Licked by lady luck

How do two classmates share a small slice of luck that comes their way? Fifty-fifty? M. Sivasankar, senior manager, sales and marketing, Hitec Offices LLC, Dubai, recalls one such incident that happened in 1975, when he was a 17-year-old in Chennai.

"Fifty per cent each was exactly how V.N. Venkatesan (VNV to his classmates) and I decided to split lady luck. He first saw the Rs20 note on the railway track and I picked it up,'' recalls Sivasankar.

"We were students at a college that was quite close to a train track. We were coming out of the college when lady luck smiled on us. After spotting the Rs20 note, we waited for a few minutes to see if anyone came looking for it. To be honest, we were extremely pleased when no one turned up.

"Both of us were guilty to the hilt for having taken this small lucky break in our stride. To brush off the guilt, at least a part of it, we decided to give 50 per cent to charity and share the rest.

"Upon reaching the railway station, we exchanged the note for a Rs10 note and two Rs5 notes at a magazine stall. We promptly put the Rs10 note in a nearby donation box and, with a sense of dissipating guilt, departed and went our separate ways.

"The question soon arose in my mind: how will I spend these Rs5? The question lingered in my thoughts for the rest of the day. I didn't tell a single soul about our lucky find, nor did I intend to - at least for a while.

"I dared not venture out to the movies since it was taboo back then and I didn't have the time to do so.

"Another option was treating myself at an eatery. Five rupees was a substantial amount in those days to treat a few friends, but word might get out and I figured that I may get into trouble with my parents if I had to explain how I had chanced upon the money.

"Later I pondered whether I should buy myself a pen … the possibilities were endless.

"Then the perfect plan struck me - a rubber stamp!'' says Sivasankar. "In those days I had a fancy for rubber stamps, the kind that had one's name etched on them. They seemed so important; something that only important people, like my father, possessed.

"But there was still the question of explaining how I paid for it. I realised that I couldn't manage it alone, I needed some backing. My best bet was my two elder brothers. If I made them each a personalised rubber stamp, I reasoned, they would probably take my side.

"Immediately, I pedalled to a bunk shop not far from my home. It was banked on a platform on a busy road and the owner made rubber stamps in addition to mending shoes.

"Approaching the beady-eyed, dishevelled shop owner, I asked him the price of three rubber stamps. He said that they would cost Rs6 - Rs2 each.

"Trying to bargain, I asked him if he would agree to Rs5 for three. 'Yes, if you give me the total amount in advance,' he snapped.

"We then negotiated the number of days it would take to make the stamps and settled on three days. Then I carefully took out the Rs5 note, which he quickly snatched and pushed under his sitting mat.

"The next day I wanted to tell VNV about my rubber stamp and find out what he had done with his share of the money. But I couldn't find him on the train or in class; he was absent from school. Two days passed uneventfully and VNV did not attend college.

"I was eagerly looking forward to the third day. Immediately after college I went directly to the rubber stamp shop. The owner was mending a shoe while chewing some paan (betel leaves). Without looking up at me he said, 'Not ready - it has to come from the factory. Come back tomorrow.'

"Extremely disappointed, I returned the following day. This time with a slur he said, 'Rubber stamp? Some problem in the factory. Come back in four days.'

"As angry as I was, I was afraid to push it any further. Burning with indignation I rushed home and poured out the whole sorry affair to my eldest brother. He was not too pleased with what I had done and gave me a lecture. However, he promised to accompany me to the shop the following day.

"At college I met VNV for the first time since that eventful day. He looked quite run down and I asked him what had happened. He said he was not keeping too well due to stomach trouble - in fact, he had been hospitalised due to dehydration.

"His sickness was a result of a visit to a local eatery, he explained. I dared not ask if he had treated his friends with the 'track' money and noticed a reluctance in him to share further details so I left him alone.

"That evening at home, I did not venture out to play street cricket. I was waiting for my brother. It was almost 6pm when he came home from college. 'Let's go,' he said. 'Don't worry I will handle that fellow.'

"He pedalled his bike and I sat on the pillion. When we reached the area of the shop I noticed that something was amiss. It took me a few seconds to realise that there was no trace of the bunk shop except for the small heap of used and tattered rubber soles!

"Both of us were quite confused, so we went to a nearby stationery shop and asked the person at the counter what had happened. He answered, 'You mean that bunk shop. Don't you know that these shops are unauthorised? A corporation van came in the morning and dismantled the shop and took away everything.'

"Feeling sheepish and disappointed, I glanced at my brother but he didn't say anything. He just grinned at me, as if to say, 'You deserved it!'

That was the day he truly learnt the meaning of the old adage: 'What goes around comes around.'