Saleswoman at my door

It has been raining all morning and all afternoon. I have been sitting at my computer downloading all kinds of important software after lunch. I am even looking at the websites of various property developers in Bangalore. Then all of a sudden ding dong dong. I look through the peephole. A tired looking woman. I open the door. One of those sales people, I tell myself and reluctantly open. Now this time she is selling some handicrafts from Calcutta. I cheerfully tell her that I don't want anything. The last time I gave in to a door salesman was several weeks ago, for a little boy who came selling pappads. He probably was doing his first round. When he rang the doorbell, I could not even see anybody. He was not even waist high. And he was nearly in tears that I didn't want pappads. I melted immediately. He said his mother had made them. I quickly gave him ten rupees for a packet of pappads. His sweet face brightened up and dabbed the note on both his eyes in a mark of reverence to the day's first earning. Then he looked at me - with an expression that easily beat a thousand thank you-s he may have said. Anyway, I don't want to be a softie this time, despite getting convinced that she was the breadwinner for her disabled husband and that I am like a daughter to her. I insist that I have no need for TV covers and that I don't own a television. She gives up after a while. Picks up her two bags and walks out the gate with a bend, owing to the weight of her wares and towards the bell of the opposite house. I watch her for a second wondering thinking I have done okay in not taking anything from her. I close the door. The rain is pouring down heavily and the smell of the wet earth drifts in along with me as I latch it shut.