I read a blog, the NITK Numbskull's page which chronicled that blogger's tribulations because of a highly defective memory. I immediately remembered an anecdote.
Now a word about my pathological need for chipping in with anecdotes. No doubt due to some grim incident in my childhood now residing only in the subconscious, I feel compelled, every now and then, to narrate an incident from my past which highlights the point I have been listening to. It is usually boring, often pointless and almost always jazzed up. After I've said it or posted it, I feel like an ass, but the next minute I'm ready with another one. And occasionally someone will recount that anecdote to me after several years and I have to use considerable histrionic talent to conceal my bewilderment. If we had a family escutcheon the motto would be "Naren, shut up".
So I'm going to give it up for ever and ever and ever. Just one last one, please, pretty please, I'll never do it again, whine, whine, whine. Ok? Oh thank you, thank you....
The story I'm about to narrate happened way back in the 80s when, a slender lad of some 18 summers, I had managed to acquire a driving license. The old pater familias issued a stern ban on any kind of charioteering save for the purpose of extracting the pride of our possession, Premier Padmini 82 model, from the parking slot onto the lane outside. But I have a sweet and obliging mom and I would wangle permission to take it out for spins in the afternoon when my dad, a doctor, had his siesta.
One day I took it to the market near the railway station, to drop a "friend" (no, ain't confessing nothin) and stood chatting with her. Eventually she hopped on to a train and I turned back. And what should drive up just then but a BEST bus, life line of Mumbai which, for the trifling sum of 50 paise would drop me home. I hopped in, reached home and got down to life in general. Soon it was time for dad to go to his clinic and, finding the key on the key rack where I had absentmindedly deposited it, went out to find his balance sheet shy of one item namely Car, sparingly used.
It was stolen, surely! A quick search of the neighborhood, with me leading from the front, revealed no trace of it and we decided to report it to the police station. On our way there, we found our car nicely parked and free of all injuries and evidence of mishandling. I was there, of course. I got an earful. The old dad is by way of being a Gandhian so there was no abuse or violence, but the general tone of his voice (God, what did I do to deserve this) was punishment enough. And the worst punishment of all was the enthusiasm with which this anecdote was recounted by aunt to aunt and from cousin to uncle, with a great deal of delight in the fact that Naren had finally flipped it.
There. My last anecdote for the foreseable future. I shall only talk about the state of the economy, or social issues far removed from any possible anecdotes.
The market is down 500 points. Reminds me of the time I......