What countries do you want to visit?
It was 5 am in the early winter morning. The road was empty and the shops in front were closed. Among them, the milkman’s shop stood out, with its neat and new appearance and the bright red board on the top showing the name of the brand in white and in small black font, the name of the shop.
In the silence, the sound of bicycle pedals turning could be heard. The milkman was coming as he did every day, without fail. He worked along with his father who would join him later but he would arrive without fail. A work he considered of utmost importance and thus came even on the days when health was not so supporting.
The milkman passed his shop on the bicycle and returned a few minutes later walking. He had parked the bicycle in a designated parking spot. He opened the shutter of the shop and inside was a long white counter covering the entrance with a small part towards the left end which could be lifted for entering the shop. Behind the counter were refrigerators with glass doors showing all the milk-based products that the milkman sold.
Soon, the milk van arrived to give a supply of fresh milk for the day. As the milk van left, the milk delivery men came. Filling up their containers with milk while also placing the milk filled glass bottles in their vehicles. Their vehicles were customised in order to keep the containers and the bottles properly. As the delivery men began to leave, the joggers and walkers started coming with bags and small milk containers.
Then came those, whose duty it was at home to get the milk early in the morning for consumption along with breakfast, before everyone headed out for work or studies, children were also part of this crowd.
A while later came those who weren’t in a hurry, like Mr Kakati who would come on his old scooter which would probably fail a pollution check. Mr Kakati was a retired professor, a bit too irritated with the world, which began with the country he lived in.
“Keep the scooter at home. The walk will be good for you,” said the milkman packing Mr Kakati’s every day order
“What else am I going to do with the scooter now that I am retired? This is its use now,” said Mr Kakati
The milkman handed the bill to Mr Kakati.
“What is this?” said Mr Kakati a little angry, “the prices have gone up again, since when?”
“Since today,” said the milkman, sounding a little guilty even though it wasn’t his decision to make, rather the company’s.
“I am telling you, any more rise in price, I am going to go and live for a while in another country,” said Mr Kakati, to which a few other customers in the shop smiled.
“Where would you go?” asked the milkman
“Somewhere quiet, green with mountains, river, weather which gives you the best sleep and is certainly more affordable,” said Mr Kakati
“I think going north might do the trick, you won’t have to leave the nation,” said the milkman, “besides, you will miss us, and we will miss you too, so stay..”
Mr Kakati looked at the milkman for a brief moment and then he picked up his things and quickly turned away as if to hide a sudden rush of emotions he would rather keep to himself.
Written by Anuran Chatterji
Early Morning Memories 