I still remember that sound.

“Ting… ting… ting…”

It was not loud. Not like today’s bike horns or phone notifications. But the moment that bell echoed through our lane, the whole world stopped. “Ice-cream! Ice-cream valo ailo” someone would shout. And just like that, summer vacation officially began.

I must have been eight or nine. No school, no homework, no tuition. Only cricket in the afternoon heat, mangoes, and waiting… waiting for that wooden cart to appear at the corner of our street. The ice-cream uncle would arrive slowly, pushing his wooden cart under the blazing sun. A cloth tied around his head, a small smile on his face, and that magical bell in his hand.

We didn’t have much pocket money. Sometimes only one rupee. Sometimes nothing. But somehow, every day, one of us would run inside and shout, “Aai, ek rupya di mage!” And if Aai was in a good mood, that coin would land in our hands like treasure.

We didn’t have fancy flavours back then, no chocolate chips, no exotic scoops, and definitely no cones. Our choices were simple but unforgettable: the classic orange bar, the icy Pepsi ice that we squeezed from the plastic, creamy milk candy, and the colourful ice candies that left our tongues and lips bright red or orange. In the 80s, chocolate ice cream cost around 40 paise, and the simple white milk candy cost 50 paise. Sometimes, money wasn’t even needed; a few big cashew nuts (or small ones) could be lovingly exchanged for a candy, fondly called “ice-croot.” Those small barters, tiny coins, and big smiles made the experience even more special, turning a simple treat into a memory of a simpler, sweeter Goa.

Simple treats, but that first bite after playing in the hot Goan afternoon… it felt like heaven. The best part? It wasn’t just the children. Aunty from the next house would come out wiping her hands on her saree. Uncle, who was reading the newspaper, would step outside. Even grandparents sitting on the balcão would smile and say, “mhaka ek di re.”

For those ten minutes, the whole lane became one family. No one was on phones, No one was in a hurry, No one cared about brands or prices. Just laughter, sticky hands, colourful tongues, and pure happiness.

Today, ice cream comes from supermarkets and delivery apps. But that sound…That slow-moving hathgadi(wooden cart)…That excitement of running barefoot with a coin in your hand…Somehow, that small moment used to bring more joy than anything today.

Because back then, happiness didn’t come in big things.

It came ringing down the street.

“Ting… ting… ting…”