May 26, 2013

What's a Bazaar? - Story 9

          Time - 7:30 PM. I wondered why the hell was I on this idiotic crowded street. Can't help it either - it's a shopping street. This area's also called Gariahat and most people living in our city know this place. I stood in front of the shoe store waiting for my father to return.  I stared at the world around me - I stared properly.
          A black tee-wearing guy asked one of the hawkers, "How much does that brown leather belt cost?"
"Rs. 445"
"So much."
And then as usual, he started bargaining (he had to conserve the human nature in him).
"I will pay 300."
"No, Sir. Not that much."
"OK. 330."
"No, no."
"340."
"No."
I could see the man getting desperate. Restless.
"350."
"Never."
He walked away angrily. I knew his tactic.
"No, don't go. Don't go." the hawker kept screaming.
The people around him didn't seem to mind it, nevertheless.
The guy came back and took Rs. 400, slammed it in his face and said,"400. Final."
"No. Sir."
"Should I leave?"
"All right."
He handed the guy the belt.
"Where is this belt manufactured by the way?"
"Made In Bangkok."
After hearing this, I couldn't restrain myself from laughing. I laughed hell loudly. I  wondered what kind of people these are. I wondered who created these hawkers and shoppers.

          I was standing right across the street. There was a Chinese food shop beside which a car was parked.   I could hear the child whining continuously. My guess was - he was probably asking for some Chinese food and nevertheless he didn't want to waste his calories by getting out of the car. After 5 minutes of this play, a really fat lady came out atlast and had just closed the door when another trial of crying began - a much, much louder one. She had closed the door on the child's finger. The child kept howling and the mother kept howling with him,"I am very sorry! Sorry." Idiots. Blabbering Idiots. It's your own son, dude.