It is already afternoon. I only made 20rs. The sun is over my head and my throat is parched. But I cannot stop. You get nothing for free.
I have to sell all my pens to get bread and butter for my family. I have no option but to walk from car to car, auto to auto, requesting or begging people to buy the pens.
I walk from window to window in hope that someone might feel pity. I stay around children in hope that the colors of pens may attract them and they urge their parents to buy them one pen. But like every other car, the bada sahib or mam sahib ignores me and pulls up their window. Some time I feel like I have no rights to feel bad. Some time bada sahib gives some money but most of the time people ignores, talks rudely or abusive.
My mother is on the other side of the road, selling balloons. Sometime I get scared that she will be crushed under the speeding car.
I don't want much from people. It would be good for me if they buy a pen.
I look at these people in their big cars and think to myself, if ever I will be able to rise up to their level. Maybe someday I will have the heart to give away a few rupees, maybe even a hundred, to the people on the street. People like me.
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