What a dreary winter this has been! The Sun decided to take a long, long sabbatical, and the NCR was left pining for Ravi Bhaiyya. The only upside was the missing clamour for tree pruning so that shaded houses could get an hour’s sun. There just was no Sun to be unHad!
Lohri time came, and frozen fingers piled up the wood collected from the Sector. A vigorous drive by the electricity department to clear its overhead wires had produced a handsome heap of logs, predominated by the dreaded Alstonia, Spring Residence to sap-producing mealy slugs. Still leafy, I was doubtful about its fire-catching abilities but was overridden by the redoubtable lady guard, who insisted that all the oily sap left behind by last year’s bug population would ensure a roaring fire.
The 7 PM congregation was scraggly. The Mali’s children, unbelievably underdressed, but impervious to the cold, constituted the bulk of the crowd, along with a few volunteers, shivering in the chill. Hot ginger tea, desi-style alleviated their woes a bit, but, as the minute’s tick-tocked away, it seemed that the weather was too much for our residents. The fog began to settle in, and we scampered to arrange cover for the revari-moongphali-popcorn packets, to prevent them from turning into a soggy mess.
Some distance away, near the high-mast light, I observed a van with a couple of attendants. Curious, I approached it and was baffled to see… an Ice Cream Counter, filled with 6 different flavors. Well, I never! I have heard of fighting fire with fire, but fighting the cold with ice was a new one! Nothing loth, I requested a scoop each of butterscotch and American nut. As I strolled back to the now swelling crowd, I was greeted with Oohs and Aahs of disbelief. But no child can resist ice cream, and that too free, and the children made a beeline for the counter, ignoring parental warnings.
Time for the fire, and we struggled to get things going. The foggy nights had soaked the logs with dew, and the Lady Guards’ pseudo-science proved unfounded. The logs refuse to light. Worse, I had forgotten to melt the ghee, so it sat there in blobs, looking stolid and unresponsive. It had been decided to honour the cleaning staff for their services by asking them to light the ceremonial fire, and God bless them, they knew their stuff, breaking small twigs and using newspaper and some hastily borrowed kerosene to get the fire going. But even as things started looking up, we found the centre of attraction had shifted from the fire to the Ice Cream Counter. Bacche to bacche, Baap re Baap. In this particular case Maa re MMMMMaa. The mothers, chiding their children for endangering their health, first sheepishly, then unabashedly began quaffing the good stuff, taking multiple scoops and raising a Cone Toast to the sponsor, our resident, Mr Sachdeva, for his generosity.
Anita Bhalwar, for once, was unable to work her magic and get people to join in the singing and dancing around the fire. The crowd preferred the festivities around the Ice Cream parlour. Sweety, too, stood forlorn amidst her Prasad and chai. Finally, they gave up. Whatever works, they shrugged, and headed for their quota of cones.
Though the bonfire was a bit of a damp squib, the festivities were an unqualified success. I am happy to report: that not a single case of throat infection was reported. Icecreams is now a household name in the Sector.
