With the help of an Advertising Company Manager, with whom I had previously worked and had a bit of a misunderstanding, I managed to secure a much sought-after pass for a cricket match between India and the West Indies. In those days, there were no canteens at the grounds, so it was common practice to bring your own food and water. My mom, a wonderful cook, had packed me a delicious meal and a big bottle of lime juice instead of water.

As I was watching the match, a guy in front of me asked for some water. I ended up sharing my lime juice with him—just a bit, of course. A well-built gentleman sitting next to me observed this and, surprised, said, "You have a good heart, sharing your lime juice like that." We struck up a conversation. He was the local reporter for a well-known newspaper from the East, and he also happened to be a poet who had written a book of poems titled The Clarion Call. Since I was interested in reading, writing, and poetry, I was drawn to him.

After the match, he invited me to his house. He was a Bengali gentleman, and he took me there in his car. His house on Chamiers Road was huge, and he served me some tasty Bengali vegetarian dishes. Before I left, he presented me with a copy of his book. At the time, I didn’t have any extra money on me, so I told him I’d pay later. He just nodded. But I never went back to pay him. Call it laziness or carelessness, but I still feel bad about it. Have I cheated him? It was just Rs. 2.50, but I’ve carried the guilt with me ever since. If I could meet him again, I’d gladly pay with interest.

He was a good man. I wronged him.

About 55 years ago, at my workplace, a Sardarji with a reputation for predicting the future visited. He came with credentials from some prominent people. His method was simple—he’d ask you to write down the names of three flowers, then strike out two. In his hand would be a slip of paper with the name of the flower that wasn’t crossed out. After that, he’d make his predictions.

For me, he said I was sitting for an exam and that I would do really well. As it turned out, I did secure an all-India rank. But considering bank exams were common at the time; we all thought it was a calculated guess.

What really impressed us was when he predicted that the accountant at our branch would soon be promoted and become a manager. Sure enough, this came true in a very short time.

I had a similar experience much later. While traveling by train, another gentleman performed the same flower-name routine. He predicted that I’d be transferred to Chennai before September. It didn’t happen exactly as he said, but I was transferred in March the following year.

Continued in 190. Primitive Pleasantries