Sunday, 29 June 2014

THERE'S ALWAYS A WAY OUT

   Ugh... what's the time... 6:45 already! Get up, brush teeth... absolutely white... a salesman's smile sells the product... waking so early on a Sunday... wish i was still at school... take a bath... shave.... comb hair... no styling, only decent hair... must look like a banker... what's the time... 7:01... I'm doomed... wear clothes... take cellphone, wallet... get out of house...
    "RICKSHAW..."
    Climb in... always there is traffic when you are late... reach office...
    "Good morning, sir."
    "Ah, Mishra, welcome to hell."
    "Sir?"
    "Did you see yesterday's sale record? No? Well, apparently you haven't sold a damn thing yesterday. I hope you know that your job is in my hands."
    "Yes, sir."
    "Well then get lost, or you will find yourself as a newspaper delivery boy again. And sell something for Christ's sake."
    Damn Christian... not all may be bad, but this is one stupid idiot... but I'm sure he's serious... take articles... make a move...
    As Rajan Mishra made his way to the first house, he took a comb out and redid his hair. Any person seeing a skinny salesman walking and combing his hair would have been surprised, but Mishra's hair had a stubborn habit of standing up. I should've been a musician in a band, he mused. He knocked on the first door. It opened... and slammed back shut. Idiot... find solace in hell, will you? He knocked on the second door. The person inside actually saw Mishra before saying that he was not interested and slamming the door shut. Nice... that's an improvement. Thus it continued. By the time he failed to even contact a potential customer, he was fuming.
He found a potential customer when he banged his fist on the fifty-first door. The old man invited him inside. A good half an hour later, when he thought that the old man was going to see some of his goods, the man said that he was least interested in buying anything from 'random vendors' and sent him away. He could've given me at least a cup of tea... He, in frustration, kicked the fire hydrant, only to find himself cursing at the officials of the municipality. He went through another building till the top floor. Now seriously irritated, he stormed down the steps. Soon, the anger gave way to depression and he slowed. His eyes moistened with tears as he sat on a platform near the building's entrance. What now? He sighed. He could see everything crumbling around him... his life... the rest of his family... There's a way out... there always is... He heard his mother speaking. Determined not to disappoint her, he went into another building. Rejected. He startes going down the stairs. "Excuse me... what do you have to sell?" He whirled, tripped on the stairs and landed on the steps in a perfect split. He thanked his gymnastic classes, but just then, he heard his pant tear with a triumphant 'rrriiipp'. Great... just great. 
"Are you all right?" The old woman who had addressed him earlier appeared concerned.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Do come in..."
An hour later, he left an old woman's house. Happy with his progress, he registered the number of items sold and went to meet his boss.
"How many customers?"
"One, sir."
A sigh. "How many items did you sell to our lucky customer?"
"All of them, sir."
"Wha- all of them?"
"Yes, sir."
Silence. Mishra enjoyed watching his boss's jaw drop. The boss suddenly regained his composure.
"Well, then, you may go now. But come on time tomorrow"
Happy, Mishra set off for home. Not getting yelled by his boss was a first and Mishra was sure he could do better to get an actual complement. Silently, he thanked his mother. What would anyone do without mothers?