Skip to main content

Seller of Dreams

Fiction

“You sell dreams, don’t you?” I asked.  The lottery man looked at me rather bewildered.

I knew him for many years.  He used to sell Kerala government’s lottery tickets in the small town a few kilometres from my village.  Whenever he met me in the town he would come to me with a lottery ticket which I normally purchased in order not to disappoint him.  I never won any prize.

The lottery man smiled at me having overcome his bewilderment.  “What will life be without dreams?” he asked.

“Has anyone who bought tickets from you ever won a prize?” I was curious.

He hesitated a moment.  “Yes, up to ₹5000.” 

The chance of winning a bigger prize would be something like 0.000001.  I looked at the ticket he had handed me.  Its number was a six digit figure.  There would be 5 or 6 series of such 6-digit numbers.  No wonder the lottery man could not produce even a single winner of a sizeable prize though he was in the profession for over many years.

“Even winning the last prize of ₹100 triggers bigger dreams, I guess,” I said.  “How much do you earn a day?”

“Two to three hundred.”  He didn’t look quite pleased with my question.  But he couldn’t afford to displease even an occasional customer.

A man walked up to the lottery man with a smile that indicated close familiarity.  “I couldn’t meet you yesterday,” he said.

“But I kept your ticket,” The lottery man told him.

“So ₹30 gone!” he smiled.  “Anyway give me one of today’s.”

“Not gone,” said the lottery man.  “Your ticket won ₹5000.”

“What?”

“Yup.  Take your ticket and encash it from any agent.  I don’t have such an amount to give you.”  The lottery man fished out the ticket from his bag and gave it to the client.  

“After so many months,” the man gasped.  “I won something at least after so many months.”  He bought another ticket and placed a ₹100-rupee note in the lottery man’s hand.  “Keep the balance.”

“You could have taken the winning ticket yourself,” I said after the man had left.

“Haven’t I sold him a bigger dream now?”  He smiled impishly.  “Anyway he has given me more than that amount in the last many years.  He deserves that much at least.”

His question as well as the explanation lingered on in my mind as I walked away with the ticket he had sold me.  A dream was rising in my being, I realised.  It was not about a prize amount.  It was something I couldn’t interpret yet.


Comments

  1. Replies
    1. It's something to do with the honesty (if we can call it so) of the dream seller.

      Delete
  2. isn't it how it has always been? Tell me Tomichan, will we ever go beyond the pragmatism of this ponzy scheme of selling dreams and for once believe a leader to be honest? Can there be one in this democracy who would be that honest to sell peanuts for a penny?

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. You have taken the story to a level I had not imagined. Thanks for that. Is the lottery seller's honesty real honesty? At least, he stands one notch above our politicians. He gives what's due and what he can.

      Delete
  3. A very thought-provoking post indeed. Hearty Diwali wishes Sir.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Hope is what keeps people going.
    The fact that there have been winners makes us wanna join that winner-list :) That explains why people keep on purchasing lottery-tickets for years. And yes, some do succeed after years of trying!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Lottery is mere chance. And the chance is as meagre as that of winning heaven. :)

      Delete
  5. I personally don't believe in the lottery system. However, this has given me a different idea about it. I must admit the lottery seller's honesty is to he appreciated and thought about.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. The Kerala government earns huge revenue through the lottery. A few lucky ones benefit.

      Yes, the seller's honesty is interesting for more than one reason.

      Delete
  6. Really a very nice read, honest people still exist.
    Lottery is purely a game of luck some are blessed with that luck(some real incidents those surprised me) and some are not.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. The impish smile of the seller makes his honesty interesting to a writer.

      Delete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Adventures of Toto as a comic strip

  'The Adventures of Toto' is an amusing story by Ruskin Bond. It is prescribed as a lesson in CBSE's English course for class 9. Maggie asked her students to do a project on some of the lessons and Femi George's work is what I would like to present here. Femi converted the story into a beautiful comic strip. Her work will speak for itself and let me present it below.  Femi George Student of Carmel Public School, Vazhakulam, Kerala Similar post: The Little Girl

Yesterday

With students of Carmel Margaret, are you grieving / Over Goldengrove unleaving…? It was one of my first days in the eleventh class of Carmel Public School in Kerala, the last school of my teaching career. One girl, whose name was not Margaret, was in the class looking extremely melancholy. I had noticed her for a few days. I didn’t know how to put the matter over to her. I had already told the students that a smiling face was a rule in the English class. Since Margaret didn’t comply, I chose to drag Hopkins in. I replaced the name of Margaret with the girl’s actual name, however, when I quoted the lines. Margaret is a little girl in the Hopkins poem. Looking at autumn’s falling leaves, Margaret is saddened by the fact of life’s inevitable degeneration. The leaves have to turn yellow and eventually fall. And decay. The poet tells her that she has no choice but accept certain inevitabilities of life. Sorrow is our legacy, Margaret , I said to Margaret’s alter ego in my class. Let

Everything is Politics

Politics begins to contaminate everything like an epidemic when ideology dies. Death of ideology is the most glaring fault line on the rock of present Indian democracy. Before the present regime took charge of the country, political parties were driven by certain underlying ideologies though corruption was on the rise from Indira Gandhi’s time onwards. Mahatma Gandhi’s ideology was rooted in nonviolence. Nothing could shake the Mahatma’s faith in that ideal. Nehru was a staunch secularist who longed to make India a nation of rational people who will reap the abundant benefits proffered by science and technology. Even the violent left parties had the ideal of socialism to guide them. The most heartless political theory of globalisation was driven by the ideology of wealth-creation for all. When there is no ideology whatever, politics of the foulest kind begins to corrode the very soul of the nation. And that is precisely what is happening to present India. Everything is politics

Zorba’s Wisdom

Zorba is the protagonist of Nikos Kazantzakis’s novel Zorba the Greek . I fell in love with Zorba the very first time I read the novel. That must have been in my late 20s. I read the novel again after many years. And again a few years ago. I loved listening to Zorba play his santuri . I danced with him on the Cretan beaches. I loved the devil inside Zorba. I called that devil Tomichan. Zorba tells us the story of a monk who lived on Mount Athos. Father Lavrentio. This monk believed that a devil named Hodja resided in him making him do all wrong things. Hodja wants to eat meet on Good Friday, Hodja wants to sleep with a woman, Hodja wants to kill the Abbot… The monk put the blame for all his evil thoughts and deeds on Hodja. “I’ve a kind of devil inside me, too, boss, and I call him Zorba!” Zorba says. I met my devil in Zorba. And I learnt to call it Tomichan. I was as passionate as Zorba was. I enjoyed life exuberantly. As much as I was allowed to, at least. The plain truth is

The Little Girl

The Little Girl is a short story by Katherine Mansfield given in the class 9 English course of NCERT. Maggie gave an assignment to her students based on the story and one of her students, Athena Baby Sabu, presented a brilliant job. She converted the story into a delightful comic strip. Mansfield tells the story of Kezia who is the eponymous little girl. Kezia is scared of her father who wields a lot of control on the entire family. She is punished severely for an unwitting mistake which makes her even more scared of her father. Her grandmother is fond of her and is her emotional succour. The grandmother is away from home one day with Kezia's mother who is hospitalised. Kezia gets her usual nightmare and is terrified. There is no one at home to console her except her father from whom she does not expect any consolation. But the father rises to the occasion and lets the little girl sleep beside him that night. She rests her head on her father's chest and can feel his heart