Light struggles to insinuate the forever under construction, traffic jammed, polluted city and yet the day has already begun in the metropolitan city within a developing country.
Placing her knapsack on the dusty concrete, she unties the knot securely fastened, a skill her mother had taught her before the countless days of bloody coughs drained her dry to the grave. The sack opened revealing a bright maroon cloth with white motifs shaped like eyes. She would often stare at it wating for it to blink back, which it did sometimes when she concentrated hard enough.
Now smoothening the cloth, she would place in descending order wooden dolls with limbs shaped like almonds, thread being both the skeleton and blood running through it. They were all dressed in mini versions of clothes worn by the local village people, all bright and inviting to the passerby's eyes. After the routine she would then wait. It was the season when tourist thronged the city for some festival or the other. A sure profit in the making.
Sure enough, tourists with bags as big as boulders with boisterous children in tow cross her and then rewind back thanks to the kids. Their eyes, tranced by the colorful wooden people. "I want that one, mommy!! Could I have it please??" After a short thought, she askes her " yeh kitna?" her hindi heavily accented and funny sounding to the little girl. "50 rupees, madam." "That seems like a bargain, theek hai".
The exchange takes place. Dolls from a girls hand to an adult and bills and coins from an adult to the child. Tucking the bills, she observes the coins. Simple, lifeless things same as her toys. But what game would she play with the coins, a simple flip or stack them into a tower. With her dolls, she could dress them and make them attend fancy parties or dance to hit numbers. But they dont pay for the food or clothes or shelter. No, they just go on leading parasitic lives.
Joie de Vivre....
