Recently had a pretty rotten 'Murphy and his laws wreak havoc on me' kind of day. Yes, again! No kidding, convinced i have a stalker on my hands. Mucked up pretty much everything there was to, in the 12 hours I spent in office - sense prevailed and decided to leg it home before I inadvertently did an rm *.* on one of the boxes (that's a recurring dream, wonder what Freud would have to say to that). Rains, no umbrella. Aah well, surprise me. Flag down a rick. The conv goes: Me - Mulund? Rick driver - Andheri. Me - Kanjur? Rick driver - IIT. Me - Chalo. Maybe, I ought to be on hostage negotation calls.
As we near Hiranandani, the rick driver gets a call on his cell. I wait patiently while he enquires after his wife, chotu, bittu, bhaiyaji - Oh all right, better switch to another rick before he runs through the state of affairs of every home in his hamlet. Walk down to Galleria and board another rick. This one reaches the Hiranandani hospital gates and stops dead. "Madam, out of gas".
By now, am tired, got mason drumming away inside my head and am trying my best not to lose my temper at ricks in general and MH03-2403 in particular. Remember reading somewhere that counting from 1 to 10 generally controls the temper bit. Hmmm... well 10 is way too less, so count upto 25, take a deep breath and begin the trudge to the nearest bus stop.
20 mins later and at the count of 410, my bus ambles along. Once in, fish around the bag for change, dig out a 500 rupee note. The conductor grimaces - change please, poore bus ka ticket lena hain kya. Try explaining to him that good ol' Murphy is responsible for emptying my bag of change. He says - Ma'am, yeda samjha kya, I did see change in your purse. I go - my dear chappie, that's uk currency, pounds u see, I have to return the whole lot to the Finance dept. else I get no salary this month. He condescends to dole out the change muttering 'Aajkal ki ladkiyan'. Should I sue him for gender bias. Naah, risky, the odds (and ends) are stacked heavily against me.
Count is at 449…450… this too shall pass. Get a call from x saying he's arranging a call to sort out some issue and could I please attend - tell him it's past my bedtime, he can chair the call and attend it himself, stopped short of telling him that he could go jump off the roof and take his precious interface doc with him for company. Yeah apologies and all that jazz, but connect now didn't figure in my scheme of things at 11.00 IST.
575…576. Home finally, reach for the newspaper - the guy had delivered a Gujarati edition. Why am I not surprised? Skip dinner and decide to settle for a cup of hot coffee to kill the buzz in my head. Admiring the moon slipping in and out of the cloud canopy when I hear a mild sizzling sound. The milk has boiled over, spend the next 10 mins cleaning up. The count is now 650. Sip black coffee and spend the rest of the night wondering how to source horseshoes, maybe peacock feathers, and for good measure, a water fountain and a small bamboo plant - stretching things a bit too far all right, but there's no such thing as excessive good luck - and one of the above mentioned bloody charms better work.
Oh, if you haven't noticed yet, the title has no relevance whatsoever to the article which followed. Just happens to be my anthem for the day.
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