In the city that never stops hustling, where ambitions are measured in square feet and dreams jostle for breath amidst traffic snarls, there walks a man whose business model is almost laughable by modern standards. No digital payments, no marketing strategy, no scalable plans. Just pure, old-fashioned perseverance.
Every morning, he leaves his modest home in Vile Parle at the crack of dawn, armed not with spreadsheets or a startup pitch, but with quiet determination. His earnings depend on the weather, the mood of the crowd, and a little luck. His profit per unit? A meagre ₹10.
But ask him about quitting, and he looks almost offended. “Kya matlab? Yeh toh meri poori zindagi hai, par mere bachche yeh Zindagi nahi jeeyenge. Mein unhe padhata hoon,” he says with a toothy smile that hasn’t dulled despite decades of hardship. (“What do you mean? This is my whole life. But my children won’t ever have to see such days. I dream of making them academically proficient.”)
He’s not a CEO. He doesn’t have a LinkedIn profile. But he has customer loyalty some brands would envy. Every evening, without fail, he appears at some Parsi colony or the other, just before sunset. He greets regulars by name. Children run up to him.
He serves something cold, but there’s warmth in every gesture.
It’s only when you hear the gentle clink of metal and the unmistakable ring of his cart’s bell that the full picture comes into view.
Rajendra Padale is a kulfiwala.
For over 25 years, he’s sold hand-churned kulfi across Mumbai, one creamy stick at a time. Through scorching summers and monsoon floods, through demonetization and inflation, he has held on. Not just to his cart, but to his principles.
“I could use cheaper milk. Cut corners. But phir woh baat nahi rahegi,” he says. (“Then it wouldn’t taste the same.”)
He refuses to switch to mass production, even though it would be easier. Each kulfi is made at home—with patience, with pride, and with a recipe passed down from his father. It takes hours to prepare a batch. It takes minutes to sell out.
He carries 2 baskets full with him on his head every day, each of 50 kgs. When you ask for his weight, he tells you it’s more than that of a single basket.
Yet, the margins have never been thinner. Rising costs of milk, dry fruits, fuel, and ice have made profits a luxury. On good days, he might make a certain figure. On bad days…we wish he never sees them.
So why continue?
“Because people wait for me,” he says simply. “Main hoon toh unka bachpan zinda hai.”
(“Because if I’m around, their childhood is still alive.”)
In an age of quick fixes and faster exits, Rajendra Padale’s story is not about exponential growth. It’s about staying. About showing up, day after day, year after year, even when the world changes around you.
On the business side, there is little logic to it. But on the human side, there is everything.
Because sometimes, perseverance isn’t about big risks or bold ideas.
Sometimes, it’s just about a kulfiwala who refuses to let sweetness melt away.
Raju Kulfiwala:
Mobile– 8692836624/ 9820971563