What Goes Around

Over lunch, Dev shared the plan with his wife. Urmi was unconvinced.

“I hope you don’t lose more than you hope to gain.” she warned him, “Remember that toaster you had ‘won’ at the raffle last year? The lottery ticket cost us more than that junk was worth!”

“It’s not the same thing, Urmi. I am not giving a single paisa away until the wheel cover is replaced with the original one. Anyway, there’s no guarantee that I’ll find the same part … that too, in one day. So, it’s all a matter of chance, really!”

“That’s exactly why I’m sceptical: chance.” Urmi said with a wave of her hand.

“Alright, alright! How about I go and have a browse. Unless I find a shop that has the exact thing at a much reasonable price, and they are willing to replace it for me, I won’t go ahead. Does that make you feel better?”

Urmi smiled and nodded.

“Okay then, wish me luck?” Dev managed to joke.

After lunch, he was ready to embark on his expedition to the flea market. He walked up to Lord Shiva and bowed with folded hands for a few moments. Then, on a whim, he called his son’s office number. When Ganesh answered the phone, he said: “Ganesh, I spoke to Daljeet Uncle this morning …”

“No dad--” Ganesh was aware of Daljeet’s dubious schemes.

“Listen,” insisted Dev, “I’ll drive to Chor Bazaar and see if I can find the same trims. If I can get them installed as well, that would be a bonus!”

“Bonus is not a word I would associate with that market, Dad!”

“Don’t worry. I’m capable of a good bargain. Won’t part with hard-earned cash without genuine parts.”

“Okay, good luck, dad, and beware of touts! Do you want me to meet you at the market? I can take the rest of the day off …”

“No no, don’t bother. In fact, how about I pick you up once I’m done … hopefully with all wheels restored to their former glory?”

“Sure, dad. Why not?” Ganesh laughed.

After the call, Dev made his way to the car with determined strides. This time, the security guard decided to leave well alone. The car gleamed in the mid-day sun and was hot to touch. He winced as he pulled the door open but avoided gazing at the naked wheel. As he manoeuvred the vehicle out of the narrow alley and on to a wider road, the air-con revived his spirits somewhat. He even began to sing along to the radio.

In Mumbai, a journey between any two points can seem like an eternity, just as there were an infinite number of routes between them. Dev knew that a traffic snarl could last for hours: a politician can decide to protest without notice or permission or a religious procession can arrive unannounced. So, he decided to take a shortcut which would ensure none of these calamities befell his journey, and could save him tens of minutes. Yet, when he finally turned on to the road that led to Chor Bazaar, he was apprehensive as he had never bought anything at a flea market for he was always playing it safe.

“Hey, watch out!” someone bellowed and Dev slammed the brakes. The crowd at the Bazaar was always dense. He edged the car through a throng of people at a speed he could easily beat if he walked. However, leaving the car and walking would be worse. After all, the market was known as Chor Bazaar, literally ‘Thief Market’. Urban legends had claimed how a car could be stripped down to its constituent parts within the hour. He wasn’t about to test their veracity and continued his arduous trip with patient apprehension.

Whenever the car came uncomfortably close to a pedestrian, they thumped it with their hand to indicate the proximity. He waded through a sea of buyers, hawkers, haphazardly parked bicycles, motorbikes, scooters and of course, cars. He was sure he spotted a Ferrari too.

“Sure that’s a fake!” he muttered, “or it would’ve been stolen by now.”

Curious eyes followed his quest. Shop vendors languished at the door, sipping tea or smoking, or both. Some haggled with their customers. It was as if nobody cared about him and yet, everybody seemed to be watching him. He was so busy edging his car through the crowd that he almost missed the boy who was waving and yelling at him. He wound the window down and the boy pushed his head through it.

“Saheb, do you need a wheel cover?”

Dev wanted to yell: "Yes! Yes!!” but he was cautious. “Where is your shop? Let me drive over to it first.”

“Of course, Saheb. Keep edging to the right through the crowd and you should see our popup store.”

“To the wrong side of the road?”

“Do you have a choice?” the boy grinned, waving his hands at the crowd, “You cannot possibly turn around now, can you?”