Chotu

Chotu waited for the light to turn red. Then he stepped onto the road, clutching his bundle of sun shades, his ware, in one arm, holding one in his right arm for display. His feet burnt on the tar. He approached the cars that were stopping at the signal. Some looked at him in disgust. Some shooed him away. Some took the sunshade from him, looked it over. His face rose with expectation. How much? "25 Rs. sir." He would make five rupee profit. His heart beat at the prospect. "No, 10 rupees," bargained the driver. "No saab." He took the sunshade back. The driver started abusing him about what a rip off he was. Chotu saw another car stopping ahead. He rushed to them. Four gentlemen wearing formals were inside. "How much?" "25 Rs, sir." The sun was parching his skin. He had not had a drink of water for hours now. He usually had some kanji in the morning and set out early in the morning, ever since his father had failed to return home 2 years ago. He would sell the shades his mother made, buy rice for dinner and some sweets for the little ones if his sales for the day was good. The gentleman sitting in the backseat reached for a sunshade and started examining it. "Give us four." Chotu was ecstatic. This meant 20 Rs! He gave them the shades. "Oh! oh!" said the driver and took the car ahead. The signal had changed. The faces of his mother and the little ones flashed across Chotu's mind. Terror flashed across his heart. If I don’t get the money, how will amma get the raw materials? He ran behind the roaring car, calling out. He could not remember how far he had run. The last thing he remembered was the jeering face of the gentleman at the back seat who had looked at him with fun in his eyes.