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THE OLD MAN IN THE WHITE JILABI
One evening, I found myself navigating the bustling jungle of small shops in Malviya Nagar, a suburban wonderland in South Delhi. You know, the kind of shops where you stand in front of the counter and play a game of grocery charades with the shopkeeper.
As I entered Safwan's shop, I spotted a charming older gentleman in a flowing white jilabi, whose presence behind the counter was as prominent as a traffic signal on a busy road. It seemed he had Safwan, our obliging shopkeeper wrapped around his storytelling pinky finger.
As Safwan gathered my grocery requests mechanically because all his focus was on the older gentleman who kept spinning tales like a grandmaster. Safwan nodded along religious with intent focus, I half expected him to take notes.
Finally, it was time to settle up. I handed over a ₹1000 note, and in return, Safwan mechanically handed me ₹450 in change, all while the gentleman in the white jilabi continued his narrative opus. The rain had decided to make a grand entrance so I couldn’t help but hang around a bit longer, hoping the weather would take pity on me and ease up before I made my grand escape back home. Safwan was still nodding to the older gentleman in the white Jilabi who was narrating his story, then Safwan gave me another ₹450. He had given me my change twice.
So there I was, enjoying my double dose of ₹450 change, feeling like I had just struck gold at the grocery lottery. But as I settled in for the night, tossing and turning like a pancake on a hot griddle, I realized this victory was more like winning a mini scratch card that turned out to be useless. I couldn't sleep a wink, haunted by the fact that I didn’t actually win anything – just a hefty bag of guilt!
By morning, I felt like shit. I thought to myself, "Forget this! I refuse to lose sleep over ₹450!" So off I went back to the shop, determined to set things right.
When I arrived, I greeted Safwan with all the enthusiasm of someone just relieved to have a chance to resolve my mini misery. "Last night," I started, "I came to your shop."
He nodded, completely unfazed, "Yes."
I continued, "There was an older gentleman in a white jilabi." He nodded again like we were in some secret club, "Yes."
I pressed on, "After I paid for my groceries, you gave me my change..."
He nodded, "Yes."
"...and while I was waiting for the rain to stop, you gave me my change again."
This made him blink, but no words came out. I took that silence as my cue to pull out the ₹450 from my pocket. "You see, you gave me my change twice."
He blinked again, probably waiting for me to bribe him, but instead, I gave him the four hundred and fifty rupees.
"Two weeks ago, you came to my shop." Safwan said, reciting a known fact.
I replied, "I always come here."
"You left a designer umbrella here, a 'London Fog'," he said, like he was revealing the world’s best-kept secret.
"My friend from England gave it to me!" I exclaimed, suddenly excited.
With that, he reached behind the counter and pulled out my beloved London Fog umbrella.
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