really transcends EVERYTING and connects people..how a little warmth without judgment ..puts a spin to the everyday mundaneness and  chaos that is life, how underneath all the labels and judgments, educational , social background.. economic inequalities.. we really are same…

The irony is not lost to me

The ice-cream in my hand wasn’t the only thing that melted..that evening.