A Moment with Abdul Rahman: Life at the Kulfi Cart

“I come here every morning because this work keeps my family going,” Abdul Rahman says

as he sets up his kulfi cart in Mumbai. His words show the journey that brought him here and the daily routine that shapes his life.

Every afternoon in Kandivali East, when the heat rises between tall buildings and traffic hums across narrow lanes, a familiar voice cuts through the stillness — “Kulfi, kulfi, thandi kulfi!” The call belongs to Abdul Rahman, a man who has spent 18 years walking these streets with a metal thela balanced by years of practice. His steady pace, quiet face, and the soft clinking of his kulfi box have become part of the neighbourhood’s daily rhythm.

Rahman sells each kulfi for ₹15, a price he refuses to increase even as the city grows more expensive. For him, this is not just business — it’s his way of making small joys reachable for everyone, whether it’s a kid heading home after cricket or an office worker on a quick break.

A Day That Starts Before Mumbai Wakes Up

Rahman’s morning begins at 4:30 a.m. in a small rented room in Bandra’s Naya Nagar. The room is simple — a stove, a steel pot, one bedsheet — but it’s where his entire day is built. Before sunrise, he prepares his kulfi mix, stirring milk and malai with steady hands. Some weeks allow kesar or pista. On tougher weeks, he makes plain malai — something kids still cheerfully accept. Once the mix cools, he pours it into aluminium molds and packs them in ice and salt inside a metal box. By 10:30 a.m., the box is lifted, balanced onto his shoulder, and his long walk begins.

The Weight He Carries

A full kulfi cart weighs nearly 35 kilos. Years of carrying it have pulled down his wrist and bent his leg, shaping his walk. Standing still hurts, but when the thela rests on his shoulder, his body adjusts— almost as if it remembers the position better than rest.

He walks around 15 kilometres a day, moving through crowded streets, housing societies, school gates, and busy markets. Summer is his best season, but every day brings its own rhythm.

Why He Chose This Work

Rahman came to Mumbai at 19, leaving behind his village in Uttar Pradesh. His father fell ill, and farming wasn’t enough to support the family. A cousin introduced him to the kulfi trade - simple, honest work that didn’t need big investment but demanded big effort.

Those first years were rough. Some days he walked the whole day for barely ₹100. He didn’t know which areas were busy or which timings mattered. Slowly, he learned the pulse of the city — when kids leave school, when families step out, when markets glow with footfall.

The Small Joys That Keep Him Going

For all the physical exhaustion, what keeps Rahman moving are the tiny, unexpected moments — a child's grin, a “bhaiya thank you,” or a familiar customer asking if he has eaten. Some families have been buying from him for more than ten years. Kids who once bought kulfi with pocket change now come to him holding their own children’s hands.

Struggles People Don’t See

Behind his calm routine are challenges most people never notice:

● Monsoon days melt his kulfi too fast.

● Ice prices rise suddenly.

● Room rent increases yearly.

● Without a shop license, he has no guaranteed stability.

● Some days bring so little crowd that he throws away unsold kulfis.

● His family lives far away. He visits them once every two years because travel is expensive.

These struggles stay hidden behind his steady pace.

His Dreams

When asked about the future, Rahman pauses for a moment. He hopes for one thing — a small fixed stall. A place where he won’t have to walk miles every day. A place stable enough for him to bring his wife and sons to Mumbai.

For now, though, he keeps moving. As evening settles, he adjusts the weight on his shoulder and gives a small nod before walking ahead.

“Chalo beta,” he says softly, “some children must be waiting.”

Written by Parth Vipin Tiwari, Grade 7, Shikha Academy, Mumbai

Parth wrote this article as a participant of the Media-Makers Fellowship's Nov'25 cohort.