-{home}{marmara}{trampoline}-
SINGCHANAWALA
I remember
the singchanawala
who carried a huge cloth bag
on his shoulders
inside which there seemed to be
a whole universe
He would squat near the gates
of our apartment building
and call out for us
while we were playing
Children who had been oblivious
to the world around them
would suddenly circle around the cloth bag
with its rolled over edges
displaying a whole assortment of things to eat
Embedded in the bulk of kurmura
were small little cloth bags
with sing, chana, dal amongst other things
a heap of thin yellow sev
a stack of thin, flat, circular, hard puris
brass measures of a few different sizes
a towering pile of telescoped
cone-shaped paper pudis
bent at their tips
when given to us
safely held our treasure
even if we ran with these
while playing
or kept them in our pockets
Simmering coals in a small vessel
to roast the goodies
After the sing was roasted
he would roll them
between his palms
and then blow off
the thin skins of these grains
to enhance the salty pleasure
A couple of old discarded books
to make bigger pudis
We would search our pockets
for the sole ten paise coin
or the char-anna
On the lucky day
if we had saved up
some extra pocket-money
we could treat ourselves
to some sookha bhel
or geela bhel
or sev puri
where any amount of
meethi chutney wouldn’t be enough
(we would hold on to
the soggy puri soaked with chutney
till the very end)
it always seemed to end too quickly
He would remember
all our names
since he visited us every evening
We missed him on rainy days
we missed trying to get him
to fill our pudis
with a few extra grains
I still have a few memories
of his worn out cotton jacket
which was dirty
just above the pockets
pockets full of change
I wonder how much
he walked everyday
with his thick dusty leather chappals
and a huge cloth bag on his shoulders