My good luck charm.

Few days’ back I shaved off my moustache. The next day at work, I was at the second most happening place in my office, the kitchen, making and stirring my cuppa when this new African-European friend of mine gave me that weird look and came out “Heyyy, why would you do that maannn?”, I responded by replying “Well, just for a change”. He continued giving me that strange, ‘make-you-feel-guilty’ look and continued “Aww, that one was good maann” he said and added pointing to his soul patch “See this, I never take this off. It’s my good luck thing. As long as it’s here, nothing goes wrong”. This casual event took me down memory lane and reminded me of my very own trysts with lucky charms and some events that had changed my life for ever.

I remember having a three paisa coin as my lucky charm. I had it safely tucked under a sheet of paper inside my geometry box and believed that it actually helped me fight some of my most dreaded fears and fiercest challenges; which included mustering enough courage to:

• stand up in the class and ask permission from the teacher to allow me to go for a leak; find ways to avoid meeting up with bullies in school;
• keep climbing the stairs up to my third floor apartment by avoiding any eye contact with this scariest monster (read: A big eyed swarthy podgy hirsute sardar with his dreadlocks left open and only a kaccha on), which most invariably was found sitting in a rocking chair on the second floor passage buttering his handle bar;
• and also to avoid getting caught by this monster’s huge wife, who if found me, would touch both her palms on her cheek, scream out some gibberish in Punjabi, grab me close to her chest and pull my cheeks till it lost all elasticity and in compensation force me to go through the ordeal of downing a large glass of tasteless buttermilk, which I believed she made out of rinsing her curd vessel.

I must confess that I had also heavily relied on my three paisa coin to help me cruise through the HSE Board exams. It was always there in my trouser pocket as I prepared for/took my exams and later on, even on the day when the results were out.   My three paisa coin was a reliable and trustworthy lucky charm and had always done its job well. After the results, I took my coin and tucked it safely in the book shelf, under my old exercise books and left it there expecting that no one would find it. My exploits in the academic field had made me a local hero and I was busy basking in this newfound glory. I forgot about my lucky charm. Time passed and I got my admission into engineering and left for the REC in Kerala.

At the Engineering College, I experienced freedom first class and decided to turn into the bad boy that I always wanted to be. I was not as bright as my buddies who could multitask as bad boys and do well in academics too, and needless to say my capacity showed up in the exam results. Meanwhile, folks at home decided to shift into a bigger-better place and, in course of doing so ran amuck through my bookshelf and misplaced my lucky charm, or should I say ‘they thrashed it’. Who needed a worthless three paisa coin anyways?

Although I had one of the best hostel buddies to lean on to, I must state sincerely that, I missed my lucky charm badly. I found it difficult to focus on academics and never really mustered enough courage to woo that chick I liked. By the end of the third year, I was carrying a backlog of sixteen papers and most folks at college reckoned that I was the next freedom fighter in waiting. Except for a girl, who was my closest friend, my guide, my counsellor and my beacon of light, no one ever believed in me; not even I, me, myself. Somewhere around the final year, this friend gifted me a small money plant placed in a recycled bulb for a vase with a threaded jacket to hang it. I called it ‘Sophie’ and hung it on the window of my hostel room and somehow found it worthy of being my next lucky charm.

While in my hostel room, I would keep staring at it and think about my next big task to accomplish. We were already in the final semester and I had only one last chance to clear my entire backlog, which, I had to achieve in one sitting, and in some cases at the rate of two papers in a day or get relegated to being christened a freedom fighter. To make things worse, the marks I earned through sessionals were in single digits and it meant that I had to score really great numbers to merely pass the exam. The task was tough, but not impossible. Notwithstanding, I did extremely well in the practicals and also my seminar. Charged with my belief in that newfound lucky charm, I took my exams and cleared them all. I did it. I finished college just in time with my best buddies and that girl who, by now was a special someone. When I left for home, falling in line with the tradition of the college, I passed on the plant with its vase arrangement to one of my favourite juniors, resolving that, if I ever got a chance to name a newborn girl, I would name her ‘Sophie’.

Back home, things were too cool. My parents, who were so very happy with my graduation, granted me a year’s vacation. But I didn’t want to wait. I had things to do. I wanted to hastily get into a management college, finish it, get a job and settle my future plans with that special someone. Every boy in that age did exactly the same, possibly because it was the simplest of things to do. But for me it seemed a tough act to follow. I was missing my lucky charm. I was taken ill with jaundice and caught under house arrest for over three months. I missed my GRE and CAT which I was so eagerly preparing for. I was heartbroken and I did what was possibly the most ungrateful of all things that anyone could’ve ever done. I banged the phone and broke that special someone’s heart. That was it! But my life had to go on and I found solace in my new designer briefs.

Yep! I wrote it right. I meant designer briefs. My sisters, who were fashionistas in their own right found it very annoying that I was still using briefs that they got for me before I left for my Engineering College. Yes, my undies were over four years old, and yes they had holes in it, but didn’t it matter that I found them comfortable? My sisters refused to accept that. According to them, it was below standards even for our maid to wash it and that; there was no way that the cloths line would accept my underwear alongside their designer lingerie. Don’t even imagine! I begged, but they didn’t allow it to be even converted into a floor mop. No way! It went straight to the thrash can. One fine day, my undies were all missing, and in my cupboard I found new packets of Kalvin Klien Designer Briefs, all animal prints! And in it was my new lucky charm, the one with zebra stripes.

