The Hawker on the Local Train
As the train pulled out of the station, A man stepped in to play on human emotion. He addressed the bogie’s passengers With deft words, he tried to generate desires. He was a hawker who hawked his ware, The bogie was the stage, he was the star. Come Rain or shine, Monday to Sunday He was there, without any need of a holiday. Pens of all colour stick out of his pocket. As he spoke, his words flew faster than a rocket. Sharpened by continuous delivery every day In credit of his pens, this is what he has to say! “Our pens are good, they are the best. Graduates with distinction, in the torture test! Good quality is the reason to our fame. Our pens can put the MNCs’ pens to shame." Ask him his product’s USP and he draws a blank. Marketing strategy is a word, he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t carry a laptop to clock the orders at hand. Nor is he aware of the image of his brand! My heart went out to the guy, hawking on the train. A salesman myself, I empathized with his pain. My efforts ...