“I told you so.”
How many times have you heard these words from your parents?
Plenty, I’m sure. If not, you definitely know a version of it — a disapproving nod, the silent treatment, emotional atyachaar.
This is the tale of one of those dreaded moments.
If you have ever lived in #Bangalore for more than a fleeting moment, you know just how (amazing, sure, but…) unpredictable the weather is.
Well, I would love to blame the events of this tale on the unpredictability of the weather. Unfortunately, nope, this one’s on me (my father nods disapprovingly somewhere).
It was late 2017. I was pretty new to being a working, earning, “independent” adult, and at the now seemingly wee age of 22, I thought I was already a master at adulting. Alas, now it feels like that day will never come.
Just as I was heading out, my father told me to leave work early because it looked like it was going to rain. I — with a need to reinforce my so-called “independence” & “adult”-ness — said I’d see if I could, depending on my “schedule”.
Of course, I didn’t leave early. In fact, with my ego nice and bloated, I left late.
That day, it poured as if the universe itself had made it its sole purpose to teach me a lesson (it worked). It rained with a vengeance as I was riding back home. At some point, it was impossible to ride anymore. I reached MG road and saw people taking shelter at a bus stop and I joined them.
I stood atop the bench at the bus stop and called my father to inevitably hear those four magical words — “I told you so”.
Young, naive, overconfident — I assumed the worst was over. That was it. I would just wait till the rain eased off and ride back home in no time.
Well, where’s the lesson in that?
The sky got angrier, the bench got fuller, & the lesson sank deeper. As time went by, I could see less of my scooter & more of the water. At one point, as a car sped across the road, the water formed waves & down fell a bunch of measly two-wheelers. My scooter disappeared in the water, and I had to fish for it before it floated away. Yes, that happened.
As I said, the lesson sank deep.
Eventually, the rain settled & it was time to figure out how to get home. With the trauma that my poor scooter had gone through, there was no riding it anywhere.
So, I began to push. Luckily, I had a friend who worked around the corner where I could safely park my scooter for the night.
After I parked, I made my way to the corner of MG road, only to be rejected over & over, and OVER again by what felt like every cab & auto driver in Bangalore. I wasn’t alone — I was surrounded by Bangaloreans from far & near — rejected, tired, & contemplating shifting to another city.
I finally got a cab at around midnight, and before I knew it, I was home. And I knew that that was a night I wasn’t going to be able to forget, even if I wanted to.
*****
This #CommuteKahani was sent in by our very own Rhea Mansukhani.
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