My mouth
feels acrid most of the day. If you are a nobody like me, neither rich nor
poor, you will know what a fermented existence it is to be like the fly:
irritating enough to elicit a frown but not threatening enough to warrant more.
Now before I get the rap from you dear reader for being an ingrate, for not
appreciating my privileged existence, for pointless negativity let me assure
you I am as sane as they come. Why then does my cranium curdle as the day
progresses?
You have
gone into the Basrurkar market, parking with care. Business done, you return
and eye the vehicle placed across the road, gauging the angle of turn. No one moves
so you get behind the wheel and begin to ease out, trying to catch someone’s
eye for guidance. Not so much as a muscle twitches until your car comes to rest
on the van behind with a dull clunk. The place erupts. You are a person of murderous intent thereafter.
You return
from a shopping spree, laden with bags and the nagging feeling you were
fleeced. The bargaining, the silly sweets for change, the tepid Thums Up thrust
at you with an insistence it is chilled, the shoe pinching in rhythm with the
sweat dripping; a dull ache has begun to hammer at the head. All you can think of is dumping yourself unceremoniously in the car to first switch on the AC. What do you know;the parking attendants have done the disappearing act.
You are
blithely power walking the poodle, sniffing the moisture in the air
appreciatively when along comes an Audi 4, crunching headlong into the storm
water, spraying you with the drain dregs at a brisk whoosh. All you can do is
gnash your denture in time to the strains of Honey Singh’s vocals emanating from
the dimming tail lights.
You just
shelled out something to the tune of twenty four thousand rupees for two pairs
of progressive, transition, monochromatic spectacles, having settled on a green
and blue david johns and another in maroon, after trying out some thirty four frames. The optician
positions your head to mark the center, reaches for the frames and drops them to
the floor. With nary a remorseful breath, he bends to pick them up, blows esophageal
air twice and proceeds with the event.
You have
paid a packet for a holiday promised with adventure and action. A lot many
people seem in charge and there are several communications, the leader guiding
you to the camp on phone, even awaiting you near a mountain road for the last
leg. Just as soon as the money exchanges hands, there is a Houdini act, all of
a sudden you have been declared self-sufficient.
You just
craned your neck at the petrol pump in response to the attendant calling attention
to the zero marking on the pump. A second fellow proceeds to wipe the windscreen with
flair. You debate whether to step out for greater vigilance. Too late! Payment
made, credit card slip signed with a greasy pen and you drive off in relief,
only to puzzle over the fuel needle that refuses to rise where you want it to.
You are out
on a road trip and had the foresight to put the car through a servicing before
setting out. But the water logging and moonscape on our roads have brought
your steed to a grinding halt. You count your stars it happened close to habitation;
there is even an ATM close by for the unforeseen expenditure. You advance,
bouncing leaping, grinning at the guard outside only to find it all deathly silent
inside. Of course, it is not working!
After
precise spelling out of the fond message, having selected with care the most appropriate
combination of flowers and cake for a loved one’s special day and having made
an advance payment online, Ferns and Petals delivers it all with a minuscule
card, the words scrawled in an illiterate hand!
It is these
little things. After all it takes only a teaspoon of curd to ferment milk!
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