Coolerz

That afternoon was terribly sad. It would not be wrong to call it the saddest in his almost 20-year-old career as an ice-cream vendor in the small but pulsating town known for its handicraft items. A girl in school dress with an overloaded bag pointed her finger towards Karim Chacha’s kulfi. Her demand was instantly rejected by her health-freak Mom. She was admonished not to pester for such junk; a string of reasons, mostly related to health and hygiene, was rattled off but they meant little to the child. Finally, to cheer her up, she said in a mellowed tone: “Don’t be stubborn, Sweetie, wait a minute, I will get you Bobbins from the other side of the road.”

A nice slim and trim stick wrapped in bright orange plastic cover was planted like a stick of rose in her right hand. But the smile that does not take even a second to spread on a child’s countenance when she gets an ice-cream, was struggling to make an appearance on that cherubic face. It seemed as if she were having a glass of milk, not ice cream. From a distance she was still furtively eyeing Karim Chacha’s kulfi, feeling sorry that from now on it was only going to be Bobbins for her. A mother always gives her child the best. And for those who do not know: Bobbins was an ice-cream giant the world over, adored by mothers and lovers alike. 

Karim Chacha could not shrug off this slur. He had never conducted his business for profit alone. He had always used clean potable water, fresh milk, and permitted colours in small measures. Allah would send him to hell on the Day of Judgement, he feared, if he sold impure products to children. Bobbins was only a week old in this inconsequential town, but people were already swearing by its quality. Advertising had done it all, trampling the fortunes of vendors like Karim to pulp.

To sell his “local” brand, Karim Chacha now ventured to the outskirts of the town, where Bobbins was yet to arrive. His clientele comprised men of swarthy complexion, toiling in the agricultural fields or pulling carts, who placed the icy packet on the head for a minute before sending it in. But in a short time, Bobbins became ubiquitous, conquering territory after territory, while Karim Chacha became tense, burdened as he was with the fear of imminent extinction. He rushed to the mosque more than five times a day.

Had Debnath not sold off an odd piece of inherited land and invested the proceeds in the dealership of Bobbins, Karim Chacha would not have been pitch-forked into this crisis. Exposure through frequent visits to the city had made Debnath quite smart, even though he did not know the difference between sugar and saccharine. Not that Karim Chacha was scared of competition (he had several business rivals in the past and Debnath’s father was one) or wanted monopoly; but this time there was no level-playing field. His rival was not Debnath but Bobbins – an entity simply gigantic.

A traditional saying is that even an ant can sometimes kill an elephant. Was it possible for him to do so? Debnath could be edged out only if he adopted malevolent methods. “One night when all are asleep, I will stealthily take away Debnath’s carriage and throw it from a cliff. Another option could be to flatten a tyre of Debnath’s carriage every day, so that he did not make it to the school on time,” he thought aloud. Whenever Karim Chacha tried to relax on the cot after his early return, such morbid thoughts assailed him. When his mind suggested that a dead cockroach could be put inside Debnath’s ice chamber he became too frightened of his potential to do evil. He jumped out of his cot, uttering Allah’s name in quick succession, and headed for the mosque.

On his way back home, he thought of meeting his friend, Basheer. Perhaps he could enlighten him. Basheer heard his story while playing a game of bridge with him. “Karim bhai, times are changing now. I think it would be sensible of you to sell that manufacturing unit of yours – don’t be sentimental please. Why don’t you become a franchisee of another ice-cream giant that’s soon coming to India? They have solicited offers, there was an ad in the paper – okay, I will help you out with it.” Karim knew his weaknesses well. He could not sell at the price fixed by Bobbins, he did not have the advertising support except the raucous jingle of his rusted bell, and he could not offer free gifts. Therefore, Basheer’s advice he could not ignore. He was not asked to bend, just to be flexible. Moreover, this was the only way to make things difficult for Debnath. He smiled and thanked Basheer. “Maybe, Allah wishes it this way – He is helping me through you,” he said.

Things took shape the way it was planned. Now he had a uniform and a flashy three-wheeler to ride. He was happy because Debnath was unhappy. Coolerz became a raging hit –the talk of the town; business was brisk for Karim Chacha after a long time. Parents who earlier avoided him were now queuing up. He was amazed by the power of the brand and laughed to his heart’s content the day he tasted it.

A tall, well-dressed gentleman not frequently seen in the town was hovering near his carriage. After looking wistfully at the missing letters in the school board: “-econdary to-n –chool”, he introduced himself to Karim Chacha as Arun, a former student of this school, who never went home without relishing his kulfi. This chip of information warmed the cockles of Karim Chacha’s heart. “All these years I was studying in America and among the things I missed very much, your kulfi figured prominently. As soon as I came home, I wanted to savour your kulfi, but…” It did not require an explanation for him to understand that Karim Chacha was a victim of current market trends.

The school bell rang, the iron gates were thrown open and kids fished out coins for Coolerz. Karim diverted his attention from Arun and concentrated on the cacophonous demands of the teeming crowd of children around his carriage for this flavour and that. A cute little boy, a little overweight and finding it hard to manage the wobbly water bottle and wipe his running nose at the same time – ran as fast as he could before the stock ended. Arun remembered his own childhood and a similar urgency for kulfi. But he noticed no glint of joy in Karim Chacha’s eyes when he handed over the sticks and cups. He appeared to be just another businessman, conducting his business with utmost professionalism. This was not the Karim Chacha he knew, so uninvolved, so cold, so silent, so intently counting the money. He was discovering a new person. Most disturbing for Arun was the sight of Karim Chacha selling ice-cream to a boy sneezing in rapid succession. Arun remembered the day Karim Chacha refused to give him Kulfi because he was suffering from cold.

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