He was famous in our locality, his dosas so tasty and famous. Together the wife and the husband would make dosas and sell them, sitting in front of their one small room, made into a kitchen. His wife would cook, he would keep sitting in the chair, legs covered below a towel, packing things, helping his wife. Never for once did we see him get up. I was quite small, more interested in candies than observing people, but dad wasn't. He observed the man was continuosly sitting, and no movement in the legs.
"Sir, may I know why I can't see any movement of yours? I am sorry to ask but is there any problem?"

The man looked at dad with almost tearful eyes.
"Sahab, dosa selling is to fill our stomachs after that day. I wasn't meant for this. I was successful, had job, earned good enough to support my family, till one day everything ended."
The words choking in his throat, he continued, "One day, as I got late for office and wanted to go reach on time, I was hit by a speeding car. The car went away, but took away my power to walk ever again. I lost my job, and my willpower. Doctors said I couldn't walk again."

He was young, he had kids, and a beautiful wife, and a good salary.
But fate never was with him. He lost his job, and now when I was roaming about the streets, now as a college going girl, I noticed him sitting on the same wheelchair, selling cigarettes and pan masalas.

Tags: Short Story

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