If you have to ask you'll never know ! [L.Armstrong]... thats Louis not Lance.

Oct 20, 2010

66-000-666 Home Delivery.

Everything comes to he who waits. Especially in Bandra. Where we have everything delivered home. Groceries and liquor. Fish and newspapers, and thats not counting the newspaper the fish came wrapped in. Thums up Pepsi’s and vegetables. Ok Ok bhaji’s. You call Nandu the vegetable vendor in Pali market to deliver. Or hail the passing bhajiwallas pushcart . Whose owner tries to sell you four different kinds of vegetable when all you wanted was tomatoes. For the lunch salad. Burgers from Andoras, Candies or even McDonalds. Coconuts delivered by a man on a cycle. Whom you can commission to give you a coconut every day, every other day, every Monday, or every other Monday. He’s a Keralite. He remembers.
Bread. Fresh and hot. Straight from the oven. Put into a bag you hang out on the door every night. And the tooth fairy fills it up while you sleep. She must be flying straight in from the oven to your door with the pao because thats the only way it can be delivered at the temperature it is. The paowalla makes an evening round too. He adds to his repertoire for the evening round. Patties or is it pattices, rolls, an assortment of biscuits and eggs.
The jaripuranawala. Who shows up with his weighing scales. Scales that show 1.2 kgs for every 1kg of weight as measured at the International Bureau of weights and measures. So you try and slip some Candies cake boxes [ Empty and unfolded flat ] in between the newspapers to level the playing field. Bottles, books, a toaster that doesn’t toast, a non stick frying pan that sticks . Everything has a price. The jaripuranawala uses a hand cart or a bag. The jaripuranawali uses a basket. A big round cane basket that you have to help her load onto her head after the deal is concluded.
Flowers are delivered home. By a delivery boy who is frsher than the boquet he’s carrying. Clara on the ground floor inspects the card attached. She then discovers that its your birthday / the wifes wedding anniversary . So she ‘s going to drop by around dinner time for sure. And when you say stay for dinner she’ll say “ no, no, I just came to wish you’ll “ But you , she and the Pope all know that shes going to be breaking bread with you’ll.
Dhobiwallas who come on a cycle with a bundle of BandStand dried laundry on the carrier. Who walk into the house and say ‘ Kapda Nikalo ‘. Stop right there. You exhibitionist. You look for the calendar where the tally of shirts shorts pants and nighties always leaves the dhobi making promises to find your favourite pants before his next visit. Which he does , because by then his nephews thread ceremony will be over and he does’nt need your Raymonds double knit pants anymore.
Smartly dressed young men selling mobile phones, internet connections, and Jehovas witnesses. Peddling a version of God that has you trembling at the knees. Who a guy who’s selling a gas alarm assures you you will be meeting very soon if you don’t buy his fail safe device.Something to awaken you from the deepest slumber when your Burshane gas cylinder springs a leak in the middle of the night.
Even communion. But for that you have to be sick or old . And the delivery is outsourced. To euchrastic ministers to whom you confess all of your neighbours sins. Coffins of course have to delivered home so that Uncle Aldo can be removed from the camp cot and the ice be given a fresh coat of salt. Aiz Uncle Aldo Falea Tuka.


patrice said...

lovely to be reading your article after so long...really enjoyed it! and so very, very true. Except you forgot, these days, the bhajiwalla, and the kelawalla have cell phones, so you can call them up and place your order which he delivers as soon as he's at your door step!

Anonymous said...

Super stuff !

Dean said...

I miss the old man with the tin trunk filled with biscuits. He'd come every week. Ginger biscuits, wine biscuits, cheeselings even before they had a brandname.

And the woman who'd bring puranpolis, and the old kulfi guy, with his big broad smile and the magical way kulfi's slid out of the mold.

Kulfi doesnt taste the same anymore, neither do puranpolis, and nobody knows what a wine biscuit is.


Anonymous said...

Bandrabuggers! You are the best! I must pick up copies when I come to India I hear your book is a best seller:)

clemde@gmail.com said...

Hey Patrice thats right. Everyone and their dog has a cell phone today.
Anonymous you have to be the most active commentator on the blog . :). Keep them coming. You can't go wrong with Fabulous, Awesome, Great stuff etc. Etc. Etc. Etc.
Dean. I wonder when the Puranpoli lady stopped coming around. Haven't heard her for a few years with her Puranpoli paizhe Kai bai call. We now get our puranpolis from prabhat poultry at Dadar. And our wine biscuits from Poona. Soon it's all going to come from China.

jdsilva@airdberlis.com said...

I loved the articles. Just coming back after 3 months of living at Pali Hill - all those characters are so fresh in my mind....loved the blog

menopausal_ballerina said...

I want a wine biscuit..

What's that bit about the ice again? Was it kept below the camp cot to him U.A. fresh?