Mustapha the Boxman

His father used to come to our house with the
wonderful home baked Cakes in the mud ovens
he made. The cakes were a rich brown and filled
with raisens and nuts and were so divine that no
one ever can forget them. His father used to carry
the cakes with home baked biscuits called Naan Khatais
and other flat homebaked biscuits in a small tin box
which he used to carry on his head all over the house.
He was known as the "Boxman" and then many years ago
he died. His son Mustapha took over the box and today
looking almost exactly like his father - he carries the box
on his head from place to place always on foot which seems
like an incongruity in this age of fast cars and faster bikes
whizzing past the solitary boxman - a living relic of the age
of wonders now long past.
Mustapha always comes to our house like his father before
him and takes orders for the cakes with a small advance
a month or two before Easter and Christmas as well as the
new year and Diwali and Rakhee and Id and all the other
big festivals of this great multicultural country - India.
A few days ago he came to our house and like always we
bought a cake - this time it exceeded every expectation -
perhaps the best he has ever made and I am still regretting
that I did not buy some more .....
These are the photos I and Abha took with him with his
cakes and his box......What Nostalgia - being with this simple
man - still brimming with smiles and humour despite his
most arduous life ....