Ice Lolly

I got so angry with my sister when she asked me to visit the flour mill to grind the wheat, rice and chillies.

Like any teen, I used to get embarrassingly embarrassed about many things. I detested this mundane task, fearing that my classmates, especially the girls, might see me riding the bicycle with the dented aluminium containers dangling on the handlebar. After some moaning, I agreed.

While returning, I bought an ice lolly and, licking it intermittently, proudly rode the bicycle with one hand. At that time, my classmate Raja overtook me in his dad’s scooter and waved at me naughtily. I reciprocated instinctively, releasing the handlebar.

Suddenly I realised that I was lying flat on the roadside amidst a weird rangoli made of flours, and my hand gripping the ice lolly intact.

Slurping the ice, my eyes slowly scanned for any familiar faces in the frowning, staring crowd.

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