A day in the life of L.E

‘Every good deed I perform is returned with a good one in store for me’, or so a popular proverb would have me believe. Well, in my life everything that could possibly go wrong, inevitably does! Sometimes, I marvel at the irony, sometimes I laugh at how little inconsequential things amalgamate, get contorted beyond recognition, assume gigantic proportions and attain entirely unimaginable results, unforeseen by me.
Foremost amongst these unintentional mishaps is the fact that I’m incredibly unlucky, more so, when utilizing technology. I-pods unceremoniously die on me, electric irons develop minds of their own and accidentally choose to explode, when I’m in their nearby vicinity and cell phone memory cards consistently refuse to store information regardless of the display screen citing the availability of plenty of empty space. Let me then humor you dear reader with an anecdote, at my expense that sometimes amuses my friends.
Post completing my degree in mass communications in college, I functioned primarily as an appendage of my parents, slothfully dependent on them to complete most of the activities and chores assigned to me. Free spirited, in a limboistic world of my own and consistently disorganized were qualities that I distinctly embodied, with an acquired ease.
Last year in the month of February, I had a job interview to attend. I was incredibly excited as the result would determine whether I would be a glamorous television reporter, as I had frequently envisioned in my child-hood, probably the first of its kind in my family.
Like the procrastinating bitch that I was, I happily left it all for ‘The Day’ right from the formal clothes I would be wearing, choosing decent shoes, projects I would be carrying, never mind the fact, that I didn’t even have any projects to begin with! Mom had specifically instructed me to avoid wearing the charming delicate, purple strappy stilettos I favored, for fear they would disintegrate.
Early in the morning i.e what I considered to be 10 o’ clock, I scurried, like a retard. Papers a flying, piles of cds being frantically rummaged through and tested, visuals and diagrammatic representations being hastily darkened, which I later decided as worthless and scrunged into a ball. I wondered what I’d do if I had additional time to prepare. I would indeed squander every bit of it, right down to the last nano sec of that I was sure. Homer Simpson had tough competition ahead.
The clock struck 11:00 o’clock. I sheepishly gaped. I still had to mail my resume to the boss, who would conduct the interview and I was not even in the possession of a copy of the sheet. That’s how organized I used to be. I had to be in his office at Dadar at 2:30 pm. Besides gathering the relevant documents, it would take me the better part of an hour and a half to reach the venue. I was not entirely sure, a part of me even wanted this supposed ‘prized’ job.
I arrived at the internet cafe by 11:30 and performed a background-check on the company, then the server failed and the NET WENT DOWN! I hadn’t mailed the interviewer my resume nor did I possess a copy of the doomed document. Yup, forget to mention, it was definitely not worth even a glance.
Mysteriously though I had discovered an old project earlier in my email inbox before the net had decided to pull the vanishing act on me. I requested the computer guy to copy it onto a cd. It was a miniscule attempt on my part to convince the interviewer of my apparent employability. The buffoon that the computer guy was, he delicately stroked a couple of keys and my entire assignment vanished, as though it never existed to begin with. Like a mirage to the dying nomad, like a cursory illusion. I momentarily wondered whether I had hallucinated. Dumbfounded is putting it mildly. Flabbergasted, foaming at the mouth would be more appropriate.
It was now 12 pm! At this point I was pondering whether to call the boss guy and bail out. I tarried to contemplate whether it was the computer guy that I was more enraged at or myself. The clock displayed the time as 12:30 pm and the net had returned. Gleefully, I proceeded and completed my work with astonishing speed.
Then the cyber cafe creep overcharged me! I know I resemble an angel that has descended out of heaven but spare me the unconcealed thievery. Disgusted I thrust the wad of cash into his hands and made a run for it.
The clock struck 1! I’m expected to be present at the venue at 2:30pm. Never mind the fact that it would take me an hour and a half to actually commute to dadar by train. From the cyber café, I had to reach home, get dressed, fill my bag with the basic necessities. There’s never really a dull moment with Ally around the place! Obviously, I skipped lunch and ran to reach the station to buy a ticket.
Luckily, I got a fast train. It was 2:30 and I was still at Dadar station. So far so good! 10 minutes late didn’t sound too bad or so I convinced myself as I didn’t want to panic. I looked down at the creak, that I realized was my broken shoe and all hope came crashing down!
