I know I sound as if I’ve set the bar very low, but that’s life among us. What the hell kind of existence is it when you are grateful for not being made to suffer? Turns out, it’s pretty good. Let me explain.
I got my credit card bill a few days ago and the figure gave me a bit of a jolt and set me wondering what I had been up to. Then I saw the itemised bill and saw that one payment was completely out of whack. Eight times out of whack, in fact. Luckily for me, this was at a petrol pump to which I go regularly to fill my tank and the people there are generally nice (if a bit surly in high summer), and I didn’t really foresee any problems having the whole thing adjusted.
It was the reaction of colleagues that took me aback and had me worrying my nails. Almost to a man (and woman), they anticipated a host of problems, ranging from the complete loss of money, through having to inform the bank to stop payment, to conducting a drop down, drag out fight with the manager of the petrol pump. “You know how people are,” was the least comforting statement made to me.
All in all, my stomach began doing flips, backward and forward, at the mere thought of confrontation. I thought up several scenarios. If they say this, I will show them that. If they refuse my request, I can do that. You know the drill. But it was a large sum of money that I was unwilling to forego for any reason. Besides, darn it, I liked the place also because it was so convenient as I to-ed and fro-ed between work and home.
The very evening when the issue rose up to haunt me, I girded my loins and went to do battle. Because that is how it is in India, isn’t it? You jump through hoops because officials can make you do, out of sheer cussedness. And, in the main, you accept this state of things, unless you get into a rage and decide to fight things out. Me, I hate fighting.
So there I was at the petrol pump and asking to see the manager in my mildest combatant voice. I was told to come back next morning and my car was out of there like a bat out of hell. I’m a coward as well as being the world’s finest, most creative procrastinator. Another 12 hour block before you return to the battle-field is not to be sniffed at.
The next morning I was back. There was a lady there, which was a relief. Out came my story and she smiled. Come and sit down, she invited me, as I gabbled on and proffered my mobile phone with details intact. It was the mistake of one of your servers I said, but also mine. I should have checked the bill. I know it is more than a month ago, but I’ve just received the bill for the last cycle.
The lady went into the office of the manager (away in London) and pulled out a sheet of paper to which was clipped what looked like a whole sheaf of large denomination bills. It’s all here, she said. We have been waiting for the claimant since we discovered the disparity. All we need is proof. Swiftly and meticulously she checked everything. And as simply as that, it was over.
This is the way it should be everywhere and in all cases. Why, then, did I feel so humbly grateful that a problem was solved so painlessly? Why did I send up a small prayer of thanks to Radha Dalal of Auto Works, the petrol pump just opposite the Tulip Hotel in Juhu.
Because, accustomed as we are to breasting the current and the undertow of a way of life seemingly designed to make things difficult for each other, the Radha Dalals of our time come as a reminder that there is another way to do things. Honestly, helpfully, with humanity and good sense. Yep, I felt like singing.
