"It's hot," said I for the hundredth time that day. My friend next to me grunted in agreement. He was laying on his motorbike having a popsicle while surfing the internet on his phone. ( He owned the bike even though he was still underage but anything goes as long as the police don't catch you speeding). It was the height of summer. Mumbai was definitely not a place to be in during the month of March. White people are better off staying away during these summer months.
The summers in India were unlike other places. It was extremely sticky. It would cling on to your skin and sap you of your energy. Going outside in the afternoons felt like wading through thick vapour. If you wanted to visit, you'd better plan your trips to be during the cooler monsoons and winters. You definitely didn't want to experience the Loo, the hot, dry winds famous in India.
Horns blared and the sun fried everything to omelettes. The thick smell of exhaust filled the air and the climate felt even thicker. We were sat under a shade of a dingy shop. The patra(1) provided a bit of relief.
The ice-cream parlour on the opposite street was crowded. The sugarcane juice stall beside it also seemed to be having good business. People fanned themselves with what ever they had in their hands. Some old men even had plastic hand-fans with them.
"It's really hot," said I, again. Imran, my best friend who sat beside me didn't bother answering anymore. He just continued to be engrossed in his phone. Suddenly my phone rang.
I answered it as it was my Maa. If I didn't answer, she'd call me two more times. After that she'd come find me herself with a belan(2) in her hand. Getting whacked by a belan on the backside was painful.
"Hm."
That's how I usually started off a call.
"Still loitering around, Huzair? Get back home. You need to clean your cupboard. Also get something cool on your way back. Get bread and milk. Ask Imran if he wants to visit."
I looked at my friend and he understood what I wanted to say. He shook his head. "Going to Nariman point(3) in an hour with family." Then he proceeded to throw away the wrappers in a bin, started up his bike, gave me a nod and rode away.
"Which bread? How many litres?"
" Get a big slice bread(4) and four kadak pav(5) and two naram pav(6).
If you have money get four litres of milk. Get a big butter too."
"Got it. Alright, bye. Allah Hafiz(7)," I answered. I cut the call. I didn't want the list to increase anymore.
Looking at the crowded parlour, I decided that I was better off going to another store.
"Chacha(8), how much is it?" I asked the shopkeeper. "Butter is 48 rupya, bread is 40. Wait a bit, my son is packing up the milk."
As I was fishing my pockets for change, a girl came up next to me. "Uncle, half a dozen eggs. And give 3 liter milk. And give that biscuit over there too," said she, in a soft voice while pointing at a certain brand of cream biscuits. I recognised her. She was the younger sister of one of my older friends, Zeeshaan. We used to play cricket together as kids. He was my senior in school.
She was completely covered in black. I felt even even more stifled by the heat thinking about how hot it must be to wear that outfit in this season. I remembered Maa always hated wearing it for prolonged periods of time.
Although I couldn't see her face, for some reason I always seemed to recognise her. We had never spoken to each other before. She was younger than me too.
From what I remembered, her family were strict people who liked discipline. They were strict with themselves and liked to do their best at everything. She herself was somewhat like them. At least she gave off that impression.
" Here's your milk. The total is 267 rupya. Anything else?"
"No."
The milk bags(9) were heavy. They were cold so I hugged them to my chest. I did hope that the black plastic bag which they were in wouldn't tear. That would be a disaster.
"Chacha, give me another bag. This one won't be able to hold this weight."
The shopkeeper agreed and took out another bag. I put the bag with the milk inside the new bag. It became a double layer. I turned to leave and I realised that the girl had already disappeared. I guess she took her leave when I was struggling with the milk. I then left too.
Wait.
Almost nearing home, I stopped. Did I forget something??? The bags were uncomfortably digging into my flesh and cutting off my circulation.
I thinked and thunked and thinked and thunked and thank really hard and thought. Even Winnie the Pooh wouldn't have thought so much.
Then I remembered. I didn't get a 'something cool'.
Judging from Maa's tone, that was the most important thing. "SUBHAAN ALLAH!"(10) I cried gratefully. I was saved. I narrowly avoided a huge crisis. So I turned around and ran to get a little 'something' that was cool for Maa. I do hope it was enough to appease her hatred for the heat.
.
.
.
Glossary:-
(1)Patra- It is a steel sheet used as an extended roof. It is usually wavy and is like a shade in front of shops. It is also used to prevent rain from reaching the storefront.
(2)Belan- A thin rolling pin. It is mostly used to make Chapattis. There are many types of those.
(3)Nariman point. A coastal area in Mumbai facing the Arabian sea. Is also called the Queen's necklace. People come here to enjoy the breeze. There is a beach called Chowpatty there too. It is near the famous Taj hotel which was involved in a terrorist attack in 2008. The 12 consecutive shootings and bombings took place over four days across Mumbai.
(4) Slice bread- A normal loaf of bread that is sliced. Big and small refer to a whole loaf or half.
(5) Kadak pav- Kadak means hard. Pav means bread. It looks like a bun but has the hardness of a baguette? It is crispy and is enjoyed during breakfast or teatime.
(6) Naram pav- Naram means soft. Naram pav also looks like a squarish bun and can be had with anything. People eat it for breakfast with tea and butter or jam. There are many famous dishes that are eaten with it. For e.g. Pav bhaji, Vada pav, Samosa pav, etc. If any of you visit India, do make sure to try these out. They are really yummy!
(7) Allah Hafiz:- Hafiz- protect.
Be protected by Allah.
(8)Chacha:- Father's brother. It is also used as a friendly way to refer to a shopkeeper who is older than you and mostly around your parent's age (if you are a teen or youth). Sometimes people also call them Mama or Mamu which means Mother's brother. If the shopkeeper is an old man and the customer is still young, then he refers to him as Dada, meaning Grandpa. If the shopkeeper is young then they call them Bhai i.e. brother. These are all friendly ways to address a shopkeeper. Female shopkeepers prefer to just be called Auntie. You know. Because- age.
(9) Milk bags- in India, milk is distributed in biodegradable plastic bags and not bottles unlike other countries which either have cartons or glass bottles. They are rectangular in shape and look like little squishy pillows when they are filled with milk.
(10)Subhan Allah:- Glory be to Allah. Subhan means glory.