Every midday down the main alley way unto our street a scanty man with a crooked nose, messy hair and a filthy beard would approach our house. He was seen walking down all through the neighborhood ,everyday, wearing a blue pinstriped shirt and matching trousers, trousers that seemed to be almost as old as he was, trousers that swept the street as he dragged his tiny feet along in a strut. He had a venerable look about his face, brows lined with age, cheeks addled with decrepit skin.
But he had a skip in his step, a jingle to his movement, and an insurmountable smile on his face. A smile which was inexplicable, because in some way it seemed strangely disconnected from the rest of his body, a contradiction. He always carried with him a bell and a long stick which had his merchandise mounted at the end and a that inexplicable grin, I was so used to seeing.
I had always wondered why, as I looked out my window, as I usually do.And then I Ran out with a two rupee note scuffed against my fingers, towards him I raced, to get that wisp of colored,threaded,light,puffy sugar.
One day contrary to routine, I sat there nearby the windowsill waiting, scuffling about my bag, hoping to find the money I needed. I heard the jingle approach, I closed my eyes, waiting for the jingle to drone away, to turn into a whisper and then fade.
I waited, but it only got louder, as I looked out from the window, I saw him look at me and wave.Curious, I went out and signaled with my hands that I had no money, yet he still kept waving and jingling his bell. I ran out, he outstretched his arms and handed me a packet.
And he strode off, strutting along, humming his usual tune to match the jingle, only today he seemed happier.
That was the day I realized that he did not sell cotton candy. He was the man who sold happiness.