Ice cream

---

To get to work, I am picked up and dropped off by a van in a large traffic circle, which is a 15 to 20 minute walk to my home, depending on how long it takes to cross the road. I tend to take a rickshaw in the morning because it’s so early and in the evening I walk home since I’ve been sitting all day. I often get children, mothers with babies, disabled people, old people calling “Madam! Madam!” and running up to me for money. Usually I’m trying to avoid attention from everybody so I keep walking. On Monday I was feeling a little different because I had a good day at work and had also given to a beggar for the first time that morning—a mango to a mother. So sure enough, up comes a professional little man calling “Madam! Madam! Money! Money!” I look at him and say no but he continues, patting his stomach. I turn to him and tell him in Bengali that I won’t give him money but I’ll buy him food. Like the woman in the morning, he actually doesn’t want food. “Money!” he pleads in English. I say no and keep walking. “I am baby!” he says in English. You are not a baby, you are a big kid, I say in Bengali. Do you want food? I ask. He seems both convinced he’s not getting money and that he can talk to me in Bengali—out of the trained English begging words he has learned. Khabar? Food? I repeat. “Iysh creeem!” he suddenly says with glowing eyes. It is melting hot outside and I don’t blame any 7 year old for wanting some ice cream. I agree and ask him if he knows a store nearby where I can get it. Of course he does, follow him. He’s jabbering anyway in Bengali about the kind of ice cream I need to get. And make sure I buy two of them. Doota! Two! he repeats as the half-naked boy leaves me at the sliding glass doors of the brightly lit supermarket. I make my way to the ice cream case and look them over, finally deciding on simple vanilla ice cream cups. I grab a plastic spoon and check out. I’m treated with utmost politeness because I have white skin and a wallet. Up in a corner of the big glass window, I see the dark-skinned little boy with eager eyes hoping I don’t let him down. I leave the store but he apparently lost track of me because his face is still pressed up against the window. “Hey,” I call to him in English. He spins around, “Iyysshhh creeeam!” he says with a smile and takes the cups and spoon from me. I turn and begin to walk away.
“Byyyee!” I hear called behind me in English and I turn around to see a huge smile and a frantically waving hand. I laugh, “Deka hobe!” “See you!” I call back and continue on my way home. Turning onto my street corner, I suddenly realize I should have gotten two spoons. It didn’t even cross my mind why it was so important to him to have two ice creams. I didn’t even think there might be someone he wanted to share with.

---