Sprig

Among the irregular window-shoppers, there was a little boy. Sandwiched between a big enchilada of a nearby ghetto and a poor woman of plump built, he observed the newest addition to the shop’s collection of curios. He was a routine visitor. Each day he came, his eyes hungrily searched for attractive new goodies. Though he did not have the bucks to grab any, the satisfaction he gained from staring at them was worth a few buys. Today, his heart ached. The toy on display screamed at him and pleaded with him to take it home. He searched his pocket and found a ten rupee note. He sighed. Through the glass pane, he watched a kid hanker for it and pull at his Mamma’s arm. Mamma did not disappoint her ‘sonny’. The little boy on the other side of the glass pane, walked away. Just where the main road ended and the lane began, that old dusty lane with all the shabby buildings, he found a sprig. He picked it up and threw it at his friend. The friend threw it back. His lips stretched. He forgot the unreasonable wishes buried in some corner of his heart and enjoyed the rest of the evening to the hilt. He later realized that the sticker-shocks of everyday did not matter. He was content in his little world, with the daily entertainment that came without a price-tag!