Hello mineral water, goodbye pitchers
Aradhika Sharma

Hand carts with machine ka thanda paani and pitchers placed outside homes to quench the thirst of passersby are dying practices

Given the Indian tradition of keeping pitchers for thirsty passersby, selling of water seems ironical
Given the Indian tradition of keeping pitchers for thirsty passersby, selling of water seems ironical

The other day I was driving along the road that leads to the Sukhna Lake. As I crossed the Rock Garden, I noticed a couple of rehris on which were placed pots covered in red cloth, regularly wettened by the rehriwala to keep the contents cool, decorated with sprigs of mint and strings of lemon. Jal Jeera and shikanjvi (lemonade) was contained in the pots and being sold at Rs 10 per glass. The glasses, of course, were cursorily rinsed in a handy bucket of water after a customer had drunk deep and long and put to use again. (A fine example of recycling and reusing; and a finer example of immense "un-hygiene" (to coin a word)

Anyhow, it did get me thinking of summer thirst busters and it struck me that there's no replacement for good old aqua. The thought suddenly followed that there's no machine ka thanda paani cart in Chandigarh. Do these machines still exist?

I remember the summer days in Delhi, days when phalsawalas would sell the tart berries nestled in baskets lined with big leaves, walking along dusty streets, calling out their wares in the hot afternoons. The chuskiwalas would set up their carts outside public parks and the popcornwalas would make popcorn on hot sand in a karahi placed on a cart, where the popcorn competed to be bought with the bhuna chanas.

Right next to these vendors would be the silver cart with refrigerated water, on which was written in bold red letters: Machine Ka Thanda Paani. I remember when we could get a small glass for 10 paise and a bigger glass for 15 paisa. Last I recollect buying water from these machines, I paid Re 1 for a glass. And after that, never risked it again, preferring to carry a bottle of water from home or simply purchase a bottle of mineral water. And as it sometimes happens, when you have no use for something, you stop noticing its existence. And so I stopped seeing the thanda paani machines and now I wonder if these machines have receded into the past, pushed there by the ubiquitous mineral water bottle.

Vanishing piyaus

Do you remember the tradition of piyaus in town of Punjab, UP and Delhi? Small booths in marketplaces where a man would sit in an enclosure, dispensing water to thirsty passersby? The water-dispensing man was later replaced by taps but drinking water was still available. I'm wondering if the piyaus still exist in the smaller towns of India at least. Places where people are still accepting of community drinking water points and not as petrified of the germs they may be ingesting or the virus the water may contain, as people in big cities are.

Matkas and surahis

Some households too, would place matkas and surahis (earthen pots) with a metal dispenser tied to the neck of the pot, outside their homes or shops, to quench the thirst of people. Anyone could stop and drink and the pots were replenished when fresh water came in the municipal water supply. How thoughtful was that gesture! How simple. To provide water to people you didn't even know. Just so that they would not go thirsty.

Ancient men of water

Talking about the water traditions, the bhishti is a breed that's getting hard to find. Though you can still see bhishtis around Jama Masjid in the walled city of Old Delhi and in the older mohallas of Mumbai such as Minara Masjid, Dongri Mohammed Ali Road, Null Bazaar and Bhishti Mohalla.

These men of water with their mashaqs or leather water bags, traditionally made of goatskins, belong to the Bhishti tribes of Uttar Pradesh, Haryana, Gujarat and Rajasthan, who have been in the water carrying business for generations. Many of them migrated to metros to look for livelihood. Bhishtis used to ferry water to homes and to army camps and water from the mashaqs would be used to settle the afternoon dust of the streets in summer in North India. Quenchers of thirst, but increasingly few in number, Bhishtis still carry on one of the oldest surviving professions.

Is it the mineral water bottles or is it the fear of e-coli and gastroenteritis or is it the dizzying pace of India urbanising or could it just be that we really don't care for the thirst of our fellow men any more that is the cause of the disappearing matkas, bhishtis, cold water from the machine and piyaus? I really couldn't tell. But it makes me sad that our ancient water traditions are silently bowing out to sterilised water in a plastic bottle.

But you know what? I'm going to buy a matka and place it outside my home to quench the thirst of tired passersby. I just hope no one steals my matka!

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