“Uncle, you should not trust drivers. They are big thieves,” alerted Meenalochani, my daughter’s friend last November when I began to criss cross India on trucks to understand the logistical nightmare of moving commercials goods on Indian highways. My better half seconded that opinion. I did not. One, Meenalochani is a cop’s daughter and her innate suspicion is to be expected. Secondly, wives are always protective of their spouses. So no extra precaution to protect my wife presented gold chain (approximately Rs.20,000) and a golden ring worth approx. Rs.10,000. Add to this, my Dell laptop, Sony Handicam, Blackberry, and a Nokia E90 (for recording purposes) plus some cash onroad expenses. A little over one lakh Rupees. So the spousal worry is to be understandable.
I never had any problems on the security of my belonging over the past six months during which I had covered over 6,000 kilometres on highways in the company of drivers and conductors. I never suspected any one of them. Each was a genuine character. Many had taken me to their homes for introduction to their huge families and had spent time in their electric powerless homes. Many felt I was like their father figure because most of my driver companions were in their 20s. A family bonding, I have no hesitation to boast of. They are as much God’s creation as I am. Or you, the reader of this piece.
But what happened on 12 May night was unforgettable. We had left Kandivli, Bombay at three in the morning with Mahindra’s Arjun Ultra tractors (six in number) for delivery to Dharwad with Zubaidar Khan, hailing from Pratapgarh, Uttar Pradesh. He did not have a conductor and I was his only companion. We traversed through the interiors of Maharashtra: Pune and Satara and hardly 10 kilometres before Kolhapur decided to go for night half. He approached an Indian Oil petrol pump for night halt and the guy demanded Rs.20 for his security services which Zubaidar felt was too much on the higher side and declined the spot. His offer was Rs.10 for the night halt. Soon he found an open spot in front of Bharat Petroleum pump on the highway and opted for it. But there was no space inside the pump lot because it was choc-a-bloc with windmill carriers and car-carriers and assorted vehicles. However, the service road slot had space for two vehicles and Zubaidar chose the outer one closer to the Highway which was hardly one and a half metre away! That close. The traffic was pretty heavy when we spread our blanket inside the cabin and decided to go to sleep.
Zubaidar chose the inside longer slot and I opted the frontside – a little shorter one, but breadthwise more comfortable. My holdall containing my clothes, medicines, three business card folders, trip notes (300 page), Amul factory visit notes on loose sheets, my shoes for possible use if needed, my toiletries etc. Zubaidar kept it at his headside. My laptop, camera, wallet, mobile phones were dumped into my laptop bag and kept inside the space over which Khan was sleeping. I covered myself with a blanket brought from home and grabbed Dame Sleep. When you travel on highways particularly on a truck which moves at 45 kmph in May heat, the moment you hit the bed, you are dead. Add the fact that past midnight the weather always remain cooler irrespective of day temperature.
Don’t know when but I felt some movement and turned around and saw the driver side door was ajar and a lean character was standing on the roadside. I mistook him for the cleaner of the neighbouring vehicle which again was carrying Rinku Commercial Carrier’s Mahindra Tractors to Salem. Abu, the driver of that vehicle (with whom I would travel later from Dharwad to Bangalore) and Zubaidar are colleagues. Why the driver side door was open did not strike me. Perhaps Zubaidar would have kept the door open so that fresh air seeps inside. There was no electric fan inside the cabin.
A little later, I felt a hand over my neck and I woke up with a shriek: “Who’s that?” I quickly sat up and felt that my left hand was holding a piece of my gold chain. The hand was near my navel button. When did my gold chain became so long to reach my navel button? I wondered all in a flash of moment. “Chain, Chain”, I shouted. Zubaidar got up quickly.
“Kya hua?”
I told him somebody has broken my gold chain.
“Thief, thief,” I shouted.
Zubaidar switched on the cabin light and he saw me trembling with a broken golden chain in my hand.
He jumped out, shouting, “Kaun hai re?”. He ran around the truck two times. I also got out. Across the road, we could see a torch light moving fast. We thought the thief was from the village across the road and was dashing back.
Zubaidar knocked on the door of Ayub’s vehicle. He also got out. Both began exchanging notes and tried to see what to do.
