Thursday morning began with the sensex dipping below 10000 points. Samyabrata Ray Goswami spent a dog day afternoon, and a bit of the gloomy morning, inside a brokerage firm on Dalal Street to track the woes, and bouts of joy, of traders and their clients. The firm requested that its name not be published.

The smiles break out a little after 1pm as the sensex recovers 100 points following the morning freefall. One of the brokers, who had remained glued to the trading screen since 9.55am, cracks a few jokes, all centred around the original Big Bull. Harshad Mehta is no more, but he remains a hero to some and villain for others.

“Ajit to Robert: ‘Raabert, Harshad Mehta ka stool test karao. Pata toh chale ki yeh bull-s*** kya cheez hai.”’

Laughter rings out, but lasts only for a few seconds. The slide has begun again.

For most brokers, like Hariom Dave, Dalal Street has been a great leveller.

The 28-year-old stock dealer, employed with a small, family-run brokerage firm on the street that has seen many dreams, and mega-bucks, made and unmade, is now living through the other side of euphoria.

“I have only seen the good days at the markets. It is time for me to see the other side now. That’s what makes one gritty, builds strong nerves,” he says, climbing a paan-stained staircase leading to a grubby corridor that takes one to his three-room office.

Dave has been with the firm for over 10 years. His father worked here before him.

Inside, dealers sit staring at the trading terminals and mouth expletives as the Reliance Industries scrip takes a tumble — the company’s lowest since December 15, 2006. The behemoth is down to Rs 1215.25 from over Rs 3,000 in January.

Dave and most of his clients are worried but not Mohammed Hanif (64).

Hanif shoves a fellow client for a better look at the computer screen — spilling a cup of tea over his keyboard in the process — but seems nonplussed. The garment trader, who sets aside a small amount every month for investing, says he is disturbed but not nervous.

“I have been playing the markets for the last 40 years. I have seen upheavals. But eventually it will all pass. I look at the long term and invest prudently, not on the basis of rumours. I have stayed on with this firm since I first entered Dalal Street. I am not running away scared, because some people in the US have acted silly. My children are settled. Playing the markets is not a necessity for me,” says the veteran of many bourse battles.

Dave settles down at his seat and after peering at his terminal, starts making calls to clients, asking them whether they want to buy or sell Reliance shares.

Most advise him to hold on. Some even place “buy” orders.

As banking stocks start getting battered, Dave’s colleague Amrit puts his head down on his terminal briefly.

“I have some SBI shares, didn’t expect a 4.8 per cent drop,” he says, but is soon up taking calls from clients for sell orders.

“There is little time to mourn your losses while trading goes on. It is tough to handle other people’s money after having lost yours. But we do it every day,” says Dave, who, like Amrit and most of his colleagues, also takes trading calls for his personal stocks between client calls.

“In fact I make more from the markets, or used to make, than from commissions here,” says Dave, who leaves his home in the suburb of Vikhroli at 6 in the morning to reach BSE by 8.30.

They have a morning meeting before the markets open at 9.55.

“Once trading starts, it is a daze till the closing bell at 3.30pm. Lunch is after that,” says Dave.

But dry farsan — besan-based fried Gujarati snacks – and many cups of tea do the rounds in between.

The tension eases a bit around 1.15 as the market limps up 100 points. But the jubilation is short-lived as scrip after scrip starts taking a nosedive.

The phones ring incessantly as clients begin placing sell orders.

Then the index bottoms out for the day and stands still at 9771.70, down nearly 400 points.

The dealers stare at each other and quietly start stretching themselves.

Dave wipes the sweat that has collected on his forehead in spite of the air-conditioner.

Amrit gets up and goes out for a smoke in the corridor: it’s not public space, he argues.

Clients chatter, discussing the day with dealers, with many of whom they share over decade-long associations.

The curtain falls. The play is over.

“I am famished,” announces Amrit as he makes a re-entry. The stock tumble is behind him, at least for now.

The older dealers pull out their lunch boxes.

Amrit and Dave head downstairs for the numerous food stalls lining the street.

In an hour, post-trading work will resume as they don coats of relationship managers for the firm’s bigger clients and visit them to discuss the next day’s strategy.

“Because tomorrow is another day,” Dave says, Scarlett ’Hara style.