The Balloon Seller
Raghu expertly scanned the cars at the signal and went towards the ones which had little kids or young adults. He knew who his customers were through experience. He had spent all his life at this signal. First, as a young child in his mother’s arms as she begged for milk with an empty milk bottle and then as a beggar himself.
“I have 6 years of experience in this line,” he would brag to his friends on the pavement where they lived. His brother at 8 years was not much older than him but had lost the cuteness that Raghu possessed. So now he had moved onto stringing flower garlands. Raghu with his big brown eyes and curly hair had made a great beggar and his parents took full advantage of this. He would have breakfast of pav and sweet tea and be ready to beg during the peak rush hour traffic. As he grew a bit older and could handle money, he started to sell balloons while his kid sister did the begging.
The balloons selling line suited him well. In the morning he was able to go to the street side school that had recently started. His parents didn’t much like it. They would rather he begged but since he did such a great job with selling the balloons, they let him be. He usually managed to sell off everything. It was important that he did because only then would he get a full meal. That was the deal. After his father took some money off for his drinks, the rest of the money the family earned had to suffice for the three siblings, parents, an old grandmother and their dog. So, a sold-out day meant a full stomach.
The last week of the year was usually bonanza time. Everyone was in a celebratory mood and willing to spend money. This time there was also an added incentive. His mother had promised the kids that if they did well with their work, she would buy them all chicken biryani from the corner restaurant and also give them a cold drink to share. Raghu had tasted chicken biryani once at a wedding where he washed vessels after the party. But a cold drink — orange and fizzy. That was really something he was dying to taste. So, he worked extra hard, coaxing, cajoling, making funny faces and playing the fool with the funny shaped balloons he liked to sell because they had a greater margin.
Today was 30 December. Tomorrow would be the last day for bumper sales, so Raghu worked with a vengeance. He had brushed his hair and was looking into each car with an innocent and happy smile and singing a song with the balloons. It usually won people over enough to buy at least one. He came upon a bike with a young couple in their early twenties. Perfect catch. Going up to them and putting on his best smile he said “Buy a balloon for her, Bhaiyya. It will look so colourful on the bike.”
“She is not a kid to want a balloon. Go sell it to someone else.” The boy brushed him aside.
“Bhaiyya, she is so pretty. The balloon will look so nice in her dainty hands.”
Saying this Raghu launched into a new Bollywood number and did his trademark Tiger Shroff move.
“Oh, so cute!” The girl squealed. “I want a balloon. Baby, buy me one na. I feel like a kid today.”
“Yes, Bhaiyya take two. One for her and one for you. Everything same to same in love.”
The boy caved in.
“Why just two? I’ll buy the whole lot for you baby. Chhotu, how much are they for?”
Raghu quickly calculated. “It’s 200 rupees but I will give you for 170 because didi is so pretty” and he smiled sweetly.
“Aww, aren’t you so cute!” exclaimed the girl as she held the big bunch of balloons.
“You know what baby; I’m going to gift them all to him.”
“What! I got them for you!”
“Yes, but even he deserves to play na. He is just a kid.”
“Here Chhotu take them all and play. No more working for you today. Happy New year!”
Waving a flying kiss, the couple zoomed off.
Raghu looked the money in his hand and the balloons. How did you play with a balloon? It was not a toy. It was his dinner. But now these balloons were his. He could play with them and give his little sister one to play with, too. He let one free. It flew up gently into the sky and then disappeared out of sight, borne away by the breeze. Raghu clapped his hands. He had always wanted to know what would happen if he let a balloon go away. Now he knew.
He looked at the balloons again and waited for the signal to turn red. Tomorrow they would eat chicken biryani and he would get them all a cold drink bottle each. No sharing. After all, it was a brand-new year.
