MAN OF STEEL
I wonder if
I would ever get recognised for being an outstanding player in the British
game. At least it is much easier than becoming the Last Son of Krypton. But
this is just a story of one unbelievable weekend in pleasant monsoon June. And man,
it was awesome!
It’s the
week’s last work off, Thursday. Got important stuff lined up for the day. So I
get ready and leave for the office to learn something new in the world of
money. It’s a cool and dry morning. I seek public transport for a customary minimum
of five minutes until I meet a man who’s wavelength matches mine and I know I have
found a ride to my day’s first Point B. I halt the rickshaw at the destination
while getting done with a couple of whatsapp chats. Pay the man, get my stuff
and head up to the 1st floor. All this while, I am busy planning the
rest of my day. Co-ordinating in my head, the various juggling acts I would
have to perform. It’s 11.25am. Yes I got late for an 11am appointment. But I
made it. Meet up with my street smart agent, Samuel(Sam). We exchange our
pleasantries and talk about our previous appointment plans that never saw
daylight. I head to his cabin. Little did he know that he was soon going to
become an agent from Samaria. I seat myself in readiness, only to realize I
have misplaced that brilliant appendage. My Sony Xperia S. I think to myself, “Damn!
I have to meet a friend in the evening. Not to mention the ire of my folks at
home when I tell them I lost 25k worth of gadgetry. Gone are my contacts. Gone
are my precious pictures, music and data. Gone!! The only numbers I remember
are my family’s. How will I contact my friend? I’ll go and wait at the decided
meeting point nevertheless. Oh wait, I’ve got to find my phone!”
I
embarrassingly confess to Samuel and he immediately springs into Samaritan mode
and suggests he will call my number. I feverishly nod in agreement and realize
I had left it in the rickshaw.
We head
down frantically, hoping to find the vehicle. We couldn’t! I ask a shopkeeper
nearby if he saw any cell phone unattended inside a rickshaw. And much to my
surprise, he said.
Well, what
do you think he said?
Sam and I
walk ahead with me grooming my now sweaty hair backwards in disbelief. I find
myself looking inside every other empty three-wheeler. I decide we should ask a
mobile phone service provider for his recommendation on what needs to be done.
“Aisa kuch nahi milega. Aap chahiye toh police chowki mein complain karwao.”
(Ain’t
gonna get it back. If you want to, you can try registering a complaint in the
police station down the road.)
Sam and I
exchange looks of hopeful despair and decide to visit the men in khakis. He
thinks for a moment and suggests we first get his ID card from the office. I
tag along, telling him this usually doesn’t happen. I also cite the fact that I
am juggling a handful of priorities simultaneously. And that I have another
appointment for the evening.
We reach
the station which was more of a kiosk. A wheatish complexioned, bald policeman
was sitting with his candy bar & keypad shaped, wallet friendly phone. “Excuse
me sir!”
No
response. I again say, “Excuse me sir!”
“Haan.
Bolo”
(He keeps
the phone on a desk to his left.)
“Mera phone
ek rickshaw mein reh gaya hai. Kya aap trace karne mein madad kar sakte hain?”
(My phone
is left unattended in a rickshaw. Can you help in tracing it?)
He takes
the phone in his hand again only to keep it back on the desk while stretching
his legs out in a relaxed posture. As he comfortably puts his hands on his
head, he says, “Aap phone aise rakh ke baiththe ho kya?
(Do you sit
without a care in the world with your phone left aside?)
I chuckle
at his sarcasm, as it was expected. He then suggests registering a complaint in
the locality’s main branch about 800metres away. I suggest taking a rickshaw in
my panic stricken grief. But Sam suggests it is alright to walk it off. We walk
towards this Point B now.
The phone
is still ringing in its entirety. The rings weren’t being abruptly stopped. Sam
says that maybe the driver is unable to answer the phone. You know, one has to
make a complete swipe for most phone features.
I’m now sweating
all over in anxiety. My feet subtly telling me that I am going out of my usual
walking lengths. As he keeps dialling my number, I take a moment and tell him,
“You know what. Only good things happen with me. You’ll see!” We decide to skip
the police station and instead head to the Vodafone Gallery that was along the
same stretch, a further 200 metres away.
We dodge
the potholes and puddles as we walk at a brisk pace. I tell myself that there
may be some way for the customer care folks to find my phone. 20 metres away
and I tell my 19yr old Samaritan, “We’re almost there. It’s just up ahead.” I
head past the gate and up the entrance stairs. Push open the hydraulics
assisted glass door and let Samuel in. We look around at the crowded place (It
almost always is.) Not a single soul that ain’t busy. We notice one of the
security guards charging a phone. I ask him about what can be done with regards
to finding a lost phone. The man suggested talking to the receptionist without leaving
out his opinion that it was next to impossible. So I turn to the hostess’ desk
awaiting her visual contact as her colleague approaches.
