Saturday bazaar..!

Some people love showing off their legs!” I said loud enough for my companions to hear and they sniggered as the man in faded white T- shirt and shorts walked by at his incredible speed. I watched his skinny spider like legs making large strides and wondered where he got such energy to muster such speed.
The weather was cold with temperatures touching 8 degrees and we all walked our morning rounds wrapped in woolens dragged out from boxes, generally opened only when going abroad.
It was a little later in the day I drove into the jam. “I thought this is a free road!” I grumbled a little impatiently. “It’s Saturday sir!” said my driver. “So?” I asked wondering what the day of the week had to do with me being stuck in traffic. “Saturday Bazaar!” “Oh!” I said, and realized it wasn’t vehicles creating the chaos but hundreds of people, all walking on the road, “What are they selling?”
“Everything! And dirt- cheap!” said my driver. I looked out and saw old radios, gramophone records, broken sofa sets and clothes strewn all over the pavement and some stalls even spilling their stuff onto the road. Hawkers were shouting and yelling and customers screaming back as they tried to bargain for better prices.
“Let me walk a bit while you get out of the jam!” I told the driver curious to see what was being offered outside. I recollected days gone by as a youngster, when pavement stalls yielded better buys than fancy shops behind. I strolled down the road leisurely glancing at what was being offered and also shamelessly watching buyers and sellers passionately going about their business, when suddenly I saw him.
He brushed past me almost with the same speed he walked at the park. On impulse I followed him and found him heading for the clothes section. “Have you got it?” he asked the hawker impatiently. “What?” asked the stall owner trying to recognize him from the crowd that was examining the clothes in his stall. “Tracksuit!” said the walker.
“Tracksuit?” asked the hawker and I found all the people at the stall looking at the stall owner and grinning, “no track suit this Saturday, try next Saturday!” “You said the same thing last week and it’s getting colder!” said the man and I found the others grinning even more.
It was even colder this morning at the jogging track as I felt him walking behind. My friends in their woolen outfits sniggered waiting for my comment. I said nothing but saw him suddenly looking back at me, then at my bare legs startled, and then he grinned as he stared at my shorts; I had tears rolling down my cheeks as I tried to grin back at him.
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