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Candy floss sweet pink
The vendor skilled at the job
Years of happiness
Jayantee Khare Jul 2017
A fruit and vegetable vendor,
simple and humble,
Always seen with his handcart,
alongside the road, which was parked.
On my way back
from the gym,
Bought the fruits and vegetables
daily from him.

Neither the quality!
Nor the variety!!


But his  greetings "Namaste Didi" with that innocent smile,
caught my attention for a while.
That friendly gesture
made me feel familiar.

Balming the lonely and tired soul,
in the foreign soil,
in this city of strangers,
accommodating many dwellers.

While lost in own thoughts,
or busy in the cell-phone chats.
But this simple guy never failed,
seeing me come, he sweetly hailed.
"Namaste Didi"

Once, when I resumed
after a vacation,
Found dozers, excavators
busy in construction.
An all new road, footpath
for beautification,
It's the "smart city" project's
much awaited implementation.

I realized, that something was amiss!
"Namaste Didi", welcoming, friendly voice!

I looked for him all around,
Standing near a pole, he was found.
Neither cheerful, nor fruit or vegetable?
Uttered him, now the business not feasible.
Not allowed to park his cart anywhere,
As "The Smart City Mission" started here.

Go to the big stores now,
for the daily needs,
Roadside vendors
pulled out like weeds.

Neither friendly smile, nor simplicity!
"Namaste Didi" swallowed by "the smart city"!!

Do we really need a "smart city",
or simply a city?
addressing the needs of all,
retaining its simplicity.
The social warmth
and existing friendliness,
Accommodating all
with self sustenance.

**Isn't socialism, just a myth!
No offence, this way I think!!
Didi means sister in hindi....people address didi to the ladies showning respect and warmth....
Some people are so simple and humble that you can't ignore them..
Since i am advocating simplicity in this,
I have written this poetry with the use of simple words...
It's a true incidence happened nearby..which made me think like this.
In india smart city mission is in progress...
Äŧül Aug 2014
As I move on the streets of Mangalore city on the west seafront,
It is an afternoon and the sun is starkly overhead,
Burning, roasting in the hot-dry sky of May.

While en route the beach I passed from a really silent street,
Then I pass from the side of the Rosario Cathedral,
The only person I notice was a young vendor.

The vendor is a little girl who looked determined to empty her stock,
I peered into her basket and was pleased to see in it,
Even today I believe she sits there by the street.

Sitting in the rain or in the harsh, merciless sun she prays to the God,
Just back to her the church apparently has some priority line to Him,
She bribes Him a beautiful sea shell or two if He sends some buyers...

Though I do not need any sea shells, but I still go and spare a look,
I choose a pair of green sea shells and pay her for it,
Because she sells the sea shells by the street side.
I have been to Mangalore, but this poem is partly a product of imagination.
Mangalore city is a port on the western coast of India in the southern state of Karnataka.

My HP Poem #663
©Atul Kaushal
Hida Abbad May 2014
I sell for a living.
But not the kind of selling
you do at the supermarket
and not the kind you do on the net
but the kind where I give parts of me
to strangers I will never again see.

Strangers like the boy with the pretty eyes
and the woman shedding tears
and the gentleman with many stories.

I give away the parts of me
I think will make others smile
an ear for you sir
and a part of my heart to you madamme
would you like a hand? a dimple?
Let me know because I give it all
and when you leave
don't say goodbye,
let me believe
and dream that one day we will meet again
and you will give those parts back
so I can be whole once again
for the one who would have cared
from the collection - *insecurities*

— The End —