'I'm the lyrical vendor, hip-hop is my shop'
It is an art, the art of rising early and peddling your wares. The call from the streets, selling different wares when we stand in our balcony or stretch yourself at the window.
They are ones, collecting papers, used material, or vegetable vendors. Women just rush out from indoors to have a brisk bargaining. One gets any object at 100 rupees. You should see the smile on the lips of the buyers...as if the kohinoor is in their hand.
The tumeric seller then makes his way, ladies of the house crowd near him...I wonder ...what do they do with such a lot of turmeric...the good old turmeric is always needed in the indian household.
Scurrying in and out of their home, purchasing and talking on the top of their voices with their neighbours. Those hours of happiness....
Astench meets my nose...hmmm...time for the dry fish vendor to sell his ware. No body moves out but they keep buying and buying....till half past noon.
The calls slowly die out,the temple bells stop ringing. Time to go back home and prepare their sing-song voice for the next day....
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