Of Love and Luck

Divij Gambhir

In the busy streets of Kochi, Narayan convenience store was a short-lived epicenter for the eyeballs when
old Narayan kicked out his only son from the shop.

Umang, wonderfully good-looking, crisp black hair, brown eyes and a clear cut jawline. Popular guy with
every accomplishment with the exception of making money. One could rightly say he was the jack of all
trades, master of none. “Get out and never should you set your foot in my shop” screamed the quivering
voice of an angry father as he dropped the shutter-close, locking himself inside.

Now, there are great truths of life in 2020 that Umang failed to realise or accept. The middle class should
be practical, absorbed in speculation and calculation of every rupee. Civilization views romance as
privilege of the rich, profession of the unemployed and trickery if a poor soul falls in love with a rich one.
Unless one is wealthy, the charms, the intellect and good-looks are in for a toss.

By evening, Umang had found his photographer friend’s place to crash in until he could afford his roof.
His mother had allowed him twelve-thousand a month for the period. He tried a few things first, he went
to the stock exchange and invested half his savings of Seventeen grand to see the world markets crash just
weeks after he had made his investments due to the recent Covid-19.
With the rest of his money he opened a food-truck but had soon tired of burgers and pasta. The food truck
did not answer; the pasta was a little too saucy.

The dandy was also in love. Nothing could be worse. Was in love with Snigdha, daughter of an
Electronic-Store owner. Her father had blown his circuit in an undercurrent of sales with the advent of
e-commerce websites. Snigdha loved him and he was ready to kiss the dust off her feet. They were
beautiful and broke together.

Her father liked him but not the way a father-in-law likes a son-in-law, he would hear of no such thing
like an engagement “When you have Forty-Fifty-Lakhs of your own, we will then talk about marriage” he
said when the duo had once discussed.

One morning, he dropped in to see his roommate Ricky Verma, the photographer. A strange,
happy-go-lucky fellow, with crooked teeth and unclean beard. However, Ricky was an artist behind the
lenses, a real master of his art. He was fond of Umang, now frankly one could not expect a poor chap like
him to make dents in realms of intellect or poetic matters. But, he adored Umang for his charm and
generous reckless nature.

When Umang came in, he found Ricky photographing a college band. The band stood on a raised wooden
platform in the middle of the studio, the guitarist held his glistening red guitar upside down, the drummer
was just carrying the sticks and the vocalist stood in the middle with one hand leaning on the guitarist’s
shoulder while the other he held out his fancy hat almost seemingly for alms. The studio was a gas house
of deodorant with hints of hair gel.
“What an amazing album cover this would make” shouted Ricky. The peon at his office watched him,
dodged in and out of the studio like a cat; a rather curious one.

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“Yes Mahesh, come on in, what is the matter with you?” enquired the boss while he looked inside the
viewfinder of his camera.
Mahesh, the grey-haired old man, wizened and malnourished entered the studio with the most piteous
expression. His chappals were flattened in thickness with time, his shirt was tattered. It wouldn’t take a
Sherlock to deduce he was in his early Sixties, but in reality he was just Forty-Five “Sir, my daughter has
caught the flu. Could you please give me One Thousand as advance?” said the trembling old man in lower
decibels.
“We shall discuss after the photoshoot” the boss replied.
The old man returned to his plastic stool, waiting for the photoshoot to wrap-up. He looked so morose and
forlorn that Umang could not help pitying him. He reached out to his wallet to fetch one damp and one
crisp note of five-hundred each. “Perhaps his needs are more urgent than my luxurious rickshaw rides” he
thought. He approached the old man and slipped the notes into his hands.
The old man stared and a faint smile scampered across his chapped lips. “Thank you Sir” he said
“Thankyou; It occurs to me that I shouldn’t have bought this lottery ticket” he said pulling it out from his
pocket “I have not only cheated myself but my family alike, devoided them of the nutrition and clothing I
could have provided” Umang made no reply. Only a slight nod and quiver in his eyelids showed that he
heard.
“I want you to have it dear Sir” said the teary voice as he forwarded the lottery ticket to Umang with
folded hands. The young chap was inquisitive, he had never seen a lottery ticket, he took the ticket in his
hands and inspected the same. The lottery was purchased at Two Hundred and stood a chance to win
Four-Crores. The fact that a single piece of paper with no talent whatsoever could bring a person so much
wealth, fixed a mocking smile on his face.
When Ricky arrived at the scene, Umang took his leave, blushing at what he had done. He spent the day
with Snigdha, got a royal scolding for his stupendous duties in philanthropy, his extravagant lifestyle, his
smoking habit and walked back home.
At night, he found company in Ricky and them both drowned in whisky and cigarettes.
It was the 24th Of March, the newly found coronavirus had steadily rooted its tentacles in the entire world.
The state of Kerala was ‘locked down’ and only essential services and commodities like petrol pumps,
grocery shops, hospitals and all that is need and not want would be made available.
The darlings however, sipped their tea and dipped their biscuits in the untimely rains of March taking
shelter in a tea-stall outside the petrol pump. They had found happiness in each other’s company, warmth
in their never ending hugs and stomach butterflies in their kiss. They had loved each other and promised
to grow old in one another’s caresses. They were there for a while and taken seat in the wooden bench
with white sun-mica nailed on the top. “Could you pass me the newspaper?” the woman said to her man
as she dusted the loveseat with her dupatta.
Umang stretched out his hands to reach for the Newspaper sitting at the tea-counter. He quickly recalled
that results for the lottery were scheduled for today. The man had no faith in lottery luck, and would have
never bothered to look at the winning numbers, but now the newspaper was right infornt of him and he
had nothing else to do. So, he flipped the pages and ran his finger downwards to the lottery section.
And immediately, his scepticisms mocked at him, his eye was caught by the figure “10, 08, 24, 56, 64!”

