Chowmein, loneliness & a dream buried in Bihar : Life on Sumit’s cart

At 18, Sumit flips noodles in Pulwama to keep his family afloat.

“People who can run their homes and still aren’t grateful,” he says, “that’s their adversity.”

Sumit Kumar Gupta stands behind his food cart in a maroon kurta, sleeves rolled up. He’s focused on the hot tawa in front of him, where noodles sizzle. His hands move quickly, stirring, flipping, mixing. His face is calm but serious - like someone who knows his work well. He doesn’t speak much while cooking, but his eyes move often, checking ingredients, keeping things in order. His cart is neat. Boiled noodles in one corner, eggs stacked nearby, sauces placed carefully.

Sumit, while he was making chowmein for a customer.

Sumit is just 18 years old. He came to Pulwama, Kashmir, from Bhaka district in Bihar a year ago. His father already lived here and runs a pakoda cart nearby. “My father has high blood pressure,” Sumit says. “So I came here to stay with him.”

Sumit’s mother and siblings still live back in Bihar. He visits during exam time, as he is still enrolled in a local college there. “I don’t get to attend much. I only go when exams happen,” he explains.

Every day, Sumit wakes up at 5 a.m. He starts his day by making rotis, cutting salad, boiling noodles, and making chutney. He then cleans his cart and gets everything ready. By 10 a.m., he sets up in Pulwama’s main market. He quickly visits his rented room around 1 p.m. for a short break and returns to work again. In the evening, around 7 p.m., he wraps up and heads back. There, he washes utensils, chops cabbage and green chilies for the next day, and cooks dinner for himself and his father. He ends his day around 9:30 p.m. “I don’t get time to study. I only study before exams,” he says quietly.

Sumit makes everything on the cart by himself—chowmein, egg rolls, anda fry. “Around 50 to 65 customers come daily. I earn around 500 to 600 rupees a day after all expenses,” he shares. “Sometimes it gets tough. The rent, food, and all costs—it’s hard to manage.”

He built his cart himself, using wood and wheels. “It cost me 12,000 rupees. My father helped, but I made it in one or two days,” he says, with a quiet pride.

Sumit’s life isn’t easy.

“I feel lonely every day,” he admits. “I miss my family a lot. I talk to them over the phone. But living away from them is hard.”

He says that lately, he feels like giving up. He worries about his father's health and the tough situation. “I don’t want to stay here. I want to go back and open a shop in Bihar,” he says.

His family is worried too. “They are scared. Because of the current situation here, like what happened in Pahalgam and the tensions between India and Pakistan, they want us to come back. But there’s no work there.”

Sumit once wanted to be an engineer. “But due to money problems, I couldn’t even choose the non-medical stream,” he says. “Now I study humanities.” His dream feels far away now. “It’s finished. There’s nothing.”

Still, he holds on to small hopes.

“For me, happiness is being at home. I just want to see my family happy. That’s enough.”

When asked what his cart would say to him if it could speak, he says, “It would say—make me better, turn me into a shop. And as a person, it would say I take care of it very well.”

A photo of Sumit wearing formal clothes, probably going for a wedding—an unusual image of a chowmein seller on a cart, full of hopes and dreams.

He’s never felt proud of this work. Not yet. “Maybe someday I will,” he says. What’s special about his food? “Nothing big,” he smiles shyly. “But I try to do everything on time, though I delay sometimes.”

People who walk past his cart might not know his struggle. “They wouldn’t guess how much I’ve gone through. I don’t want to do this work, but I have to. People think I’m 25, but I’m just 18.”

If he could go back and talk to his younger self, what would he say? “Don’t do this. Stay at home. Even if you earn two rupees there, live with peace.”

There was one customer he remembers. “He was a good man. I don’t remember his name. But he gave me his number and told me to call if I ever need anything. He checks on me sometimes.”

And for those who are doing fine in life but are still ungrateful, he has just one thing to say: “It’s their adversity.”

Written by Mir Kashif

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