Among the non-medicinal mood-enhancers, a generous scoop of ice cream would arguably be the first among equals. Kids would swear that in its fight for supremacy a cone ice cream cannot be ‘licked’. Many who are blessed with a full tank of insulin in the pancreas, guaranteed to harness the sugar, will not look glum, gloomy, woeful or doleful while enjoying an ice cream, spoon by spoon.
However, there is a lobby of non-diabetic killjoys, food faddists and prophets of doom who would give the cold shoulder to such a magical concoction of dairy products and settle for a glass of insipid warm water as a substitute. “If a rose is not appreciated, it is not the fault of the rose”!
A long time back, when ice cream parlours, kiosks and vending machines were not yet there, a mobile vendor would bring his push cart during festivals, ringing a bell aloud with synchronous vibration, that made the kids salivate in a conditioned reflex. The ice cream man’s modus operandi was simple. Taking a block of ice he will make flakes as a carpenter would using his plane. He will collect a handful of them and press around a small flat stick. And look at you, watching the preparation in situ , with indescribable rapture. Upon your order, he would sprinkle on them colourful syrups from the line-up of bottles.
One of the round house punches juvenile diabetes demonically gives a child is the denial of ice cream into its system bereft of insulin. A mysore pak? No. Jilebi? No. Jangiri? No. A scoop of ice cream? It would be analogous to a ravenous cat that would never refuse yet another serving of cream or fish. Barons of branded ice cream, as a sales pitch, periodically organise a mela, where for a fixed admission fee entrants can polish off great dollops from the colourful spread. The ground rule? One should not go out and re-enter. Who would?
A vanishing breed
Customarily, fat and bald-headed maternal uncles had a special space in their large hearts for their nephews and nieces. Such indulgent and mirthful men are progressively becoming extinct with the single-child concept in vogue.
In the good old days they would willingly promise to take the kids out to the zoo followed by an ice cream treat, after exercising a veto against the parental objections. Such avuncular men kept their promises made and never wrote them with invisible ink on water.
Notwithstanding advancements in dentistry that may facilitate the removal of a tooth like pulling out a head of white radish from wet soil, a child would shudder at the prospect of a visit to the dental ‘drillmaster’.
The mother, who has to coax the recalcitrant child (the daddy, lord and master, will meanwhile be very busy at home watching the re-run of the World Cup match, and the cheerleaders’ gyrations), will employ the promise that she will take him/her to the ice cream parlour offering a baffling variety. This will be a bait to keep the child’s mind away so the dentist may ply his trade without gritting his teeth.
Barbara Johnson, the American litterateur, felt that ‘humour is the chocolate chips in the ice cream of life.’ A jokesmith who spells magic with words points out that when you are stressed you should eat ice cream to get over it.
The reason? The word ‘stressed’ is so structured that when spelt backwards it becomes ‘desserts’!
writerjsr@gmail.com
