Glimpse.

Caught up in the evening traffic the other day,I looked outside my window to see a roadside rollwallah setting up shop.
He meticulously lit up two tiny incense sticks, bowed in front of the grimy cut-out of the deity cellotaped to a corner,tried catching the thin trail of smoke rings from the incense and distributing them throughout his tiny cubicle of a shop,touched all his utensils in turn and murmured a little prayer half to himself.
It certainly wasn't an unusual sight.
Hundreds of other rollwallahs opened shop in exactly similar ways every evening while the city returned home.But there was something about the way he carried on his simple worship that was endearing.
It wasn't religion.It was faith.

There's a tramp I see every morning on the road.He lives on an old mattress covered with scraps of paper,rags and other odds and ends at the quieter side of the street.He has a thing for numbers.
I've seen the same fervour on his face when he writes down numbers in ink on the streets as that look of absolute faith on the rollwallah's face.

It's wonderful what belief can do.