The hawker
He has to hand out newspapers come what may. Without it " the storm in the teacup" tends to evaporate. We see them hawking newspaper at bus terminals, railway stations, footpaths, scooting along the road on bicycle carrying newspapers. How much do we know of the man that comes everyday to our house?
Nocturnal truant, I am used to sleep till noon and thus hardly get a chance to meet the hawker. He pushes the newspaper under the door into my room, never grates on the door for his monthly bill. At one time, he didn't come for three days , it galled me that I couldn't read the newspaper . Afterwards, I came to know that his mother had died. I was shocked that a man had lost his mother.
How much do we care about these men rendering invaluable service to us?
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