Balloons. He sells balloons.
His wife screams at him every morning. “Try and find another job, will you?” she screams. “The smell of your stupid balloons is making me sick.” He stays mum. Then she screams some more for good measure.
He makes his way through the dizzying crowd outside Dadar station. The women carrying baskets of flowers on their head chatter in rapid Marathi. They throw him disdainful looks, for no particular reason. He finds a spot where it isn’t too sunny and settles there. Nobody buys his balloons. A couple of children pass him by, squealing, running towards the ice cream man. The ice cream man has a sour disposition, but that doesn’t deter the kids. He scowls while scooping out bright pink icecream. They just grab the cones from his hand and skip away. He yells at them for giving less money. They stick their tongues out at him and run.
Then an old woman comes to buy a balloon. She wants a 5 foot balloon that says happy birthday on it. He shakes his head. He has only the regular variety. She walks away. He sighs and remembers the time when he would come with his father to watch him sell balloons. He remembers the number of children who would surround the cheerful man begging for the balloons. Blue ones and smiling ones. Happy balloons in the bright summer sky. Now, no one wants balloons; atleast not the ones he sells. Even his kid doesn't care for his balloons. He wants toys and ice cream and shoes that light up.
He looks down at his wallet as the evening comes by. Nothing. His balloons look deflated, mirroring his general spirit. He makes his way to the station, bracing himself for his wife's taunts and his kid's disappointment.
Then someone taps him on the shoulder. It's the icecream man. He pushes forth a small battered ice box. "Will you give me your balloons for some left over icecream?" He asks. He now looks more tired than sour.
"My wife threatened to throw me out if I bring in more strawberry smell into the house. She said it makes her head ache." He explains.
"But the balloons? Does your wife like them?"
"No, but my dog does. He chases them around the room and it makes him happy."
Then they walk away into the crowd, balloons bobbing and small mercies in ice boxes.
The next day, they look a little less harrowed.
The city moves past them as usual.
His wife screams at him every morning. “Try and find another job, will you?” she screams. “The smell of your stupid balloons is making me sick.” He stays mum. Then she screams some more for good measure.
He makes his way through the dizzying crowd outside Dadar station. The women carrying baskets of flowers on their head chatter in rapid Marathi. They throw him disdainful looks, for no particular reason. He finds a spot where it isn’t too sunny and settles there. Nobody buys his balloons. A couple of children pass him by, squealing, running towards the ice cream man. The ice cream man has a sour disposition, but that doesn’t deter the kids. He scowls while scooping out bright pink icecream. They just grab the cones from his hand and skip away. He yells at them for giving less money. They stick their tongues out at him and run.
Then an old woman comes to buy a balloon. She wants a 5 foot balloon that says happy birthday on it. He shakes his head. He has only the regular variety. She walks away. He sighs and remembers the time when he would come with his father to watch him sell balloons. He remembers the number of children who would surround the cheerful man begging for the balloons. Blue ones and smiling ones. Happy balloons in the bright summer sky. Now, no one wants balloons; atleast not the ones he sells. Even his kid doesn't care for his balloons. He wants toys and ice cream and shoes that light up.
He looks down at his wallet as the evening comes by. Nothing. His balloons look deflated, mirroring his general spirit. He makes his way to the station, bracing himself for his wife's taunts and his kid's disappointment.
Then someone taps him on the shoulder. It's the icecream man. He pushes forth a small battered ice box. "Will you give me your balloons for some left over icecream?" He asks. He now looks more tired than sour.
"My wife threatened to throw me out if I bring in more strawberry smell into the house. She said it makes her head ache." He explains.
"But the balloons? Does your wife like them?"
"No, but my dog does. He chases them around the room and it makes him happy."
Then they walk away into the crowd, balloons bobbing and small mercies in ice boxes.
The next day, they look a little less harrowed.
The city moves past them as usual.
:)
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