Foreign hand hai, ji

It's quite often that we fool ourselves of being in complete control of our things. From things as simple as dressing up time, lunch time at office, the amount of sweet we like our evening tea, our commute times, our commute fares and a basket of other things we like to program to order.

Yet, more often than that, we end up forgetting the millions of things which can throw this order of things haywire. Something, rather silly, to this effect, chanced itself upon me in the morning and hence here I am writing about it.

Now, my morning schedule between getting up and being in office is tighter than the noose around Syria's neck right now. Alarms are set at absurd timings like 7:09 to ensure an optimum (as much as possible) amount of sleep without being late at office - yes, my office, sorta, has an entry timing! So much for struggling through all those years in school to be in a more 'flexible' environment.

But, I digress. So, I was running this well-strung set of morning chores to perfection today as well, in a bid to leave home between 7:38-39. Usually, post this, I wriggle through this back lane to skip directly to the main road from my lane, where I jay-walk to the other end of the road, and wave like crazy to every empty passing cab. As my office is too damn close to my place, I end up budgeting as much time for the taxi-flagging as much as for the commute. Usually, the 10 minutes to 7:50 are enough to see me at my office door.

Today, I was in for a surprise. Sometime over the weekend, the administration decided to kill my party and fence the divider on the main road. As I joyfully ambled to the main road, my jaw dropped. The entire math had been turned topsy-turvy. I had little time to think. My casual walk turned to a nervous run and, furiously panting, I reached the legit crossing at the fag end of the road and made my way to the opposite end of the road. Thankfully the variables solved themselves, and flagging the taxi took a lot lesser than usual. I made it in the nick of time!

This is just one of those things. Sometimes you come back home thinking of the lovely warm food you are going to have. And then, the cook decides to NOT turn up. At times, you venture out of home with your best clothes on, hands in pocket, whistling away. A bird decides to take a poop on you. Or in Mumbai, the sun miraculously turns to a cloud and lets out its fury on you. Only to turn back to being sunny again in a matter of five minutes.

Actually, Murphy, more often than one would like, wins. Shit happens. Order goes flying out of the window. And that's how life becomes worth weaving ridiculous, quirky tales about!