Kabbadi-Wala

Today, as I strolled down the familiar streets of HSR Layout, the sound of a man riding his mopet caught my attention. He was shouting "Paper," "Bottles," and other familiar calls. Instantly, a wave of nostalgia washed over me, and a smile spread across my face.

It took me back to the long, lazy summer holidays of my childhood. I could almost hear my grandmother—my Bou—calling out to the local kabbadi-wala. She’d ask me and my sister to gather up all the discarded newspapers, old books, empty alcohol bottles, and anything else we could spare. It was her Captain America call - "Avengers, Assemble". She'd urge us to pile it all up for him to weigh.

The kabbadi-wala would haggle with Bou for the best rates. She’d negotiate with an unmatched shrewdness, even promising to refer him to more customers from the neighborhood and family in exchange for a better deal. After a brief but good-natured exchange, he would hand her the small wad of notes.

For our part in the “business,” Bou would pay us a princely sum of 20-25 Rupees each. It felt like a fortune back then, one that we’d spend on our favorite treats. Perhaps on the same afternoon, you’d find my sister savoring Prafulla’s Dahibara (still the best Dahibara I ever had), or me chasing the kulfiwala’s cart that would cool the hottest of days.

I feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude for having been raised in a family that valued these simple, yet profound, moments—shared with Bou. While I am sure our children would create their own memories, I can't help but wonder as families go nuclear, if they will ever experience such carefree days and connections? Will there be a kabbadi-wala in their life that makes summers unforgettable?