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He felt funny in pit of his stomach, a chill so tingling and terrible and sweet!
“Singdha, look, it is right there” he hushed with broad eyes. Singdha looked at his astonished and panic-
stricken face, and realised he was in for some serious business.
“10, 08, 24, 56, 64?” She asked, turning pale and dropping the newspaper on the table.
“Yes, yes… it really is there!”
The duo couldn’t contain their happiness and soon decided to go back to Ricky’s home, before they
turned the air infectious with their exuberance. They spoke no word about the lottery with Ricky or
anyone for that matter.
They were greatly absorbed by the question of investment .They walked about apparently in a state of
trance, until the news of National Lockdown brought them back to their senses. They spent the entire
night in panic and anxiety. “What will happen to the lottery now?” “Will we get the money?” “The ticket
clearly states that no claims will be entertained after 15Days from the date of results” .They tried calling
the lottery office but their calls went unanswered. An array of emotions and myriad of questions kept
them awake the entire night. During the still hours of the night, they lay awake revolving plans in their
minds that seemed to each a more judicious use of the money.
It was now, 9 A.M., they fired calls and texts at the lottery office. All went unanswered. However, after
an hour or so, they got a call back from the lottery office “Hello this is Sneha, how may I assist you?” The
matter was explained, they were congratulated and also confirmed that the prize money should be
collected immediately after the orders for lock-down are withdrawn.
Umang looked at the love of his life and gave a broad, senseless smile. They started laughing and staring
at one another in silence. The win bewildered them. They could not have said, could not have dreamed,
what they both needed a hefty sum of Four-Crores for, what they would buy, where they would go. They
only thought of the figure “Four with Seven Zeroes”
Both had started dreaming and planning the money. With each plan engulfed inside their heads, they
realised that each had a different plan to invest the money. Umang wanted to produce a movie and
Snigdha had plans for world-tour and designer clothing.
Suddenly, there was a drastic change in the couple. Snigdha had lately turned over-caring. All her
problems with Umang had now been stricken off with the numbers on the ticket. She no longer had a
problem with Umang’s extravagance, nor his smoking vice she so terribly hated. Suddenly, everything he
did was ‘cute’ or for the greater good. He was no longer the ineffectual boyfriend.
Now that he would soon be a multi-millionaire, Umang’s mind now dwelt on the fact that Snigdha had
grown plain and boring, and that she was saturated through and through with the fragrance of her woody
oriental perfume. While she was good looking and gorgeously beautiful, he might as well search for other
‘options’ to get married to.
By degrees, Snigdha’s face too; struck him as repulsive and hateful. Anger surged up in his heart against
her, she glanced at him and also with hatred and anger. They understood the look; hatred began stirring in
their chest. They spent the rest of the lock-down an unhappy couple.
The lockdown was finally withdrawn. The day had finally arrived when the Treasure would be unearthed.
Umang had hired a car to visit the lottery office. On the way however, he took a detour to his father’s
shop, to tell old Narayan that in a matter of minutes his son would be a Crorepati.

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“Namaste Papaji, how have you been?” greeted the young chap to his father he so terribly hated. His
father, the same old Narayan soaked in the smell of grains, biscuits and soap. Seated on the same plastic
chair, under the same rusted fan, at the same table, writing with the same old fountain pen he so dearly
adored. Of all the things in his shop, his 1980’s Parker fountain pen was his prized possession.
“Yes it is comfortable enough” replied the father. “New TV?” pointed out Umang when he saw a 32inch
LED TV on the shop’s wall.
“Yes, made good margins during the lock-down, all stocks were cleared and tobacco sold at double the
price, bought this TV from Kurian. He wanted money, I wanted TV” answered a new Narayan who had
access to some savings and a brand new second-hand TV.
“Papa I have come here to tell you something”
“What? I hope you are here to return the Thirty-Five grand you stole from my shop?” asked the scornful
father as he flipped through the channels.
The anamnesis of humiliation came to him in a ray of light. He saw his helpless self, thrown out of the
shop, powerless, sniveling and exposed. He could break any moment. But, he now had a promising future
with a little-lot more than Thirty-Five Thousand, and that kept his tears undemonstrated. “Yes, about that,
not only will I return your Thirty-Five Thousand loan, but also give you an additional Ten-Lakhs as
largesse” He took out the ticket and newspaper and hurled it on his office table “I have won a lottery,
Four Crores, Four with Seven Zeros” he emphasized.
The father looked at his son and in utter disbelief, he was in a state of shock when he heard “Four
Crores”. He matched the numbers on the ticket with the newspaper and gazed at him with a smile. To
Umang, the smile felt so oily, so hypocritical. As if the smile wasn’t enough, he jumped out of his seat to
embrace and congratulate his son….knocking the ink-pot that lay on his table. The ticket numbers and
hope disappeared. It immediately began to seem that Umang’s life was now black like the ticket.

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