A snack vendor’s migrations.

[Text and photo by Mayank Austen Soofi]

Seasons shift, and with them come migrations. This cycle is a constant in Mehdi Hasan’s life. Until a few months ago, he was hawking roasted peanuts in a city market—that is his winter trade. During the post-monsoon months, he sells roasted bhuttas.

Now the city has entered what many consider its most hostile phase: summer. And Mehdi Hasan has again migrated back into selling cool, sweet, refreshing bel sherbet. “That’s what I do every summer,” he says, his face breaking into a kind, easy smile, as if untouched by the heat, the dust, the chaotic traffic, and the noise of an April afternoon roadside. The soft-spoken gentleman launched the summertime sherbet ten days ago, he says.

The setup of Mehdi Hasan’s cart is simple: stacks of bel fruit, a juice mixer machine, and an ice chest. “I buy ice from a baraf-wala over there,” he says, gesturing vaguely toward an alley not visible from the vending spot. Mehdi Hasan gets up every morning at five at his residence in Minto Road, and commutes to Azadpur Subzi Mandi to purchase the day’s stock of bel fruit. The juicing machine he uses is new. He purchased it from Lal Kuan in Old Delhi. It costs 5,000 rupees, and he had to borrow most of the money from an acquaintance.

But seasonal hawking is only one segment of Mehdi Hasan’s life. A citizen of the capital, he is also a farmer in his village, and thus is obliged to double up as cyclic migrant. From time to time—“after every two months or so”—he boards a bus to his native Badaun district. “Takes me four-five hours to go from Dilli to my village,” he says. There, he works on his family farm. “It is two bighas, and we are three brothers, so the land alone cannot support us… that’s why I have to live in Delhi for parts of the year.”

As Mehdi Hasan talks of the challenges and compulsions in his life, the tone of his voice retains its easygoing friendliness. Now a customer arrives (see photo) and asks for bel juice with “baraf ke tukde.” It seems the two men are familiar with each other, for they casually chat about work and the weather as Mehdi Hasan extracts a glass of juice. He pours the juice into a green plastic mug, pulls open the lid of the ice box, drops in a piece of ice into the mug, and briskly stirs the juice. He finally presents the glass to his customer, who introduces himself as “Lekhraj, government employee,” energetically praising the quality of the drink in hand.