He doesn’t talk. He looks tall and healthy. Dark. Never
smiled at me. We don’t talk. People in my street would talk. They would at
least say hello. It is a different matter that they all know me and my family. They say
hello to everyone. They are interested in knowing about everyone and
everything. If you are a stranger or new to the area, you better have answer and
time for all their questions. It is a bit strange for me to go to my regular
shop, still do not have ever spoken
to the shop owner. I do not know whether he has never spoken to
anyone or just to those kids who come to his shop to fill their ink pens. There
is that ink bottle just outside the counter in front of the tight row of big mittai (candy) bottles. Kept in a very convenient place for us the regulars. An ink filler by the
side too. I go there and look up. He turns inside and starts looking at his
books or something. I take my pen out, open it, and fill it with the blue ink
from the bottle. There it is, a little cloth thoughtfully kept by the side of
the bottle. I use the cloth to wipe the pen and my hands. I look up again. He
is still examining something inside his shop. I have to go as I am getting late to school. I start walking. My
head turned to look back. I saw his head looking out of his shop and looking at me
walking. I smile. He pulled his head back in. I smile again and walk fast. I am late
for the school assembly.
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