Skip to main content

The Milk Man

We can buy pasteurised milk in plastic packets from the local shops.  But there is an institute here called the 'doodhwala' (milkman).  He seems to be everywhere.

Where I live, the milkman usually arrives on a bicycle or a motor cycle.  He carries big, steel cartons of milk on his vehicle.  He brings milk which has to be strained and boiled.  We get several litres of milk a day via the milk man.  Most people claim his milk tastes better than the shop milk.  I'm not so sure about that.

There was a milkman coming to our house every day.  He used to send his son to bring the milk for us in the evenings.  Now, the boy probably had a lot of regard for the household across the road from us.  It is a big house and they have a lot of servants.  The ladies of that house never deal with the milkman.  I noticed he used to send the milk into that house in a steel carton. However, he used to come to me in my kitchen and ask me to bring a large pot outside to collect my milk.  I didn't like going out on the road to collect my milk, it made me feel embarrassed doing my kitchen work in front of the neighbourhood.  I asked him several times to pack our milk in the steel container and send it to the kitchen but he wouldn't.  It really got to me because he would arrive, very full of himself and practically order me to come out and collect the milk.   At that time I was usually busy both cooking and serving my children and this milk 'mission' was a nuisance.

Doodhwalas, as the milkmen are called in Hindi, are often accused of cheating, of diluting the milk with water.  Maybe some of them do. One day, when our milk accidentally boiled over (I have no idea WHO was responsible for that!).  I cleaned up the mess quickly so no-one would see it.  I shifted the milk to a very clean pot and added a few glasses of water to make up for the shortfall because of spillage.  That's a little trick I picked up from my senior mother-in-law Aunt Urmila.They tend to go mad in our house if anyone spills milk. One likes to avoid these situations. 

I felt awful the next day though when I heard my father-in-law giving out to the milkman for diluting the milk.  He was giving out hell to him and threatening to go to a different dairy in future.  The milkman, poor thing, apologized and said it wouldn't happen again.  I haven't tried that trick since then.  If the milk is less through boiling over, it stays the way it is!

I've just had a new comment system installed.  If you would like to leave a comment, please click on the title of this post and allow a little time for the comment system to load - thanks!

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Kipling Got it Wrong! Or Eastern and Western Culture - Reflections

What Is Culture?
I’m opening this blog post with a question. What is that elusive concept which is commonly known as ‘culture? Culture is way of life. How we live. What our values are.  Our customs, attitudes and perceptions. And also, I suppose, how we express ourselves in art through, such as music, dance, theatre and cinema.  It’s quite a comprehensive area and not too easy to define, really.



The Journey
I was born in what is commonly known as ‘the west’. I lived in Ireland for the first thirty years of my life. When I was thirty, I married my husband and came out to India to live here with him. That was the beginning of an interesting journey, which is still evolving. I must have had some east/west comparison stereotypes in my head. But in India, I found that the people I met had huge stereotypes in their heads about what they called ‘western culture’ and ‘western way of life’. Not long after I arrived in India, I was struck by the number of people who said things to me like ‘in the …

The Climate in my Hometown LBC Post

I am originally from Dublin in the Republic of Ireland. We have a maritime climate, neither too hot nor too cold. Cool, wet winters and warm summers.  We get the odd freak weather condition, like several feet of snow, once in a while to make life interesting.  Pretty ideal really.  

Now I reside in Lucknow in north India. In the Indo-Gangetic plain.  Cold dry winters, roasting hot summers and a humid rainy season.  It seems like it's always too hot or too cold. Or too humid. Humidity is something I dread.  It brings itching, rashes and all of that.  Okay, too hot will work for me. So will too cold (although I hate dry cold, that's energy-sapping). But humidity is .......not at all good. And that's a euphemism if ever there was one,. 

I wish to dedicate this post to my beloved and erudite rakhi brother Rummuser, who suggested this topic.

And thanks to freedigitalphotos.net for the above illustration, 'Paper Weather Icon Illustration' by SweetCrisis.

The Loose Blogging C…

Impatience

Many years ago, when I lived in Dublin, I met someone nice and started dating. I wasn't serious, I just thought we could have nice interesting discussions about India, which I found absolutely fascinating, as I was working in the Embassy of India back then. I had no intention of getting attached with a foreigner, with all the attendant cultural problems. I was happy living in Ireland and the idea of marriage couldn't have been further from my mind.

We both thought we could just keep things in control. One day, after a lot of emotional turmoil and denial, it hit us both that we were in love. Truly. Madly. Irrevocably. To the point where we couldn't live without each other. I'd known about the Indian system of arranged marriages and when it occurred to me that he would probably be married off by his family as soon as he returned to India, I felt physically ill at the thought. We are both tenacious and patient people. We realised that bringing our two worlds together would…