A Reluctant Salesman

Mr. Hari was a reluctant greying salesman who used to smoke fat cigars in the cafeteria of his office. He called himself Old Harry, as said on his business card.

He took the stairs when it was raining. The lift didn’t work then. There was a dog on the third floor that used to sit outside the flat with a glass door. The dog barked at him often. The owners of the house looked outside on some days to see if everything was alright. The owners felt relieved as they too, like their dog, did not like salesmen.

Mr. Hari used to sell nothing. He knew nothing, very well. He would fill it with soaps or powders or juices or coffee or cars. And he would smile and make gestures and lock eyes and wink. And every Thursday evening he would walk to the big famous temple outside of which stood police with guns. Mr. Hari did not ask for anything but a long vacation. He did not seem to be getting it.

On one stormy day the dog on the third floor got so furious that Mr. Hari tripped himself over the stairs and broke his leg. He messaged everyone he knew that he would not be available for the next few weeks. He ended it with a smiley. People loved it.

Lying over his bed with his one leg hanging and wrapped in the white plaster, he had the time of his life watching TV with his family. When his leg turned fine, he just did not want to go back.

His wife had a big fight with him. She was a furious. They locked their kids inside as she threw utensils and sofa pillows over him. He had to give up and go back to the office the next morning.

He took the stairs more often now. The dog on the third floor did not bark at him anymore. The owners of the house looked outside on some days to wave and ask how everything was, especially his leg. 

He stopped going to the temple now, and got new business cards which called him Hari.

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