Every morning, the santra* fruit-seller would do his household circuit, blasting his motorbike horn and vocal chords to alert customers.
On being called to, he would halt, allow customers to pick santras from his tokri* and accept payment without too much haggling on his part.
There was only one exception he always made.
In front of one house, he would alight and place carefully selected santras in a bag. As he did so, a smile would spread slowly across his face. He knew that any moment he would hear the sounds of the children cheerily calling, “Santra Chacha, Santra Chacha!”
This post is in response to the prompt #100WordsonSaturday on Writer Tribe Pro Blogging Challenge. This week’s prompt was in the form of the picture below:
Featured Image Credit: Orange by Naama ym (Flickr.com CC By-SA 2.0)