Why Karnataka?
Why you do this
to me? Last time I visited Bangalore, I was pickpocketed. It was my beloved
camera then. This time, Mysore has got my wallet, the hard saved 700 bucks out
of 1000 my mom had managed to extract out of a bankrupt dad for my expenses at
Mysore during the NOSPlan convention, along with all the ID cards and ATM
cards, and the reliance shopping card, and a few Gulf currencies and a bunch of
passport photos of my friends, and the 10 Rs coin my little brother had given me
for safekeeping.
After the sleepless night in the
crowded general compartment of Yeshwantpur express train, all I wanted to do at
Mysore was to sleep. The cruel arms of fate had me awake whole night next day
helping Utkarsh with Collage and Preetam with Master plan documentary. Before I
could rest my bums again, the sun had peeked over the horizon, it was a
beautiful misty Sunday morning. I had to set out for the hunt for my shot at
Photography competition on “Ethnic Element”. I roamed around the lake by the
Mysore University, crowded with joggers of every age group. I stumbled along
them photographing lake birds and morning sun. There were no sign of ethnicity
around, or may be my head was so dysfunctional after the hours of no sleep.
After breakfast, I had the
company of Binil and Biju for the photo hunt. We roamed around the city
photographing that Muslim woman in hijab, and the bullock kart by the Mysore
palace, but none of the clicks were satisfying. We walked till we reached the
zoo, from where we finally gave up and caught the bus back to City Bus stand.
After paying for the tickets, I was too drowsy, I didn’t bother to put back my
wallet on the pant pocket, instead tucked it between my thighs on the seat and
before I knew, I was dozing. Binil woke me up when we reached bus stand. It was
1 at noon, and I had to submit the photograph by 2. We were thirsty after the
long stroll, we decided to stop by the soda shop, I offered to pay the bills
and checked my pocket, that’s when it dawned on me. I had forgotten my wallet
on the bus.
I ran back to the bus, but the
damage was done. Either the bus had already left and I checked in the wrong
bus, or the wallet was already stolen, I tried in vain reporting to the
conductors and supervisors and police post, they wouldn’t understand Hindi or
English, So we had to use a mixed Telugu-Tamil-Hindi-English hybrid language,
with actions, to communicate with them. They asked me to report a FIR at
Devaraja Police Station. The SI was too uninterested in my tale, that he kind
of “GET OUT”ed at me diplomatically, asking me to get a notary sign an
affidavit before I could post a complaint. Meanwhile Biju went all suicidal taking
the blame on himself for being the third man in the photo hunt, which was a bad
omen according to Binil.
I didn't know what hurt the most,
the hard “saved” money or the hard “earned” ID cards. I had lost my Voter ID,
and I have already experienced the pain of applying for a duplicate one, both
from a querulous dad, and the dodgy officers. The election was around the
corner and I don’t think I can make it. AAP has got all the attention and BJP
was gaining momentum with people frustrated on congress, and people were
eating, drinking and sleeping politics. Thank God I had left my original
driving licence back at home and was using a clone. College ID can easily be
retrieved by paying a hundred bucks, and I reported at the bank to block my
ATM. My reliance shopping card must have had earned considerable points, given,
Binil had used it for his shopping too. And for the Oman currencies it had, it
would total around another two hundred rupees of worth value, but I had kept
them for their emotional value. Why God?! Why?
And for the photography
competition, at 2 PM, I was desperately running around the bus stand, with the
camera around my neck, enquiring at every conductors of the buses from “zoo”
going towards “college” about the lost wallet, and at the program hall, Rohit
submitted his shot from Srirangam of the ‘Diyas’ behalf of me, and to add up to
the wound, the photograph won a third prize.
And when I was back home, I did a
commendable performance at not giving away the news to people at home. I had a
reputation at home for being careless, and out-of-world, and for destroying
things. I didn't want to add another star to my records. 2 weeks later, I was
back at college, I had a call from Home.
"What happened to your
wallet?" Dad was on the other side.
"Umm… err... How did you
know?" Binil had posted the photo of my complaint letter in Facebook earlier
that day. My sister might have sold me out to parents.
"I lost it at Mysore."
I confessed.
"Why didn't you tell us? Why
did you lie about your ATM card?" The other day I had gone to bank for
getting a duplicate for the lost ATM card, and while I was coming back home, I
was caught by dad, and I lied my ATM card was damaged, that I went for a
duplicate.
"Umm… You people would have
killed me alive if I had told you." I took a jab at him.
It worked? He didn't question me
further. He gave me a short lecture on being cautious and serious and those
stuffs, shortly followed by another lecture on the same by mom.
PHEW! That was easy. But
something was fishy. I had foreseen an impact that would measure a 9 point in a
Richter scale but he was as calm as a 5 pointer today.
Next day, my little brother broke
in the twist! The thief had sent home all the stuffs in the wallet by post, except
the money and wallet, of course.
Long live honest thieves!
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