Many psychologists have maintained that all of us have a little madness in us, which may or may not surface. I openly admit that I am one of those, who can get admission into the madhouse any time, any day.
Looking at my rather serious demeanour, you may not realise that there is a bomb ticking inside ready to blow up.
It was all the more reinforced the other day, when I went shopping for a battery for my phone – a Samsung Note 4, which had given me yeoman service for three years. So I set out immediately in search of a battery but to my dismay none of the retailers had it. A visit to the service centre also did not help.
Finally I found one which had. Overjoyed that my persistence had paid dividends, I was waiting for the sole man at the shop who was attending to another customer. I overheard him wax lyrical about the new Note8 and trying to convince the customer about buying. Then he came over.
He began to open the rear side of the phone when it struck – the Momentary Lapse of Reason, not the Pink Floyd album, but the sudden impulse when the brain distances itself actions .
The next thing I knew, I was the rather amiable owner, unboxing a new, shiny Note8, black in colour, and praising my decision with words that almost amounted to poetry.
This chap probably was the best salesman in Pune. He took a picture of him and me and a couple of customers present there. Short of hugging me like a long lost brother, he expressed his happiness in no uncertain terms.
His enthusiasm fell a little when my payment through card faced difficulties but he perked up when it finally did. As his mood got better, I was still in a stupor, eyes dull, expression neutral, a sort of gentle version of the Terminator.
I reached home somehow and sat down immediately. O Lord Almighty, what the devil had I done? I could not afford such a huge sum. And why buy one when I possessed a phone which was perfectly alright? Damn, double damn. If this wasn’t madness then what is. I need to consult a psychiatrist immediately.
May be it was the slight depression I was under, over the fact that my oven had stopped working and I could not have baked vegetables for dinner. Or it could have been that the egg got cremated instead of being fried during breakfast.
I was about to call the doctor when another thought dawned upon me. This was not the first time, was it?
A man who possesses 100 crisp shirts from Mark and Spencer, 25 jeans and 100 T-shirts from Nike still in their wrapping must be off his rocker, isn’t it?
Add to that 10,000 DVDs in the house encompassing a wide range of cinema and genre, including duplicates. I do not know any other language other than English, Hindi and to an extent Marathi. Yet there were Tamil, Telugu, Malayalam, Kannada, Bengali, Oriya, Spanish, Italian and Chinese films among them.
I may be calling the asylum soon to lock me, in before I start a collection milk cartons or different varieties of rice grains, or buy a Mercedes or something.
Who knows a phone today, then a Jeep tomorrow, I will fall victim to the machinations of this so-called brain of mine. Yerawada, here I come.