Essay on A Busy Street Scene
Ours is a little town which has only one street. The main road which passes through the street is lined on either side with shops of different shapes and sizes. The street is narrow, full of heaps of dirt and all sorts of smells. Naked children run about getting under your feet.
Hungry dogs and bulls pull something from the rubbish heap to eat. The donkeys groaning under heavy loads stand blocking the road. People walk up and down, buying and selling things. Sadhus and fakirs, with begging bowls in their hands go about the street, begging from shop to shop. Here a merchant throws a paisa to them, there a dealer give them a handful of rice. The street is a very noisy place-men shouting, children screaming, babies crying, dogs barking, horses neighing, asses braying, cows lowing and the blacksmith hammering.
Several of the shops belong to the grain sellers. Rice, pulses, peas and barley are filled up in heaps. Some baskets are filled with chilies and others with spices. The dealer sits cross-legged on the floor with all his goods placed within his easy reach. He holds a big pair of scales in his hand, and weighs out the grains.
Then there are the fruit sellers. You can get fruits like oranges, bananas, apples and vegetables. Here is a sweet meat seller’s shopperhaps the shabbiest and most mean looking the haunt of flies; and next to him is the tiny shop of the cloth merchant. Further on, there is a chemist’s shop. The chemist sells such a strange collection of things. There are salts and sherbets, dried flowers and opium and strange powders for all kinds of complaints. Next to him is the panseller. The Indians are very fond of chewing the betel leaf and smoking a cigarette.
Here the women grind corn and spices, there the shoe maker cobbles the old shoes. Here a hawker shouts at the top of his voice, there a buyer uses hot words to bargain for this or that thing.
Such is the scene in a busy Indian street. An Indian street presents a sight too numerous and varied to mention.
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