Perfect! I laughed in my head, just when I was wondering what could possibly go wrong this time around. A little maharashtrian fisher woman passerby, told me to get them stitched. “Um”I fumbled. “I have to be in a job interview at sometime around NOW!” I asked her whether, she knew where god forsaken Naigaon ie the interview venue was. “I’ll ask around for you” is what she told me.
I took off my broken shoe and climbed the dadar railway station bridge filthy with cauliflower heads and rotting vegetables left to decay by insolent, uncaring vendors. I held the incriminating purple shoe in one hand. As the petite lady told me that I looked funny, I slipped off the other shoe as well. Together my companion of the 15 odd minutes of my life and I walked along to dadar market, in search of shoes at throw–away prices!
I was stared at smirkingly by the shoe salesman at the neighboring stall. I grinned and bore it. All the dude wanted to do was get a great bargain. Fifteen minutes into what was supposed to be my life-altering interview I was bargaining like a strange combination of a stock broker cum fisherwoman. “100 bucks” it was for a pair of dainty silver shoes, with a beautiful turquoise winged butterfly at the helm. But then I took my words back. “For a fifteen minute stint, that’s still too much to pay.” It was my alter ego talking now! 'Stingy ally' 'stingy ally'.
I called the interviewer and told him I was going to be late. He was having lunch. He told me to meet him at some weird, obscure hotel. “Err” Remembering horror stories of how gullible girls are kidnapped and trafficked under the pretext of an interview in Mumbai, I’m debating at the veracity and how genuine this job interview actually is.
My feet still unadorned and our interest piqued helpful lady and I strolled along to the next street. We glanced at the vendors and scanned the myriads of shoes on display for our rapacious eyes. I chose a bottle green pair, adorned with an emblem of a majestic sun, bronze and ornately carved with numerous rays, nesting cozily at the vertex of the straps.
We attempted to coax the street smart vendor to provide us with a cheaper bargain. He in turn deliberately amused us by quoting an exorbitant sum of 190 bcks! We blackmailed him by citing the previous shop and threatening to purchase the latter’s wares. He’d pleased if we did, considering he owned both stores, he so kindly informed us. We appreciated his tongue cheek humour and wit and quickly purchased the pair. It was a steal to say the least.
So lovely stranger lady had wrapped my physically afflicted, purple broken shoes in a plastic bag. I suddenly wondered whether she was going to take off, shoes et all. At this crucial moment I received a call from the interviewer who enquired as to my whereabouts and requested me to meet him at a neighboring coffee shop.
At Dadar market I was perplexed after enquiring with seven odd vegetable vendors ask who haven’t heard of ‘Barista’ in a lifetime, due to the paucity of civilized people to enquire from. Still other individuals directed me to the adjoining irani cafe upstairs, insanely beautiful with blue green painted french windows .
Enfin, I made an emergency call to the interviewer who told me that I was located in Dadar west. Barista was situated in the east and cited a Hanuman mandir [an Indian deity’s temple]! My companion the helpful lady decided to wash her hands clean off potential trouble. Me! She gave me a "wotcha upto gurl?" look that required little verbal proficiency. The meaning was conveyed through her eyes. I translated it accurately. “You told me you have to go to an office for an interview at a television station, later a food joint and now quelle horreurs! a coffee shop. I didn’t entirely blame her. The entire concept and last minute changes sounded seedy hollow and suspicious to my own ears. I bid her adieu. Farewell my friend. We shall meet someday again. Perhaps at another job interview.
She promised to keep me in her prayers and hoped that I’d get the job whilst returning the treasure, thats my pair of broken shoes, so beautifully wrapped in a plastic bag, that she borrowed from the street vendor , nevermind the that fact I was suspicious while questioning the reason why she was being nice to me and her ulterior motives. My faith in humanity restored, I smiled.
Oh yea! About the job? It was a successful interview. I got it! However outlandish or unfathomable it sounds. That day I promised myself that I’d cease to deliberately postpone important activities up to the last minute, shirk my responsibilities. I would grow up like a mature individual and take responsibility for my own actions and not blame anyone else for my own mistakes or transgressions. The prospect of losing my child hood dream made me realize how badly I actually desired it, the fervent desire that ran deep beyond and the realization that I would never be able to forgive myself if things had turned unpleasant or gone wrong.