Stock Markets

Ashok sat at the computer, mesmerized by the red candle elongating, minute by minute. 

He had made a short bet on cumin seeds, and watching the price fall filled him with ecstasy. 

He was lucky the rains had played their part. A good harvest, a fall in price, and all the money deepening his pocket. 

It was 2.00 am. Beside him lay his wife, Sheela, awake. She couldn’t sleep with Ashok being up. Ashok’s focus was on the price ticking every second, oblivious of everything but the price on the screen.

The trade had helped him with his targets and the company had been quite happy with his performance. He could almost feel the BMW he wanted to buy in his driveway, instead of the old Suzuki.  
Oh, how happy my manager would be, he thought, proud.
 Was I wrong with my decision, thought the wife. 

She hadn’t expected Ashok to be so engrossed with his love for the stock market. It was unlike his behaviour in college. Ashok, the charming boy with the long hair and the guitar. Ashok, who went to the ends of the Earth to woo her. Oh, was I wrong, she thought, sadly.  

Ashok’s grin became wider and wider as the price continued to fall, his trade becoming more and more profitable. He finally exited the trade, making a killing out of it. 

The foreign markets are mine, he thought. 

He is no more the same, Sheela thought. 

Oh thank god for the rains, the cumin farmer thought.
– Vineet Narang


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