The Water Bottle

Amidst course work, placements and self introspection you need a break. A break from routine, places and people. Some isolate, some party, some ride a vehicle or a person, some travel and some go home. In the end I chose to go home, but that wasn't enough. I still felt incomplete.

I requested my friend who was helping me to get up in life to wake me up in 30 minutes so that I can have a nap. "No", she flatly said. My mixed feelings about her enthusiasm to get everything done and the fact that I just wanted to sleep came in the way. "Fuck it", I exhaled and slept. After I woke up, I dashed to my class which was supposed to be a tutorial on solving problems on your own. I felt a sense of pride about the future where I saw myself solving it all with no aid, something I have never done for the past 4 years in college. I told myself that this is something new I would like to try.

Apparently, the professor was even lazier than me and cancelled what was supposed to be my ticket to working hard in life. Screw him. Screw him hard. Having another three hours for my bus home, I set course to the pick up point. Everything felt normal and calm, what phase of life was I in? Confused, I walked.

As a part of my cost cutting measure, I filled an empty bottle with iced tea powder which was meant to be filled with ice cold water bought for Rs 20. The only part of traveling that I hate was buying anything. Everything is either expensive or feels expensive. Having another two good hours for my bus to arrive, I set myself on a hunt for a bottle of ice cold water that was sold at MRP. I sighed thinking life is fair after all when I saw a supermarket inside the Koyembedu bus stand. I have always noticed that supermarkets usually sell at MRP and they don't mind turning the refrigerator on. I opened the fridge, closed my eyes and savored the moment. The cold air teased my skin, senting shivers down my spine. I did not want to move. Punching a hole in my.moment, the shopkeeper screamed, "25, pay fast and leave." Sometimes anger is triggered, sometimes I have time. Today I had both. Having both is never good for the other party. "Let's see who is the boss, you ass", I smirked thinking to myself and left. Being cynical all my life, I wanted to give life a shot. I waited for a policeman to walk over. After hearing my case in my broken Tamil, he simply said that it was not a part of his job asked me to tell this to someone else. I did not want my cynicism to get the better of me. I still had time. The anger did not fade. This time I set course for the police station inside the bus stand.

Subconsciously, I was contemplating whether to fight the quiet fear in me or not. The very idea of a police station hasn't been friendly in my head, thanks to all the movies. Then I thought of how we pay for them to sit idle. I stood outside the police station as multiple scenarios flashed before me in micro seconds. One particular scenario had an officer pointing out that I walk around with expensive clothing, bag and outlook yet refuse to spare another Rs 5 and help the poor people. I could hear myself retort asking him if he wanted me to do the math and tell him how they loot us so that they can have a drink at night. Another scenario had him explain to me that this was the system there and the shop owners pay them money so that the police officers do not interfere. I made peace with this idea, though I never felt that they would tell me openly.

Putting everything aside, I set foot inside the police station. The first thing I saw was the prisoner holding on to the bars in pain and sorrow. Before I could run out a police officer, who had a bigger moustache than Veerappan, came towards me. I felt he took up this job to exercise self control but was silently a well wisher of the famous dacoit. I told my case and he complied urging me to go ahead and that he will follow in a while. A wave of happiness ran through me. #Missionjustice was successful. A sense of pride, a sense of worthiness. I wasn’t sure if I wanted the shopkeeper to be locked up, slapped or be given a fine. "This is fun. This is what I want to see", I thought delightfully and walked.

I waited, twenty minutes passed. Restlessness kicked in, I went to the store again and picked up the bottle only to hear the "25" again from the shopkeeper. I took a split second to stare at the price tag. "Fuck. Fuck me twice." It was Rs 25 itself. I did not think about the exponential rate of inflation our country was experiencing as I saw a police man approaching the shop. I ran hoping that the shopkeeper did not have the same sense of revenge against me as I did against him to hunt me down, as false information itself is a crime.

Lesson learnt: Earn enough money to not be bothered about the extra Rs 5 and consider it as a donation to the society.