How Delhi's Ice Men and Kulfiwalas are Keeping Centuries-Old Summer Traditions Alive

As Delhi's summer sun beats down mercilessly, an unmistakable sound breaks through the heat — the clinking of metal carts, the rhythmic call of the kulfiwala, and the soft swoosh of crushed ice being scooped into cloth bags. Long before global chains brought frosty frappés or gelato to the Indian capital, these humble vendors carved a place in the city's heart, offering both respite and ritual.

In the walled lanes of Old Delhi, where time seems suspended between the minarets of Jama Masjid and the spice-scented alleys of Khari Baoli, these traditions persist with remarkable tenacity. Armed with nothing but insulated boxes, ancestral recipes, and an inherited sense of timing, these purveyors bring more than cold treats—they bring continuity. But how have they endured in an age of refrigeration, air-conditioning and food delivery services? The answer lies in nostalgia, community, and deep-rooted culinary heritage.

The Ice Men of Chandni Chowk—Masters of Melting Time

Before refrigeration became commonplace, ice in Delhi was precious. Even now, the barafwala or ice man remains essential during the sweltering months. Whether cooling dairy products, preserving street food, or simply keeping water chilled at makeshift stalls, these men transport ice blocks across the city—often manually, with thick hessian cloth and wooden carts.

Mohammed Yunus, 58, has supplied ice to tea shops and juice stands in Chandni Chowk for over three decades. "Humare liye yeh sirf rozgaar nahi hai. Yeh ek virasat hai," he says. ("For us, this isn't just a livelihood. It's an inheritance.")

Yunus' father performed the same service, navigating dawn deliveries through Old Delhi's narrow gullies. He insists on sourcing ice from traditional depots in Sadar Bazaar, where, according to him, "the freezer is harder and melts slower." His insulated gunny bags and covered handcart follow designs handed down through generations—no technological upgrades needed.

In many parts of Old Delhi, particularly around Daryaganj and Ballimaran, cold water for community Iftaars during Ramadan or chilled rose sherbet at roadside stalls remains the domain of these practitioners. Ice delivery transcends mere logistics—it's interwoven with festivals, local commerce and communal memory.

The Legacy of the Kulfiwalas—Crafting Frozen Gold

While modern Delhiites may frequent international ice cream parlours, for thousands in the city's older quarters, nothing compares to the dense, slow-melting texture of hand-churned kulfi. Whether malai, kesar-pista, or the beloved matka kulfi, this frozen dessert has Persian-Mughal roots, arriving alongside techniques of ice preservation and sweet-making.

Every evening in summer, the alleys of Chawri Bazaar and Sitaram Bazaar come alive with kulfi vendors who prepare their delicacies using traditional bhattis (wood-fired stoves), reduced milk, and moulds set in tightly packed containers of ice and salt.

Narendra Kumar, a third-generation kulfiwala in Kinari Bazaar, explains, "Hum machine se nahi banate, sirf haath se. Isi liye humari kulfi mein asli swaad hai." ("We don't use machines, only our hands. That's why our kulfi has the real flavour.")

Kumar's family recipe features saffron, cardamom, and a hint of rosewater, simmered for hours, then frozen overnight. Unlike modern ice cream, which incorporates air, his kulfi remains dense and rich. Even in this era of food technology, his product is crafted in small batches and sold within hours.

Some vendors carry their wares in clay pots balanced on their heads, covered in muslin cloth, while others use traditional brass containers insulated with layers of cotton. The ritual of purchasing kulfi—served with a small wooden stick or in a sal-leaf bowl—represents both cultural tradition and culinary delight.

Nostalgia, Neighbourhoods and a New Wave of Interest

Despite economic pressures and proliferating frozen dessert brands, Delhi's ice men and kulfiwalas are experiencing a modest revival, partly thanks to nostalgia-driven social media content and renewed interest in heritage foods.

Younger Delhiites, especially those in university and creative circles, now seek these summer treats not just for taste but for connection. Food walks and Instagram reels feature 70-year-old kulfi carts and vintage ice shavers as objects of cultural fascination.

Zameer Qureshi, who operates near the Red Fort, has noticed the shift. "Pehle sirf buzurg log aate the. Ab college ke ladke-ladkiyan bhi puchte hain, 'yeh asli kulfi hai kya?'" he chuckles. ("Earlier, only older folks came. Now college kids also ask, 'Is this the real kulfi?'")

Qureshi has adapted slightly, now offering rose-flavoured kulfi, nodding to modern tastes while preserving traditional methods. "Bas Instagram ke liye photo le lo. Swad toh wahi purana rahega," he says. ("Take photos for Instagram if you want. But the taste remains old-school.")

Delhi's ice men and kulfiwalas provide more than seasonal comfort. They embody continuity in a city constantly racing forward, representing knowledge systems that predate modern convenience, recipes that outlasted empires, and a city that still, in some corners, cools down the old-fashioned way.

As summer intensifies and Delhi's skyline shimmers with heatwaves, perhaps the most refreshing act is to pause, slow down, and listen for the kulfiwala's bell—a reminder that some traditions aren't merely surviving. They're flourishing.