Identity Crisis

Shifting from one place to another is never easy, is it? So, my relocation from the heart of Pune to a far-flung suburb implied two things: 1) a way more serene neighborhood devoid of traffic and pollution and 2) a 10-minute leisurely stroll to reach college replaced by a 50-minute bus ride (most elusive bus frequency; every 20 mins on paper, an hour and 20 mins in reality).

Being a “fairly” entitled kid (forgive me for the casual racism), the idea of having to use public transport as a daily commute was novel to me, and to a certain degree, sickening too.

After a month of trial and error, I finally zeroed down on the 6.30 pm Pashan bus to ferry me home, being the only one to follow proper timings. Hence, ditching it to board an overloaded 5’o clock bus to Ghotavde Phata (Why do places in Pune have surnames?), lured by the proposition of reaching home early, will go down the history books as my life's second biggest blunder till date (Shelling out 200 bucks to watch Bhai's Race 3, popcorn extra, still maintains the top spot though). I would like to think I boarded the bus because I have no idea what to make of my 20-minute mid-air suspension on the foot-board.

Six months at Fergusson College had taught me that the convenience of fastening the ID card to your jeans also wins the instant approval of the wood-made security guards. Alas! the dreaded moving contraption demolished this learning in one single stroke, for it dawned on me only in hindsight that flaunting the ID card the same way inside the Ghotavade grinder was akin to trusting Umesh Yadav to bowl the final over of a cliffhanger match.

The next half an hour forced me into an embarrassing pole dance, testing my endurance levels like never before (that lower-rib blow still hurts!). While it was relatively easy to ignore the choicest expletives of graphic detail that pierced my ears every now and then, I miserably failed to evade the merciless elbow attacks which left me disoriented to say the least.

Finally, when I saw my stop – my cape of good hope - approaching, a ray of hope emanated from the depths of my core, almost like a blaze of spiritual enlightenment (wow, much wow). This time, I relished the final decisive blow that had me land on the ground with a loud thud (and a sigh of relief that no one heard). Just as I was about to celebrate my historic homecoming, I realized that my prized ID card – the sole proof of my academic pursuit - was missing. That my online examination was scheduled the very next day converted my panic into a state of delirium (Believe it or not, ID cards are mandatory even for online exams). Given the glorious hospitality of the Ghotavde bus passengers, it was futile to expect a call from some good Samaritan, even in a dream, intimating me that my ID card is in safe hands. After a sleepless night, made worse by my mom’s incessant sermons and dad’s ominously stoic calm, I went to college with morbid thoughts of varying kinds – from the lesser evil of missing the exam to the near-fatal fear of bumping into a certain professor at the administrative office, one with a special liking for me and worse, having to face his accumulated wrath.

Luckily, both the cashier and the Library staffer proactively helped me out and my new ID card was reissued in less than 30 minutes (Hallelujah!). What’s more, both ladies offered broad smiles (by the way, was it their pay day? Umm..Never mind). On a serious note, their efficiency is worthy of both adulation and emulation and a lesson to those cribbers who defame these selfless souls on the slightest pretext. Coming back to my identity crisis, what could have been a horrible tragedy of Greek (read Ghotavdian) proportions was luckily averted, thanks to the prompt help of the FC staffers.