Kabir had not read the morning’s newspapers. Having returned home late last night from his friend Melwyn’s bachelor bash, it was almost midday when he had woken up. He had overdone it last night. Even by his standards. He could barely walk by the time he and his bunch of buddies had decided to leave the party. Raghu, the only guy who had managed to remain sober had to drive them all home, one by one. He had woken up with the inevitable headache. Fortunately for him, he didn’t have to worry about work that Saturday. The BPO center where he worked had a five day week.

   As he brushed his teeth, Kabir looked at himself in the mirror and frowned. Tousled hair that had grown a little too long. A rough stubble. Reddened sleep starved eyes. There was the wedding to attend that evening. It was his best friend’s wedding. Several old friends would be meeting up… some after several years. It would be good fun. This disheveled look wouldn’t do though. “Have to get a haircut” he thought, “And shave in the evening.” His beard had a tremendous rate of growth - if he shaved now, the stubble would anyway be back by the evening. Suddenly he remembered his sherwani. His only sherwani, worn once at his cousin’s wedding a year ago. He would be wearing it for Melwyn’s wedding too. He had given in it for dry cleaning two days ago. It had to be picked up today. In fact the chap at the cleaners had warned him to pick it up by noon on Saturday. They would close early that day. Still brushing, he walked out of the bathroom, to look at the clock on the wall. It showed quarter to twelve.

   “Oh no!” he thought rushing back to the bathroom to gargle his mouth. There wasn’t time for anything else, he decided. Not even for washing his face or combing his hair. He had to rush. If he left immediately and drove at breakneck speed, with some luck, he could reach the laundry in 10 to 12 minutes. He pulled on the dirty pair of jeans that was lying draped on his chair for the last two weeks. The T-shirt in which he had slept would have to do. No time to dig out a clean shirt now. He picked up his cell phone and rushed out of the house in his bathroom slippers, shouting over his shoulder to his Mom that he would be back soon. Getting into his white Alto, he reversed out of the gate quickly and made his way through the traffic to the laundry in K.S.R Road. The second hand car that he had bought a month ago was proving to be useful.

   As he approached the laundry, he frantically looked for a place to park. Finding an empty space to park was not easy on this busy street. He drove slowly past the laundry, relieved to find it still open. About a hundred yards further he spotted a gap in the line of parked cars, in front of the ICICI ATM on the opposite side of the road, just wide enough for his Alto. He maneuvered his car into the slot, climbed out and hurried to the laundry. They were preparing to shut down. He collected his sherwani, paid the bill and sauntered back towards his car. The endless stream of vehicles made crossing the road a difficult task. His phone started ringing. It was his mother. She wanted him to pick up some tomatoes and green chillies on the way home. Kabir was irritated. He did not like going to vegetable shops. They always seemed to be so crowded. His mother was telling him that he could stop at the shop close to home. He crossed the road, half listening to his mother reminding him to make sure that the tomatoes were not too raw. “And get some coriander too” his Mom went on as he opened the door of the car and slid in. He put the packed sherwani into the seat on his left and reversed the car out into the street. Shifting to first gear, he slowly eased into the traffic. The gear shift seemed unusually hard. He reached for a tissue from the box on the dashboard. “Where did the box go?” he thought glancing at the empty dashboard. It was then he realized that something was seriously wrong. It was not his car! It was a white Alto all right but it was not his. He was too distracted by his mother’s call when he had got into this car. He was driving someone else’s car!


   Kabir panicked. What would he do now? He slowed down, took a U-turn and headed back towards the Laundry. As he drove past the Laundry, he sighed with relief. The slot from which he had removed this car was still empty. That made things a lot easier. He would re-park this car in its original place, and drive away in his car. He now realized that this Alto which he had mistaken to be his was actually just next to the ATM. His car was over there, right in front of the ATM. “But how did the door open?” he thought. He recalled his friend Raghu talking about how Maruti Alto keys were sometimes interchangeable. He had not believed him then. Maybe there was some truth to that story after all. Kabir parked the car carefully. He cautiously looked around to see if the owner was around. Luckily, the owner had not returned yet. It would have been terribly embarrassing if the actual owner of the car found him in the car! He quickly got out of the car and started walked towards his Alto. As he inserted the key into the door of his car and turned it, he was beginning to smile to himself. Now he was able to see the funny side of it all! The smile froze in a second and quickly turned into a frown. The sherwani. He had left it in that other car on the passenger’s seat. He could not leave it there. He had to go back for it. Cursing himself, he turned and made his way back to the car that was creating such a nuisance for him. Standing by the driver’s door, he furtively looked around to make sure the owner wasn’t anywhere near by. There were so many people on the street, he could never be sure. Should he wait until the owner returned, explain everything and then take his sherwani? Would anyone believe such a preposterous story? “What the heck?” he thought, “I’ll take my chance”. With one last sideward glance, he opened he door and bent in to pick up the sherwani. It was then that he heard the shout. “Hey! You, Stop!” Kabir jerked his head out, slammed the door and looked back. He saw this burly man with wildly waving hands running towards him. It took a fraction of a second for Kabir’s mind to make an almost subconscious decision. Next thing he knew he was running madly down the street with the burly man at his heels.

   He brushed past the people on the side walk, running faster than he had ever done in his life. By now a few others had joined the chase too. A city bus was just pulling away from the bus stop on the other side. He streaked across the street taking advantage of a fortuitous break in the traffic, jumped onto the footboard of the bus and quickly made his way into the middle of the bus. The bus picked up speed and took a right turn at the next junction into the broad main street of the city. Kabir was panting. His heart racing, temples throbbing, legs aching he could not wait to get back home.

   After a shave, bath and lunch, he sat down with the days newspapers. He chanced upon this story at the bottom right hand corner of the first page of the local newspaper.

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Car thief strikes again
From our Crime Correspondent
 The dreaded car thief of Mangalore has struck again. A black Santro parked near the PVS building was reported to be missing yesterday evening. This is the eighth car reported stolen from this area in the last two months. The vendor at the milk booth in front of which the stolen car was parked is reported to have seen a young unshaven man in a black T-shirt drive away the car. Initial investigations have suggested that these thefts are linked to the same individual or small gang operating in the city. A case has been registered in the Bunder police station.
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   The T-shirt which Kabir had worn to the laundry that morning was black too. The stubble, uncombed hair and slippers must have made him appear like a picture perfect car thief to that burly man who had chased him down K.S.R Road! It was then that that he realized how narrow an escape he had pulled off that morning.
 
   Kabir did not return to KSR road till later that evening. When he did muster enough courage to do so, it was with Raghu to whom he had narrated his woeful story. It had taken half an hour for Raghu to stop laughing. Kabir too had tears in his eyes by the time he had reached the end his tale - partly from mirth and partly from a reliving of the fear.

   When they did reach the ICICI ATM on K.S.R Road at five in the evening, Kabir was in for one last shock for the day. His Alto, which he had left there in the morning, had disappeared.

  

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