Her
response to my predicament was of course “Are you looking to get a new SIM card
with the same number?” And I animatedly tell her with wide eyes, “No! I want to
get my phone back. It’s a smart phone, the data services are active. Is there
any way in which you guys can trace the whereabouts of my phone?” The answer
was, “No sir! It’s not possible.”
I leave
with a disappointed sigh. Samuel hears an automated message saying ‘Number not
reachable.’ I decide we should head to the police station after all. This was
our last ray of hope.
Now, a few
of you know this. I’m an agnostic. But I also believe in karma. I also strongly
believe in the law of attraction. Five metres from the Customer Care centre, I
decide to pay heed to what my parents have persisted in telling me. As Samuel
yet again rings my number I say to myself, quite shamelessly I might add, “I
don’t know what this will prove. You are either ‘Universe’, ‘God’ or something
else. But I ask you now, please let me find my phone. I have been a bad kid all
my life and have tried and consequently failed to get my socks up. I know I
have a lot of things that need to be sorted as of right now. Get me my phone
and I will believe even more.”
Believe it
or not, that exact instant, Sam tells me, “Utha liya number!” (He answered the
phone!) I kid you not dear readers. That very same instant!!
He hands
the phone to me. And I say, “Hello, aap kaun bol rahe ho?” (Hello, who is
this?) I know ideally I should have thanked him first. But I wanted to ensure I
ain’t speaking to someone who wants to take me for a ride. Yes, I somehow
managed to think straight despite the panic.
I hear a
native of Uttar Pradesh(UP), judging by his accent and he tells me, “Haan sir
woh aapka phone bajte ja raha tha aur mein utha nahi paya. Mein abhi Andheri se
nikal raha hoon.”
(Yes sir,
you’re phone was ringing incessantly and I was unable to answer it. I am
leaving from Andheri right now.)
“Haan,
achcha, ok”
“Apna bhada
chod ke aap ke yahan hi aa raha hoon.”
(I am
leaving my fares to reach your place.)
With a huge
smile of relief plastered across my face I satisfyingly give a low five to Sam.
“Arre thank
you sirji! Aapka bahut shukriya! Aap kahan pe milenge?”
(Why thank
you sir! Thank you very much! Where do I meet you?)
“Haan woh
jahan aapne gaadi liye the wahan pe hi. Mein aadhe ghante mein pahunch jaoonga.”
(Yeah the
same place that you boarded my vehicle. I will reach in 30 minutes.)
“Ok. Theek
hai, aap wahan par hi milo. Thank you very much sirji!”
(Ok.
Perfect. Thank you very much sir!)
We planned
on how to co-ordinate the meet since the public service provider clearly knew
only how to answer the phone and not dial out. I thank Samuel profusely for
being by my side and give him a hug. He too is overwhelmed by what just
happened in the last 45minutes.
I tell him
to take a rick back to the office and that I would pay for it. But he politely
refuses and says he always walks this stretch and that he had done so even the
first time he came to my place for a demo and registration of the services his
company offers.
So I thank
him again and say I have time until 3pm. Will collect the phone, head to his
office again to collect the rest of my stuff and finish what I had set out for.
I reach
home in another rickshaw which was 5 minutes from the gallery. Have the eggs I
had boiled for my brunch. Head out to buy an umbrella which disappears at the
end of every monsoon. Come back home and wait for 30 minutes with no calls from
Sam on my landline. I decide to head to the spot where I boarded the first
rickshaw. I wait for ten minutes with no sign of the gentleman from UP. I head
back home realising Sam may have called by now. But how do I call him? I search
in excitement as I knew I had his business card somewhere in my wallet. I call
him and he says,
“Yes
Joaquim sir! I was trying your number. I called him and he told me the phone ain’t
with him anymore. It’s with a Sarvesh somewhere in Goregaon.”
“What? Now
who is Sarvesh?”
(Is this a
movie?)
“Yes. I explained
the situation to him. I’ve also made
note of his details. But since I’m his only point of contact he has asked us
both to come to his location. He says he will be there until evening and that
we can come over and collect the phone as long as we can verify our identities.”
“Achcha!
(Seriously?) Ok let’s meet at your office and we can leave from there. I’ll be
there in 10 minutes.”
I tell
myself, “I ain’t gonna get my phone back so easily. Will have to work for this.
Life’s teaching me a lesson after all.”
“Now who
could this Sarvesh be?”
....to be
continued.
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