“Life is strange”, these words keep ringing in my ears every other day, just as if to remind me of those dark days of poverty, hunger, temptation, fascination and dreams. Yes dreams, cause dreams are the only solace to relieve one of his misfortunes.

‘Misfortunes’, did I say? , may be not, for life is really strange.

To consider myself, not to have been successful in terms of currency would seem inappropriate. I today own a fashion boutique, a unique, ‘one of its kind’ store in the city and rated amongst those that one cherishes to belong. But I am always reminded of my past, those dark days…..my college days.

I have been lucky to graduate from one of the esteemed college’s in the city and arguably amongst the best in the country. The college days instantly remind me of the public transport that I caught every morning to college and again the Midday bus back home. It remains an integral part of my life and has been instrumental in a change of my dearth in fortune.

The Midday bus fascinated me the most. I took the city market bus which was particularly crowded with florist woman, who after their days purchase had begun to work meticulously at knitting the flowers, to sell them at the local market by evening. It was a common sight to find these women hurl abuses at the other, while they competed for space within the dingy bus.

It was one such day, after my graduation when I again boarded this bus. Life had been tough. I had again failed in an interview and my career seemed to be headed nowhere. A sense of hopelessness descended on me. The dream of a white-collared job seemed to be fading away. The thought of being an entrepreneur was beyond my financial preview. Little can a “Local Buswalla” dream of being an employer. My degree certificate was a piece of rotted paper. I felt estranged and lonely as I boarded the Midday bus to return home.

As usual, the bus was crowded and commotion prevailed as it trudged along like a bullock, stopping now and then, either at a bus stop or a traffic signal. It was at the rotary shop when a quarrel erupted. A lady who had boarded the bus requested the gentleman who occupied the ladies seat to vacate. The man, in his early thirties, refused to budge from his seat. Having paid for the entire journey, he felt ‘authorised ‘to remain seated. It was only when I vacated my seat for the lady, did the dispute settle.

The bus rolled along and it was at the Govardhan junction when I noticed a young chap board the bus. He must have been in his mid-twenties, glittering in formals, unmistakably an Allen Solly, that sparkled amongst the rugged worn-out cloth. He was from one of those software firms that had taken the city by storm. The city was today considered ‘Hi-tech’, though ground reality seemed no different.

No sooner the bus left Govardhan junction, it again came to a halt at the Chalukya Signal. The Chalukya signal is characteristic for its unending long stoppage time before the signal turned green. A deafening calm prevailed in an otherwise noisy bus, when suddenly the ‘angry young man’ rushed to the exit, knocking another passenger on his way out and in no time disappeared into the maddening crowd. Meanwhile the bus began with a jerk that I happened to fall on the young chap. Having apologised, he helped me get back on my feet.

The conductor was making his way to the rear of the bus, when I frantically scrutinising my pockets cried aloud of my lost property. “MY WALLET “was missing.

No sooner another yell was heard, echoing similar cries. It was the young chap who was also robbed of his wallet.

I rushed to the exit looking for him, the angry young man.

“It’s that ruthless soul, he was by my side all this while “. I yelled in desperation

“He was arrogant”, asserted the conductor.

The young chap was in tears, having lost a sizable amount.

“I just drew my salary for the month”, he cried.

The conductor, having comforted us, had the bus thoroughly searched to no avail. We ended up lodging a joint complaint about a “Dark, well-built, ill-tempered rogue”, who stole our wallets and disappeared into the crowd, at the High Grounds police station. Two new-found friends who had united for a ‘common cause’, finally parted ways over a cup of coffee at the Brahmins, the bill duly paid by the little change that remained in my shirt pocket.

As he stepped into the auto rickshaw, he quickly scribbled his phone number on a little piece of paper

“Great knowing you friend, it’s been really kind of you”, he said “I swear, I wouldn’t spare that rogue who stole our wallet. Let me know if you ever trace him, I don’t even remember his face” he cursed himself.

As the rickshaw moved farther away from me, disappearing into the dense city traffic , I could only but smile at the turn of events.

“It was a great fall, timed to perfection”, I complimented myself, as the little piece of paper found its way into the litter.

Having created a chaos over a wallet that never existed and a thief of an arrogant man, I walked into the crowd, the tantalising crowd of the city, with a bag in hand and “The Lost Wallet”, within. It was a great booty my friends, a booty that changed my life.

Had there not been an arrogant man? Had there not been a rich young chap? , I do not know if my life would have ever changed.

All that I know was that it was that bus, the Midday Bus, which brought in light in the midst of the eerie and the frightening darkness, the darkness of poverty.

And yes, did I tell you dear friends, that my boutique was named “THE LOOT”!

P.S- This article is purely a piece of fiction. A short story that I wrote about 6 years ago.