Mister Umbrella Man


It’s been a wet week. My umbrella’s been a little rusty—it needed some repairing.

(By the way, I own a very special umbrella that my friends here don’t quite understand and has nicknamed it “chta” instead of “CHHAATA.” They say that it’s not worthy of being annunciated it full out because of its minute appearance).

So, I got to Dambar Chowk and was directed towards a crowd in front of this old stationary store.

In the middle was Mister Umbrella Man, busier than anyone in town for the week. He sat comfortably on this sackcloth beside a collection of spokes, nuts, and braces of all kinds to fix broken umbrellas.

My turn came after a brief wait. He carefully examined its fault and in less than a minute my “chta” was repaired for just five rupees…

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