Complete disaster!
I hope this is a dream. Rather, I hope this is a nightmare.
I got a call at 5 in the morning from my friend informing me that my bike got lost. My head spun, refusing to fully comprehend what he was saying. It couldn’t happen. How would I face dad? What would I tell mom? How was I going to deal with this new heartache?
Let us face it-I am not a rich kid. The Yamaha FZS was my most prized possession. It should be, considering that it cost three quarters of a lak and cost me six months of patient and persistent hard, sleepless work. No one who had seen me slog would say I did not deserve it. I was sentimentally attached to it. Buying a Yamaha was my dream since sixth grade and to turn it into a reality was one of the high points in life for me.
What does he mean it is gone? My mind says it is not his fault. My heart refuses to acknowledge the loss. I dint drink last night, did I? I just don’t remember, everything is so blank.
I walk up the stairs, to wake my mother. A million thoughts run through my head, each scarier than the previous one. She looked at my face and feared that something had happened to my gran. I ate something or I drank something, I don’t remember, and reached my friends place.
It was six. The whole apartment was awake. This was the first time a bike got stolen. Accusations flew everywhere. Some said I was to blame. Some said the watchman was slack. Some said the association was slack. Some just kept saying things I couldn’t really comprehend and had no intent to care about.
I headed out to the police station at 6 15. Just one cop was available. He was half asleep, irritable, as he was woken up. He wrote down the details.
Name?………….. CM
Father’s name?……Sur
Address?………1/6,……Kodambakkam,
He stopped writing.
Kodambakkama?? Then why are you coming here? Yours is Ashok Nagar Politasion? Why you woke me up? He started to shout.
Sir, actually am the owner of the bike, it got stolen in his house.
Then give your address nah!! Why you are wasting my time?
It was our fault, to disturb the poor policeman who was sleeping during duty?
What is your bike name- uh, HEMAGA, FS… FC, F-ijaad aah…??
Wait down, inspector will come.
When sir?
Fipteen minittes!
Four agonizing hours we waited for the inspector. Finally at 10 30, the same guy came and asked us to come again after lunch.
At 1, we were at the station door.
The inspector was a good man. He asked us to sit in the wooden table along with the rest of the guys they had brought in as suspects for some other cases. Then he asked my whole story and then completely dismissed it as a cook up. He first accused me of hiding my bike for the insurance money I would get. He then accused my friend of stealing the bike from me. He then accused the watchman for stealing the bike for money. He then asked me to come after three days.
No indication of writing a complaint.
I got home with a mega head ache… Half expecting someone to wake me put of this nightmare.
To be continued……………….
