The Momo Curse


A few days ago I went on a momo-eating trip to Flavors (a trying-to-be-a-restaurant-but-still-a-stand for all your chaats and evening snacks opposite Hindustan Club.) We had only just sat down in a cab and adjusted ourselves to our now filled stomachs and the smell of paan that my mama brought with himself, when the driver declared that there was a tire puncture. Alright. New cab then. As I was opening the door of the new cab, a realization dawned on me. I had left my phone in the former cab. After hurriedly ruffling through my pockets we launched ourselves inside the cab and established that the driver was on a following a cab mission (which is as common a phenomena in Bollywood as forgetfulness is to me). The cab raced through Hungerford Street, Theatre Road and then to Chowringhee with all of us scrutinizing every cab that passed by for the hardly known and now familiar (courtesy: me, of course) face of a cab driver whose cab had in possession the one and only best friend of my generation: my phone. My face now utterly pale by the miserable loss of my phone we went to my father to inform him of what has just transpired. He would file a report in the police station the next day. What else could be done? The phone was gone. Forever.

That is when the attempts of my sister and mother started to bear some fruits. Or strawberries. And chocolates. The cab driver had picked up my phone which was called like a bazillion times by then, take a few zillions here or there. He said he was waiting near Ballygunje Phari and I could come and collect my phone. So much for turning pale. I rushed to Bondel Road with my father and got back my phone. Turns out, he didn’t know how to use a touch phone and hence was unable to pick up the phone. He had gone straight to his boss who had then received the calls.

So, all that done, maybe the world is a bad place. Every day we live in fear of being robbed, raped, pick pocketed or kidnapped. Every time you step out of the house clutch your wallet a little tighter, be alert and do look out for stalkers. Somebody might just take your money, or 35000rs phone, or an even costlier watch. Or you might just forget it somewhere (A cab, maybe?). But maybe, just maybe, you will find a grain of goodness after all your horrifying fears have been faced. Maybe you will be returned what is yours. Simply because honesty exists too. Yeah, it’s a big bad world. But it can give you some pretty amazing things, like it gave me back my faith in humanity. As all city children do, I was taught to never trust strangers, to doubt every act of kindness as a pathway to some personal gain, which it might be by all means. But not always. Sometimes, we can just shrug that doubt off our shoulders and believe. Because when you stop believing, life reminds you too.

Or you could just eat momos.



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5 responses to “The Momo Curse

  1. Great post- really enjoyed your story telling style- I am going to enjoy following you!

  2. Came back for more after reading Calcutta Calcutta. Absolutely loving what you write …

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