While I sat by the window side in a halted bus, staring out at random people, my eyes landed on a white-haired old woman sitting flatly on the footpath right next; her body lean and bent while both her legs stretched out straight, one over the other. From the pile of newspapers cut to square shape, she takes one out, rolls it into cone, slips the hot groundnuts into it and gives away to the customer who is observing her do it. After he leaves, she gets back to stirring the nuts in her deep shallow pan, which has turned coal-black now from constant firing.
I got interrupted. It was a street vendor boy, whose hands camouflaged by bunch full of colourful watches and a row of pens hanging down from his shoulder. From experience, I knew it from his silence that it was my job to understand I had to make some business with him, as he stood by my side, uttering not a word. Yet I nodded my head from left to right. He waits until I turn away, and he then shifts to the person behind me. Before the bus left, newspapers and popcorns finished their turns too, which quite went out in a same fashion. When inside the bus moving somewhere on the way, I felt sorry for the poor guys sweating whole day, but with a fancy fluorescent watch in my hand and a tight-fitting sunglass I couldn’t imagine myself!