Then, to our surprise we noticed that front side glass panel of our trck was missing. The thief removed this glass and put his hand inside and opened the cabin to enter inside to check.
I climbed into the cabin to check whether the missing portion of my golden chain was lying inside. It was not. But to my horror, I found my holdall missing!“Zubaidarbhai, my bag is missing,” I shouted.
“What?” he screamed.
He climbed up and checked and confirmed that my bag was also missing.
I lost everything. Nothing to wear. I had to buy fresh clothes – right from undies to shirts, pants, shoes, and above all my medicinal kit (am diabetic and carry my stuff everywhere!). On the eve of my departure on this trip from Delhi to Chennai and elsewhere, my daughter presented me a set of T shirts and collarless, screaming headline colour banians. One of them was the duplicate of Salman Khan made famous “Being Human” grey banian. Medicine for a month gone missing.
“What about your laptop?” demand Zubaidar.
We opened the bench over which he was sleeping and found the laptop in tact. Thank God.
What to do? I have to meet people in Dharwad and Bangalore. What to wear?
Forget about dress. How to replace the lost business card folders (three in number). All contacts lost. My foot! I was cursing myself.
More than 300 business cards!
These are very invaluable, believe it or not.
We all live in a networked world. One look at the card and I would be able to recollect precisely when did I meet that person and what exactly we discussed as conversational starter. All that is lost! Oh my God!
Well, then the Big Worry. How to share this misfortune with my wife? How will they react? Should I hide this fact till I go home? Meenalochani will have the last laugh. I told you so, I can hear her taunting me at a future date when we meet.
I decided to share this with my family and the world. Not through a call. But through my twitter and facebook posting. Since my phone connection is not trustworthy, my family keeps track of me through these postings.
I tweeted about the midnight robbery without any loss of time from my Blackberry.
That’s when Ayub noticed the cut on the back of my yellow T shirt. The thief had cut my T shirt from the back and reached out to my gold chain. While he grabbed it gently, the rudraksha bead attached the chain got entangled in my sacred thread and the ‘pull’ awoken me. He ran away with half of my golden chain. I removed the T shirt to look at the blade cut. He had made four or five cuts to reach the chain! The blade ought to have been very sharp. I never felt the tip of the instrument.
Demoralised I was. Should I call police and report? Should be cancel the trip and return home? Going to police was ruled out because if it becomes a legal case, I had to keep coming to Kolhapur to attend any enquiry. I don’t want that because I have no time and energy for those things. Seconldy there is no guarantee that approaching police would help me anyway recovering my stuff. It’s gone.
We patiently waited for the day break. For over three hours we never slept. Once day broke, we stepped out and crossed the road began searching the open field and beyond for any telltale signs of my bag. There was some construction acitivity going on and felt some of the labourers might have attempted this small time crookery. We spent more than an hour on the other side of the highway with no results.
Then we crossed to our side and began the search again. After an hour, suddenly Zubaidar shouted, “Look there!”
I looked in the pointed direction. Under the bush, my red bag was lying opened. All my belongings were lying on ground. My notebooks. My shoes. My medicine. My business card folders. My Oats cookies. One packet containing 3 oats was opened. It appeared he bit into one and found it is not upto his taste and threw it away. Ants were feasting on them. They loved it, I felt. I was glad that my clothing problem is sorted out. To certain extent, my wife won’t scream. Of course, she would over the loss of chain – partly, I would try to convince her.
I collected my stuff and moved back to our vehicle.
I began rearranging the stuff. Ran my fingers through each item. They would have been lost forever. Luckily, the thief felt my belongings were of no use to him. Zubaidar surmised that the first time, the thief came and decamped with the bag. After foraging through it, he felt the owner of this holder seems to be an educated guy. But where is the money? So he returned second time to check. He could not locate my laptop bag which held money, camera, mobile phone etc. Then decided to look for any valuable item. Then perhaps noticed the gleaming golden chain under his minute torch and attempted the daring chain snatch. He half succeeded. No, he half failed. Thanks to my sacred thread or yagnopavitham and the rudraksha bead.
Significantly the rudraksha bead is a gift from my late father in law who used to wear them 40 years ago! Thanks, my Father in Law! Who says sacred thread is useless? I won’t – particularly after this drama in my half on the Indian highway!
No comments:
Post a Comment