Lunch is finally over.
I rush to clear the table. A furtive glance at the clock shows me that it is past 3pm. I have to take my daughter to the doctor but madam is refusing to give me an advance. Not even 200 rupees.

‘Watch where you’re going.’ Madam’s hiss snaps me out of my reverie. ‘Those plates cost more than your salary.’

Meanwhile Sir is busy showing off the new dog that he has bought. People go abroad and buy clothes and electronics, but he has brought a porcelain doll. And they don’t even have children. Rich people and their futile expenditures!

‘…cost my over 60,000 in Indian rupees’, he says, and I almost drop the gravy bowl.

I stare at the silly dog after they move away, imagining madam’s voice smirk in my head; ‘Your ten months salary.’

I give it a little nudge and watch 60,000 rupees crash to the floor.

Written in response to the 180th Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers challenge hosted by Priceless Joy, in response to a photo provided by Yinglan.

7 thoughts on “Price Cost

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