If you stop a moment to observe, you get characters for stories. Every moment is a story. Every person is a story. Life is a story.
I was in a shop in Delhi. A buyer’s bill came to Rs 115. He gave a five-hundred rupee note. No change, says the shopkeeper. So the client fished out a hundred-rupee note and a ten-rupee coin and a five-rupee coin. Both the coins were golden. A moment passed. I was busy (in my own clumsy, lazily observing way) picking my items. That man came back. “Where’s the coconut I bought?” he asked.
“Sorry,” said the shopkeeper who picked out the coconut from under his outdated weighing balance. “But I have not charged for this…”
“I know,” said the client. “How much?”
The client gave a Rs50 note. The shopkeeper gave back Rs25 which included the same golden coins that he had given earlier.
“A lucky sign,” said the client.
“You believe in luck?” said the shopkeeper pretending to be nonchalant.
“Not at all. I’m not bloody superstitious. What do you think I am. It’s just that the Shastri said yesterday that my Shukradasha (auspicious 12 years) is beginning.”