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.

This Christmas!

Every year growing up he’d look at the Christmas cards. That came from everywhere. With their pictures of snow and Christmas trees. With fire places that burnt golden over Santas stuck in chimneys. Far removed from here where if the fan wasn’t on you broke into a sweat. Here, where the closest thing you saw to snow was when you scraped the frost out of the deep freeze. And he told himself that one day he’d see a real Christmas.
See the snow fall. And figure out how they said that each snowflake was unique. While he ate turkey and drank eggnog. Stoking up the fire as the flames went low. He’d done it. He was in the land of snow and turkey. A land where every shop was decorated for the season. Where every house on every street had something on display that celebrated Christmas. Even the subway had happy xmas grafitti. They’d just spelt xmas, XXXmas.
Funny, more than offensive.
A light snowfall as if on order. To bring those old Christmas cards to life. A mass where the preacher was inspired. The fellowship after almost made him feel at home. The real Christmas tree that towered over everyone as they stood around singing carols. Call it a night and head to bed. Gotta call home first. Maybe that would fill the hole that all the Christmas trees and snow and turkey and street corner and mall Santa’s couldn’t fill.