The thin young guy beamed a smile that ran miles. Cheerfully drunk, he ordered an omelette pao and drew out his shabby wallet.
‘Look where I come from,’ he flashed his voter ID card. He was obviously far away from his home town, making a living in the big city.
‘I work in the film line,’ he informed the street seller, the smile radiating from his countenance.
‘I drink. But I also send money home,’ he said with a glimmer of pride that comes from duty.
‘Have you got your Aadhar card, that’s important too,” the seller asked.
‘Yup, that coming up as well.’
‘I haven’t married yet,’ he went on.
‘You will soon. If you are in the film line, that should be easy,’ said the seller and took his money.
In the big city, moments of good spirits do not last long, and poverty soon engulfs its hard working classes. The ordinary man survives, bruised, broke, broken.