The Happy Man
The kid gave him two biscuits. He looked at the kid as she ran away from him. He was thankful for those. His eyes shone. “Food”, he thought. He had a look at those biscuits that had a thin sugar coating. He ate one and kept the other one in his pocket.
The man in his rags with a long, shabby beard and the torn clothes was happy except at the times when police harassed him. He would beg, eat whatever was available around the corner and then moved on. He was content.
This morning, as he woke, the kid gave him biscuits. He was happy for that. He tried to mumble something. Words did not come out. He smiled and tried to get on his feet. He fell down. A lady threw a bucket of trash in the bin next to which he has fallen now.
He mumbled again. The lady did not care to look at him.
He stood up and started walking in slow and unsteady steps. The junction was near. He decided to beg there. Reaching the pocket for that another biscuit, he smiled.
As he reached that junction, he ate that another biscuit and sat there, for another day in his life, for begging.