There was something special about the zebra stripes that, every time I wore it, something clicked. The first day I wore it, I attended a walk-in interview for the job of a door-to-door salesman to sell items like hand held food choppers and magnetic healing chappals. I got the job, but decided not to take it as I was still enjoying my year long vacation. However, the brief had passed its litmus test. It was working and worthy of being my next lucky charm. Few days later I had to attend an interview for a Design Engineer’s position within a prominent engineering company that designed Cooling Towers. On that day, sadly my lucky charm was taken for washing and needless to say, I crashed in the interview. I humbly accepted that it was not my fault, and my belief in my lucky charm was reinforced.

Days went by and again, I wore my lucky charm to attend an interview for a marketing job which required promoting a drafting/designing software and I got the job. My new job took me to Ahmedabad, where, on one of the days I happened to visit CEPT to give a demo of our range of products and luckily for me, that day I had my zebra stripes on. At the main hall my eyes fell on a poster saying that the college was inviting applications for Masters in Construction and Project Management. I brought a form, cracked their entrance test, appeared for an interview, got the admission and resigned my job. Ever heard of an underwear doing wonders? Mine was a super hero.

After all these years of so called learning I was back to school. And what an amazing place of learning it was. And it was here, that I eventually learned the lesson that changed my life. I befriended ‘A’, who was an architect by profession and great believer in himself. Someone who contended that there was nothing out of limits if one believed in the self and was passionate enough to go full throttle with ones heart and soul into it.  ‘A’ was not only my project mate, but also my room mate and we spent a lot of time listening to each other. On one such chat over a smuggled bottle of XXX rum, he opened up and talked freely about his love life and that how he was fighting against all odds to secure it. I talked to him about my trysts with the many Juliets in my life and tried to justify how my ‘bad times’ had always failed me. He contested and proved me wrong.

The chat coupled with the after effects of tippling had rekindled my love sconces; I got up in a jiffy and headed straight to the nearest STD booth with my lucky charm on. The intention was to conquer and the plan simple. I made a long distance call to that special someone who, I thought was eagerly waiting for my call for the past seven odd months. I wasn’t entirely wrong. The conversation was short, but long enough. When the call ended, it was all over. My walk back to the hostel was the most strenuous one, not because I had just realized that I had been a treacherous immature chauvinistic brat, but more because I just realized that I had wasted a beautiful life in frivolities.

Later that night, back in our hostel room and in our undies we resumed our drinking. ‘A’ pummelled me with some more gyan, and out of which, one the most significant one (pertaining to this topic) was, “If only we believed in ourselves, we wouldn’t have to believe in anything else”. I was enlightened. And in the spurt of enlightenment that I had just received, I ran up the stairs, straight to the terrace of our three storied hostel building as ‘A’ screamed behind me “Abey kahan bhag raha hai wapas? kapdey toh pehente ja!!” (“Hey, where are you running away again? At least wear some cloths and go!!”)  

At the terrace, I ejected out of my favourite zebra stripes and unfrocked my past life. I wrapped it on a stone and threw it high towards the sky expecting that it would fly off far away into outer space. It was a windy night and the flying brief ended its journey positing itself in the corridor of the Arts College Hostel adjacent to ours, where, I am sure, it must have found itself a new worthy owner. I ran down back to my room, where my friend, who was totally drunk and trying out a complicated yoga position, recoiled like a spring and jumped up standing straight staring at a naked me and asked “Arrey, chaddi kahan chodd aye aap?” (“Where are your undies?”). With teary eyes I informed him that I had baptised myself and that from today onwards I am new person and that I’ll believe in myself and nothing and no one else. He smiled and spread out his arms saying “Chal, isi baat pe galey lag jaa” (“This calls for a hug”).

It was a life changing day, not only for me, but also for ‘A’. As two very drunk boys, one in briefs and other totally naked hugged each other (out of pure platonic love) in their hostel room leaving the door ajar, someone who had spotted a naked boy crying and running down the stairs raised an alarm. In no time there was a decent crowd outside our room, which included not only our hostel mates, but also their girlfriends who had dropped by to check out their boyfriend’s manliness under the pretext of joint study. Our lives had changed for sure. The news leaked out and we instantly became the infamous naked boys hugging. The news spread like wild fire and a few creative guys spiced up the story with their own blend of masalas. ‘A’ had a lot of explaining to do to his sweetheart. As for me, the event ensured that girls no longer got sucked into ‘The Nelson’s Triangle’ (Read: Nelson’s sweet sexy triangular smile), albeit a few ‘good’ men did try to rub their asses to mine. Shucks!!

 

“It's fun to have a lucky charm, but it can't replace believing in yourself.”

-     Rescue Heroes @ Kidsco TV

  Famous lucky charms:

·    A legendary all rounder and the star of India’s maiden World Cup winning team always had this red handkerchief in this pant pocket. It was his lucky charm, but however, his cricketing career ended the day he spoke against the selection committee. Last heard that this guy was desperately trying to become the coach of the current Indian team, but alas!

·      A mallu lad who plays cricket with a vengeance. His wrist is full of amulets and his neck full of blessed trinket jewellery. Sadly, he is still the most disliked player in the game.

·    An Indian Tennis player with a nose ring, who acts like she is already a legend, believes that her hubby from the other side of the border is her lucky charm. No sooner did she proclaim this, her hubby lost his job!