By mid-morning, Dev had simmered down somewhat. He was mulling his options although the cricket match had been forgotten. He was on his second cup of tea when the telephone rang.He walked over and snatched the receiver.


“Hello, Devansh Patil here. Who’s this?”


“Oh ho, Dev Bhai!” Mr Singh’s voice boomed at the other end. Despite himself, Dev managed to smile. Daljeet Singh always addressed him as Bhai, a term synonymous to Brother or, just Bro.


“How are you, Daljeet?”


“Good, good, good! Why don’t you come up and watch the cricket match with me?”


Dev was keen on cricket but hadn’t been in the mood to switch his own TV on. He paused for a minute and then agreed: “Okay, I’ll join you in a few minutes”.


“That’s fantastic! See you then.”


Daljeet Singh lived on the first floor, directly above his flat. Exactly ten minutes later, Dev rang Daljeet’s doorbell, who was at the door at once: “Come in, come in, fellow retiree”, Daljeet beamed, “Gavaskar has just faced Dennis Lillee’s first ball.”


“Great, I didn’t miss much then” Dev added as he took a seat in front of the colour TV, admiring it with envy. His own black-and-white TV was ancient in comparison. “Wow, look at the colours,” he shook his head, “Hey, are they playing in Bombay?”


Daljeet nodded. On the TV, Lillee ran in to bowl the next ball. At the end of the over, Daljeet turned to Dev and asked: “So, how have you been, Dev, and how’s the retirement? Welcome to the club, by the way!”


“Thanks. I’ve been good—until this morning, that is. Someone stole a wheel trim from my car. Just discovered it when a neighbourhood kid came with the news.”


“What? Oh no! I did hear some commotion this morning but didn’t realise you were robbed.” Mr Singh sympathised, “There have been quite a few robberies recently. I am taking extra care to secure my own scooter when I park.”


“Good for you,” said Dev instinctively, “But mine’s a brand new car, Daljeet! What’s more? I bought special wheel trims and hubcaps — Ferrari ones!”


“Yeah, I had noticed. Flashy and all. Must’ve cost you a fortune, no?”


“Yes, and that’s why it’s so frustrating that someone decides to steal them. It may cost me another fortune to replace them, you know?”


On the TV, Gavaskar had scored a boundary. Once the roar of the crowd had died, Daljeet asked: “Did you call the Police? The local inspector is a friend and may be able to fast track your complaint.” he smiled.

“No Daljeet bhai. You know how I feel about the cops—and the Law, in general,” Dev replied and then added quickly, “and same with the Car Insurance guys!”


“So true. Most of them are unscrupulous. Just like the politicians, aren’t they? Who elects these idiots?”


Dev said: “Ah, don’t get me started on our leaders, Daljeet!”


“Anyway, forget them. What’s your plan now, about the wheel trim? I’m sure the car looks horrible with one wheel so bare.”


“It does, yes. I’m really not sure what to do, Daljeet” Dev said quietly, “My road-trip is ruined too. I was supposed to drive up to Goa this weekend.”


“Yeah,” agreed his friend, “It would be a shame to drive a brand new car in this state, with a missing wheel cap. You need a solution … and fast!”


Dev nodded but did not offer any response. They watched the cricket in silence for several minutes. When Daljeet’s wife walked in with two cups of steaming chai, he exclaimed:

“Ah nice! Cricket and chai! Let the tea lubricate my brain cells so I can think about your problem. Don’t worry!”


Mr. Patil smiled and took a sip of the tea as Indian openers had already chalked up an impressive partnership on the scoreboard.


When his wife had left the room, Daljeet shuffled up to Dev and lowered his voice: “I have a brilliant idea but I’m not sure how you’ll feel about it. It is inexpensive and almost guaranteed to get you what you need. Today itself!”


Dev knew Daljeet was streetwise and had some quick-fix up his sleeve for every problem. “Sure, tell me.” he leaned forward.


“I say you go and look for a replacement wheel trim at the Chor Bazaar!”, Daljeet’s voice was almost a whisper.


“You mean the flea market? Isn’t that a haven for thieves? I have yet to hear anything good about it, Daljeet!”


“Oh no no no no! Those are urban legends. Don’t believe them.” Daljeet rested one hand on Dev’s shoulder. “Dev, people have bought rare items that have made them millionaires. The vendors are often unaware of the true value of their wares. Priceless paintings worth thousands, even millions, for a few rupees! Rough diamonds, vintage items, antiques. You name it and you can find it there. Maybe even God!” He laughed raucously.


“All I want is a replacement wheel trim, thank you. But will they have the Ferrari parts too?”


“Why not? You may find your own stolen piece itself!” Daljeet was excited, “I say you get yourself to that Bazaar, my friend, and explore. For all you know, they may even install the wheel cover for you. They do have some expert mechanics around. So I’ve heard!”


Dev wasn’t convinced but he nodded and smiled: “Okay, let me think about it.”


A huge roar went up on the TV. India’s star batsman, Gavaskar, had been caught in the slips.