My Day Today
And I was getting late as usual to work and battled my way across the construction signs on the local roads and finally managed to get on freeway not before giving the “I was here first look” and the occasional honk and now that I was comfortably moving at the
Needle on the 20 mph, I had the comfort of taking a sip of the freshly brewed coffee my sweet wife had handed me before I left home and then pushed the decibels up to a comfortable level on the radio. That’s when I thought I heard something familiar and yes I was correct it was the distant voice of the street hawkers vibrating in distant harmony with an occasional tinkle on the bell and this one was apparently one who would sharpen kitchen knives. It was the Morning edition on NPR and the program was about the “The Lost Sounds of Old Beijing” and how family run older professions are being given up for more advanced and less labor intensive work for higher pay.
But the melodic noise and cries made by the knife sharpening hawker on the radio sent me thinking down the memory lane where we would all be eagerly waiting on a hot summer afternoon for a similar rhythmic note, there is the loud roar when heard the first time but then there is calm again just to wait for it again and all are listening as carefully as one can just to confirm. The sense of anticipation, happiness and disappointment can be seen in the group waiting, disappointment is because none wanted the sound to fade, which meant there was more time to wait until the next street is taken care of. To loud cheer it’s heard again this time closer, the sound is a mild tap on the side of a hollow wooden chest followed by the ring of a little bell. He is here the Stick Ice cream guy pushing his little two wheel cart with hand painted pictures of stick ice in various colors on the side and a shade on the top, shade was probably to keep the ice chest cool.
The wait is over, time to get the savings in exchange for the favorite stick ice. However the wait is eminent the kids from the next block who couldn’t face the disappointment of him choosing this street followed his way. There were always fixed places the cart would stop probably to allow a larger group of people. Summer time was the one time when I would get to wait for the ice-cream guy, with schools given a vacation there are a lot of kids around the place and the eagerness is just the same all around. The severe Indian summer heat makes the parents set a time to play out in the open when it gets a little cooler in the evenings, waiting for the ice cream would keep us occupied for a longer period of time which was better than playing board games or being forced to start studying for the next years courses at hand in school.
Apart from the one or two grown ups who would bring in their toddlers for a treat, the rest were all in a groups, usually the playing together group. You could scream out what you wanted the best but you had to wait your turn and everyone was served with equal importance. Mango was the favorite flavor of the time but mine was Grape, we would suck out the sweet flavor first turning the side into white ice before biting carefully not as to break the whole ice of the stick. With water dripping of the side of the stick and the effort not to waste one drop of it and most of all the warning received from the mom not to stain the clothes would make all the kids with the sticks in their hands walk precariously while the others who are still in line are hoping to do the same sooner and have a slight worried face as they see many mango ice sticks around hoping there would be some left in the box for them , but sure is a refreshing and a happy moment when you finally get one and there was always enough for everyone.
Just like that all get what they wanted and start leaving with probably a couple of sticks in their hands still following the same precision for someone home after shelling their hard earned money with colorful lips telling the flavor they had and I stand there trying to get a good look on the side of his wooden ice box before I leave with my Grape ice stick, guess I was just making sure the ice box was intact and that I can continue to keep my ears tuned to the distinct noise in a way that I wouldn’t miss seeing him the next time he goes by.
All are gone and I start walking my way back and a couple of moments later I hear the same beat, there is a sudden rush of excitement and I turn around to see the stick ice cream guy take a turn to the next street just to be eagerly welcomed by others. But for now I am still holding the dried out stick and my fingers have a purple shade on them from the stick ice and I am relieved that it is still the same sound I would have to wait for.
Guess anticipation of good things happening in the future holds more value and excitement than the present and seldom do we remember that we are probably still holding a dried out stick, maybe its time we look at the colored fingers and tell ourselves
Yes I will wait for the sound again with the same zeal but for now I have the stick ice in my hands giving me a reason to wait and happy that I could get one today.
Needle on the 20 mph, I had the comfort of taking a sip of the freshly brewed coffee my sweet wife had handed me before I left home and then pushed the decibels up to a comfortable level on the radio. That’s when I thought I heard something familiar and yes I was correct it was the distant voice of the street hawkers vibrating in distant harmony with an occasional tinkle on the bell and this one was apparently one who would sharpen kitchen knives. It was the Morning edition on NPR and the program was about the “The Lost Sounds of Old Beijing” and how family run older professions are being given up for more advanced and less labor intensive work for higher pay.
But the melodic noise and cries made by the knife sharpening hawker on the radio sent me thinking down the memory lane where we would all be eagerly waiting on a hot summer afternoon for a similar rhythmic note, there is the loud roar when heard the first time but then there is calm again just to wait for it again and all are listening as carefully as one can just to confirm. The sense of anticipation, happiness and disappointment can be seen in the group waiting, disappointment is because none wanted the sound to fade, which meant there was more time to wait until the next street is taken care of. To loud cheer it’s heard again this time closer, the sound is a mild tap on the side of a hollow wooden chest followed by the ring of a little bell. He is here the Stick Ice cream guy pushing his little two wheel cart with hand painted pictures of stick ice in various colors on the side and a shade on the top, shade was probably to keep the ice chest cool.
The wait is over, time to get the savings in exchange for the favorite stick ice. However the wait is eminent the kids from the next block who couldn’t face the disappointment of him choosing this street followed his way. There were always fixed places the cart would stop probably to allow a larger group of people. Summer time was the one time when I would get to wait for the ice-cream guy, with schools given a vacation there are a lot of kids around the place and the eagerness is just the same all around. The severe Indian summer heat makes the parents set a time to play out in the open when it gets a little cooler in the evenings, waiting for the ice cream would keep us occupied for a longer period of time which was better than playing board games or being forced to start studying for the next years courses at hand in school.
Apart from the one or two grown ups who would bring in their toddlers for a treat, the rest were all in a groups, usually the playing together group. You could scream out what you wanted the best but you had to wait your turn and everyone was served with equal importance. Mango was the favorite flavor of the time but mine was Grape, we would suck out the sweet flavor first turning the side into white ice before biting carefully not as to break the whole ice of the stick. With water dripping of the side of the stick and the effort not to waste one drop of it and most of all the warning received from the mom not to stain the clothes would make all the kids with the sticks in their hands walk precariously while the others who are still in line are hoping to do the same sooner and have a slight worried face as they see many mango ice sticks around hoping there would be some left in the box for them , but sure is a refreshing and a happy moment when you finally get one and there was always enough for everyone.
Just like that all get what they wanted and start leaving with probably a couple of sticks in their hands still following the same precision for someone home after shelling their hard earned money with colorful lips telling the flavor they had and I stand there trying to get a good look on the side of his wooden ice box before I leave with my Grape ice stick, guess I was just making sure the ice box was intact and that I can continue to keep my ears tuned to the distinct noise in a way that I wouldn’t miss seeing him the next time he goes by.
All are gone and I start walking my way back and a couple of moments later I hear the same beat, there is a sudden rush of excitement and I turn around to see the stick ice cream guy take a turn to the next street just to be eagerly welcomed by others. But for now I am still holding the dried out stick and my fingers have a purple shade on them from the stick ice and I am relieved that it is still the same sound I would have to wait for.
Guess anticipation of good things happening in the future holds more value and excitement than the present and seldom do we remember that we are probably still holding a dried out stick, maybe its time we look at the colored fingers and tell ourselves
Yes I will wait for the sound again with the same zeal but for now I have the stick ice in my hands giving me a reason to wait and happy that I could get one today.
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