It’s six thirty in the morning and you have the entire day planned out for you,you promise to write something meaningful on your blog,promise to keep your cool,when madness descends at eight in the morning (and since effective planning is not really your forte), it fills you up with tremendous pride…read proud. You have an interview, (the third and the final one).You rehearse the last minute, as to how shocked you will be at the un(expected )pay packet offered and how you would coolly and professionally refuse the meager offer, and bargain a hike and in the end finally emerge a winner.But,then life would be such a plain piece of vanilla cake, had it not been for the unexpected slosh of events that are the chocolate icing on the cake. You impress the panel, with your answers, but can’t press them enough to give you what you asked for. It’s a fact well known and discussed but never acted upon,that teachers are the most underpaid of all professionals.They expect you to bring in a revolution, but want to pay peanuts because it’s a noble profession. You buy a little more time and carry your fragile ego carefully down the steps of the building.
DESTINATION 2… local friendly bank, that refuses to acknowledge that your cheque is missing and wants you to believe “what is yours will come back to you…if it doesn’t it never was”, a fraction of that interview confidence is discreetly used here too. As you head back, you speculate ,whether the consumer court would take up your case, and you catch the familiar sight of your two wheeler being scooternapped by the police tow away truck. You watch helplessly, for a second completely numb with shock. Several agony uncles, who had been a witness at the crime scene advise you to negotiate with the driver and get the vehicle off in 100 rs. An angel in the disguise of an auto comes by and actually agrees to take you to the police station(for auto drivers consider below their privilege to go distances less than 5 kms)
Like devotees outside a holy shrine (with green offerings), you patiently wait for your turn to pay up (that’s what it’s all about) in front of the inspector. “Ninna hesaru,madam”,(whats your name)the madam doesn’t really cover the arrogance in his voice.You make the mistake of asking him why your vehicle was the chosen one amongst all the others,and he answers by mouthing some incomprehensible mumbo jumbo, with a few madams thrown in for courtesy. Later, you are informed that all vehicles in the second and third line are targetted to be carried away.You wonder why in spite of all the rights that one follows ,why one is caught at the first wrong turn. A trip to a police station is always a humbling experience, both for one’s ego and our pocket.Three hundred rupees,to get your dear one back ,is a small price to pay.
I shall retain the slip, to remind myself, that parking is as dangerous as driving.So, look before you park, and that parking has it’s own set of rules and regulations,to be followed. I wonder if I hadn’t been to the bank,I wouldn’t have ended up being caught,but then realized that some roads are destined to be journeyed, some fines destined to be paid, and some posts destined to be written, by the sheer force of spontaneity.
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