They like the summer. They prefer the heatwave. It is in extremely high temperature that they prosper the most, says Shiv Shankar. The elderly man dawdles all day long on his bicycle through old Delhi lanes, selling his cool kanji vada.
Shiv Shankar with his youngest son, Praveen Kumar.
Stopping, on this heat-stricken afternoon, by a Daryaganj bylane, he patiently explains that his kanji vada is different from another drink of similar name. “That kanji is a drink usually made of carrot, and consumed in winter. My kanji vada is a drink with (fried) pakodas and it sells the most in summer.” It is essentially heeng water, he says, which is additionally spiced with zeera and rye.
Shiv Shankar works the lanes with his youngest son, Praveen Kumar. His other sons do other works, he says. Praveen stands respectfully by his father, as Shiv Shankar talks of his recent past as a farmer. “We had our own agricultural land near the Yamuna, here in Delhi.” But the family lost the land, forcing both father and son to shift to this business.
Speaking from his experience, the kanji vada seller solemnly remarks that most street food hawkers spread across the city lanes are not cooks by choice. “Most of us are men who would hardly cook at home or anywhere else. But twists and turns in life oblige one to do things one ends up doing.”
Shiv Shankar takes out a glass bottle from a cloth bag slung on his cycle’s handlebar. It is fillled with a green syrupy thing. “It’s pudina paani… we add it to the drink just before serving.”
The shy son finally becomes bold enough to open his mouth and says, “We ground all the spices fresh every morning with a (stone) silbatta.” The women in the family also helps in the preparation, Shiv Shankat points out without being prompted.
Now they prepare a serving for a customer. The drink is stored inside an earthen pot painted red. The pot is fitted on the cycle’s back carrier. Shiv Shankar carefully, quietly opens the lid. A sharp pungent aroma escapes into the hot air. Just this whiff of scent excites the senses. The very first sip does the rest of the work. The spikiness of the heeng spreads a refreshing wakefulness to all corners of the body.
“We’ll now go to Tiraha Behram Khan, then to Chitli Qabar, and from there to Jama Masjid,” the elderly man discloses his itinerary for the rest of the day. One glass costs 20 rupees.
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