12 KBPS Summers Ch 2: The Orange Lolly

​The afternoon sun was a heavy, golden weight over the lane, turning the concrete driveways hot enough to warm bare soles.

 Indoors, the heavy blades of the Usha ceiling fan hummed rhythmically, churning the warm summer air while everyone retreated into quiet afternoon routines.

​Nupur lay on the cool red-oxide floor of the verandah, half-awake, lazily flipping through the pages of a well-thumbed Champak comic.

​Then came the sound that could instantly awaken every child in the neighborhood: a sharp, metallic tink-tink-tink of a small brass bell, followed by the squeak of old bicycle pedals.

​It was the ice-lolly vendor.

​Nupur scrambled up, her slippers slapping against her heels as she tiptoed into the cool, dark bedroom where Dad was resting. She leaned over the side of the bed and gently shook his shoulder.
​"Dad... Dad," she whispered urgently. "The lolly fellow is here! Can I have some change?"

​Dad opened one eye, smiling faintly at her desperate expression. He reached under his pillow, pulled out his heavy leather wallet, and plucked out a shiny one-rupee coin along with two 50-paise coins. He slid them into her eager, outstretched palm. "Go on, but don't run too fast in the heat," he mumbled softly before turning back over.

​"Thanks, Dad!"

​Nupur dashed out into the blinding sunlight just as the wooden cart - mounted on the back of a creaky bicycle and wrapped in a red-painted thermocol box, came to a halt under the shade of the big neem tree.

Within seconds, her cousins and two kids from next door appeared from their respective gates, coins clutched tightly in sweaty palms.

​The vendor opened the heavy lid, sending a cloud of cool, icy steam into the hot air. Inside lay rows of long, narrow, brightly colored plastic tubes filled with frozen juice- the legendary 1 rupee "sip-ups"and small paper boxes of Phantom sweet cigarettes.

​"Orange for me! No, cola flavor!" Nupur called out, her voice competing with her cousins'.

​She settled on the bright orange sip-up and spent her remaining 1 rupee on a box of Phantom sweet cigarettes.

​The ritual was always the same. First, you had to bite off the hard plastic knot at the top of the frozen tube without losing a single drop of the sweet syrup. Then came the sweet, freezing rush of tangy orange ice as you squeezed the plastic from the bottom.

​After finishing the sip-up, Nupur opened the tiny cardboard box of Phantom sweet cigarettes.

 Holding the red-tipped, powdery white candy stick between her index and middle fingers, she puffed imaginary smoke into the summer air, feeling impossibly cool in front of her cousins.

 They sat in a row in the shade of the verandah steps, taking turns "smoking" their candy and comparing whose tongue had turned a brighter shade of orange.

​By the time the bell faded down the end of the lane, her fingers were sticky, her mouth was stained a triumphant shade of orange, and the quiet summer afternoon felt complete.