"Didi, woh cake dena..." "Usey pastry kehte hain" "Kya ?" "Pastry !" "Achha...wohi...dena...woh chocolate wala" "Mehenga hai. Paise hain kya ?" Suddenly Chhotu felt completely out of place in the pastry shop. He, with his old, oversized, dirty clothes, face streaked with soot and rough dirty hands, didn't belong here. The lady at the counter was so clean. She was wearing new clothes and she smelled so nice. The whole shop smelled so nice in fact, that Chhotu felt that a balloon seller like him who lived on the footpath was somehow polluting the air of that shop. Suddenly his confident tone vanished. He put his grubby hands in his pocket, removed the crimpled notes and counted them under his breath "10...20...30...40...50" Then in a shaky voice, he told the pretty lady, "Pachaas hain" The lady paused, looked at him from head to toe, breathed in audibly and said, "Yeh past...
This blog is going to be exactly what the name says - slices of my daily life.