There is a park opposite my house. The main entrance to the park is an arched gate made from wrought iron and supported by hewn stone pillars of granite; the same stone in its dressed version make the steps, which lead downward to the park, a manicured glory.
Surprisingly, there is a small pond, which survives even the most blistering summer, indignantly refusing to give up its water, fighting the sun to retain a little, even if 70 per cent of its water goes dry.
Past summer and after the rains, the pond shimmers in beauty all through the day, reflecting, I surmise, a relenting sun and by night soaking in the moon. On moonless days, she serenely stays in quietude, allowing the frogs to croak and the fish it holds to swash.
On the backdrop, this beautiful park is the front scene of vendors. An old lady, for whom I allow my house as storing space, has vended roasted corn for years. She raised her family of six on that paltry business and also stringing flowers for pooja, which she sells on the Indian measure of a forehand. Thankfully she is a small woman with a short forehand, which may have sized up her miniscule profit. Next to her is a man who vends chaat. They had different businesses and vended in harmony. The ice-cream vendor comes along on odd days; there is also the balloon man. This is a small residential park and the business it spawns is amazing.
There is so much enterprise among Indians. It may come as a shocker to most economists but street vending in India grosses huge amounts. The fruit vendor across my street sells fruits at a `20 margin per kilo, he probably sells at least 10 kilos. The corn lady and the chaatwala cannot claim such big margins even if the quantum of sales is a notch higher bridging the net profits—precisely why we see belligerence in the market economy of mobile service providers. Neighbours ask me if I am not irked by this hustle and bustle, just opposite my house. I just do not notice it, all I see is their enterprising nature and helpfulness when I need the gate opened, or when the courier comes and I am asleep in the afternoon, they collect the parcel for me.
The corn lady has since retired from the start of this year, and as enterprise goes she is renting her cart to the wife of the chaatwala at `200 a day. So that amount is like a retirement benefit for her. The woman has begun selling roasted corn; she is happy standing shoulder-to-shoulder doing business with her husband. Her son comes in after school, lingers for a while and he is off for tuitions.
After the day’s business come to a close around 8pm, she closes down her shop. Her merchandise stored in one corner of my garden, she sits astride on her Activa and motors home. Street retailer is the business backbone of India.