honey wallah.

The honey wallah came to our neighbors’ terrace today.

So, Sadiq rang the doorbell, and asked us if we wanted some local, pure honey for 200 rupees a kilogram (about 4 dollars).

Did we???

Priya collected plastic containers and the kids grabbed their shoes and I strapped on the camera, and the four of us made our way upstairs to the rooftop.

There we found a pail of dripping honey and waxy comb and dead bees.

I was given my first piece of honeycomb-wax, and they told me: “Just pop it in your mouth and chew and spit out the wax afterward.”

It was divine.

Priya and I stood and savored, licking fingers, accepting more, and the kids ran wild on Sadiq-Uncle’s terrace and refused to touch the stuff.

We walked to the far terrace wall, and Sadiq showed me two hives above the a.c. units on the next rooftop over.

This honey was collected a block away, on Albert Street. “It’s the purest honey you can find,” Sadiq told me. “Farm-raised bees are given sugar-water, but these bees have only ever tasted flowers.”

I’ve never had anything like it.

I bought 8 kgs . . . one for Priya, a couple for us, several to share.

I’m so happy we were home for this late-morning surprise, and happy we live in South Asia, where the honey wallah comes door-to-door, and where a neighbor we hardly know would think to come offer some of his stash to us.

In three months or so, when he calls with a fresh batch, we’ll be ready and waiting.

(Note: “wallah” is “a person who does a specific job.”  The chai wallah sells tea, the dhobi wallah washes the clothes, the honey wallah sells honey)